I know we're already talking. I mean I want to actually talk. I mean
I'm thinking about you so I'm thinking about what you look like, but obviously you're not here right now. So I'm thinking about what you sound like too, and I want to hear you
And I want you to hear me
If I'm talking to you, I want you to hear me
[If you like what I say, then... then... It's in his throat, so physical that his throat actually hurts. He wants to get it out of there.]
[In all honesty, it can be maddening to get text after text after text of Nagisa's brand of stream of consciousness. It's especially maddening right now, even, with how he states and restates the same goddamn point, as earnest as ever, and equally brazen. So, just as Nagisa sends that last text, Shinji shoves his thumb against the brightly lit call button. He'll call Nagisa first. It's whatever to him. It's just, whatever...
And when Nagisa answers, Shinji mumbles something with waning breath. Shut up, it sounds like. He's ever a contradiction.]
[The display screen of an incoming call is like an immediate injection of caffeine. The full body rush, the sudden rousing, the brightening of lights... the tremor of hands, of mouth. Kaworu's first audible response is a little laugh. It's breathy, it's breathless—it's unlike the way he usually laughs. What should be confident and unabashed sounds—no way—kind of nervous. His second response...]
Hey.
[...isn't much smoother. That just makes the caffeine high more obvious. One syllable manages to be so jittery.
And his third response isn't much of one at all. It's just a stretch of silence, which of course is uncharacteristic of Kaworu. He can be quiet if they're reading together or doing homework, yeah, but the quality of such silence is never stilted from his end... These stiff seconds are acting as a dam. Kaworu has a stampede ready right behind his teeth, and the dead air from his end of the phone makes that painfully clear.
Finally, he takes a breath. (Was he holding it before?)] Hey. [Again.] You know, last night was the best night I've spent in Japan. [A late night walk, frivolously breaking curfew, and loitering in a convenience store. It wouldn't sound glamorous on paper—maybe not even memorable. And yet...] And before you make a sound like you don't think I mean it, I mean it.
[That little laugh is so soft, so brief, that Shinji can't be sure he even heard it at all. Besides, that little laugh isn't how Nagisa is supposed to sound. Happy, warm, angry, stubborn, sour, excited, disappointed--and more--all of those things make sense with Nagisa, but not this. Not a wobbly half-second of sound that suggests he's nervous. Nagisa is always the furthest thing from being nervous. He has enough self-confidence to put a damn peacock to shame. But that offbeat moment passes into silence, which isn't too weird, but still kind of weird, and Shinji actually lifts his head off of his pillow. He didn't know what to expect from this phone call, but something like this wouldn't have been his first guess...
And then Nagisa speaks up. And as he's speaking, Shinji is dropping his head back down and closing his eyes tight. The sound of Nagisa's voice, now smoothed over, uninterrupted, is all the evidence Shinji needs to know he made the right call in going their separate ways last night. After a night like that, with its glamorous lack of glamor, its banal memorability--it just felt like too much to invite Nagisa into his room. It'd be way too much for his nerves. For his already burdened heart. He'd wake up beside Nagisa and who knows what would've happened next. Just hearing Nagisa say the best night is testing his every synapse. A superlative, then. Shinji always wanted to be someone's superlative.]
Nagisa... [He doesn't make a disbelieving sound, but his tone suggests as much anyway.] I dared you to eat spicy watermelon strings and those super sour grape candies at the same time. Your face was ridiculous. I should've taken a picture of it when I had the chance. [How can torturing Nagisa with incompatible flavors of candy be the best night of anything? Shinji opens his eyes again, almost smiling, staring at the wall beside his bed.] I thought you were going to tell me to fuck off, but you never did. You were just... [...] You were really good.
[People must feel this way when the dry spell ends, or when the storm lets up—when they feel safe, relieved, at ease, with mellow sunlight filtering down onto their upturned faces—through the perfect kind of clouds—a feeling like powdered sugar. They must feel like Kaworu sounds when he starts laughing again. It's the right laughter, this time, but still a little different. This isn't a nervous quake at all, but he's also not laughing at something he finds funny. It's an inarticulate but absolute joy.] Your face was great too, [he says when he has room for it.] That's what I wanted a picture of. You were weirded out, but you were having fun.
[He breathes. His face is tremulous and he knows it—he can feel his muscles, nearly spasming, the outbreak of a smile slapped onto a frenetic hummingbird. Kaworu is somewhere between content and trepidatious.]
I had fun, too. [Always, always stressing the same point. Maybe he's afraid that what he says doesn't reach Ikari. I'll tell you again and again, he thinks, but what he should be saying in the first place is...] I had so much fun. [He's sinking back against his own pillow, now, letting the rest of himself flop down onto his bed. And he does it with a sigh, the kind he does after he eats a good meal.] So much, [he says. And,] I like you so much. You know that, right?
[He says it like it's something he's glad to say, even if his heart has buoyed up into his throat. And then—]
You can take a picture of my ridiculous face next time.
[That sounds like a confession. Like a line of dialogue from one of those sappy late-night romances that Shinji has watched during a bout of insomnia. But it isn't really a confession when Nagisa has said similar things in different ways--and he's demonstrated it, too, many times over. Nagisa can't even try to be subtle when it comes to expressing how he feels. His heart is a force of nature, perfect and all-powerful. Even so, that doesn't change how Shinji is following every word--so much--I like you so much--like his life depends on it. He's literally trembling from how hard he's concentrating right now. If he can be a boy that Nagisa likes so much, then maybe he doesn't need to be anything else. It feels like a complete identity all on its own. This way, he doesn't have to worry about past life regression or what he's going to do in the future. He just has to be worthy of Nagisa Kaworu's momentous affection.
It's the very last thing he should be, though. It's the very thing he has been trying to avoid. If he can't resist this temptation, then he's more pathetic than he ever thought possible. Nagisa shouldn't like him because he doesn't deserve it in the first place. Because he did so much to hurt Nagisa in such an unforgivable way. Because he held Nagisa in both of his hands, and he squeezed--
He licks at his lips, realizing just how dry they are.] I know that. I... [And he doesn't like the way his voice keeps getting stuck in his throat. The frustrated few tears in his eyes are even worse.] I don't--think you'd waste your time on me if you didn't like me. [But it's still a waste of time, and anyone should be able to see that. Nagisa deserves someone stronger, braver, smarter, kinder, more put together. More attractive, at least. That one upperclassman, with the cool dyed hair, he'd probably be perfect for Nagisa...
A wobbly exhale, and then Shinji says:] You're always ridiculous. If you took a picture right now, you wouldn't look all that different. You know, I've... I have saved every single picture you've sent to me. Even the times I said I was deleting them, I saved them, and... I'm practically running out of space on my phone, and... [Shinji can't be sure he's even coherent anymore. Anxiety rises into his throat like bile, ten times as bitter, forcing him to swallow repeatedly.] That makes me sound like some kind of pervert, huh...
[The heat in Kaworu's face is such that it feels like being frostbitten. His cheeks could be chapped; his lips could be chapped; his heart could be slowing to a stop, but instead it's hammering wildly, pulse ratcheting higher and higher, the absolute adrenaline of attraction. When Ikari says I know that, Kaworu's whole body tingles with relief.] Good, [he says, lips still dry.] I wanted you to know. [When he swallows, it's like swallowing sand, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.] I needed you to know that, Ikari.
[And the rest of what Ikari says makes Kaworu shift against his bed. It feels like his blood has turned to soda. It's chilly outside, nearly cold enough to need gloves, but Kaworu has never felt the breadth of summer so vast and heavy on his body. He presses the back of his wrist against his mouth for a moment, because he doesn't know what will come out of him if he doesn't. It's not something he's afraid of saying—it's the fear that his entire heart, the whole and zealous burn of it, will come out all at once. It's overwhelming. He's not sure what to do about it.
He spends a few moments just breathing, and that interior heat seems to burn away all the oxygen. Well.] I don't mind. [He pushes some hair away from his forehead, feeling like he's lying in direct sunlight, but all Ikari will be able to hear is Kaworu's short, hard exhale.] Oh, man. Actually, it makes me really happy. I mean, I send them to you because I want you to look at them. [The back of his hand is resting up against his forehead, now, fingers lax, a dramatic display even if no one else can see it.] I want you to look.
[If Shinji had any sense of self-preservation, he'd end this phone call right now. They're straying too close to the things, all those sticky and suffocating things, they shouldn't be talking about ever. It's been hard enough to accept Nagisa as his friend, much less a... a goddamn irreplaceable part of his day. He can't remember the last time he didn't wake up to texts from Nagisa. The last time he didn't look for Nagisa first thing upon entering a room. That's why he isn't exaggerating when he blurts out,] I've been looking at you for a long time, Nagisa. [And he decides he's completely hopeless soon after that. Even buried under the covers, he feels cold and dirty and bordering on seasick; he'll never figure out which way is the right way to go from here. His voice just recedes into the back of his throat, a bitter retreat.] For longer than you've been looking at me. Longer than you know...
[He spent literal years wondering if he'd come across Nagisa in this new world, and what he would do if it actually happened. His idle musings couldn't prepare him for finding Nagisa on that first day of school, in the middle of home room, surrounded by a swarm of students. Nagisa was already the most interesting guy there. It was horrifying. It was mortifying, too. Just as Nagisa earned his popularity with his shining charisma, Shinji ended up being known for his sullen nature and unnerving stares. They couldn't have been more diametrically opposed. More unsuited for each other. It still doesn't make any sense for Nagisa to talk about about the best night he's had and all the pictures he's sent.]
You make it impossible to look at anyone else.
[It's a simple factual statement, that Nagisa commands attention wherever he goes, but Shinji can only hope he sounds unpleasant instead of yearning. Then, feeling more vulnerable by the second, Shinji draws the blanket up and over his head entirely. It's warm under here, and it's humid, but that means his hot cheeks won't be so obvious. Stupid Nagisa, he thinks. This is so stupid. He shouldn't let this nonsense get this far.]
[Kaworu's laughing again. This time, it's low and it's gauzy next to the mouthpiece of the phone. The back of his mind wonders whether Ikari's been looking long enough to know what his face looks like just from that specific laughter: a feather of eyelashes, one corner of his mouth turned up higher, and the consummate warmth of a beating heart brimming forth from his eyes.] 'Cause I'm loud and outrageous. [And other such running commentary during Ikari's dour moments. Kaworu sounds pleased when he repeats it, though. Pleased, and deeply fond.] But, Ikari. If you've been looking at me for longer, you have to give me a chance to catch up, you know?
[Kaworu is forward even at the best of times, but the giddiness of being looked at, for longer than he knows, propels him forward like the coming of spring, like a growth spurt, all that eager ache in his hopeful body. He just goes for it, because when doesn't he?]
You should send me pictures once in a while, too. I only have a few of you. Because I feel like I can't look at anyone else, either, so you've got to give me something to work with when I don't have you around.
[Nagisa's laughter should be classified as an illegal substance. Shinji can just feel it sinking into his ear, like a warm oil remedy, an experimental drug that induces delirium. It's the laughter of feathery eyelashes and a smile with one corner upturned, and true happiness, and other good and sweet things. Shinji grabs at his face under the blanket, increasingly embarrassed with himself. He doesn't know how Nagisa can like him so much when he can't stand being the person he is. Two chances at existence, and he's managed to fuck them up both times like it's nothing.]
"Outrageous" doesn't begin to cover it, [he grouses, then. (It's easier to complain about Nagisa than it is to confront his own failings.)
Maybe there's nothing more outrageous than the way Nagisa can be so direct with him. Nagisa is the one who sounds like a pervert with him wanting something to work with and that engrossed tone of voice. But Shinji's being a hypocrite for even trying to pin immoral thoughts on Nagisa. More than once, he's looked at Nagisa's pictures and obsessed over how smooth and pale his skin is or how bright his eyes could be. The fall of Nagisa's hair against his shoulders can quicken a heartbeat all on its own, no matter how messy it's gotten. That makes Shinji the epitome of a desperate virgin, right?]
I don't know how to strike a pose like you do. I'd just end up looking stupid, and I have this pimple on my forehead, anyway, so it's like... you wouldn't want to see that.
[That's got to be the sort of excuse a girl would make. Pathetic.]
You don't have to strike a pose. Just be the way you usually are. That's what I like looking at.
[Kaworu, meanwhile, doesn't sound like a virgin at all. Instead he sounds sturdy and confident, like his hands and arms are at the ready, strong as they are from being so good at volleyball. He's slender, still, lean and smooth, but firmer than he bets Ikari thinks. He wants Ikari to find out how strong he really is...
That awkward anxiety from earlier seems to be gone. Maybe he feels more in his element like this, charming and physical, his mouth and its words like the cradle of a palm at a shoulder or lower back. When Ikari first called him, Kaworu wanted so badly to hold him, and it felt like yearning: shard in heart, arms empty like a hunger. That hunger was so nerve-wracking—what if he starved to death? Now, this is easier. Now, he wants to hold Ikari and it feels like desire. It would be good, he's sure, if they could both learn what they felt like, aligned with each other. Shoulder to shoulder. All parts to all other parts. Simpler, then, to think about than how much he likes Ikari, how much he likes who Ikari is, what he says and does, even when he's ridiculous or frustrating. All he wants is all of this person, but it feels easier—more familiar—to want the curve of his back.]
Don't tell me I don't want to see it, anyway. You're just as outrageous, did you know that? I do want to see. I don't think you know, Ikari...
[The rejection of skin is what's easier, Kaworu realizes. If someone doesn't want you to touch them, you just don't touch them; you just go touch someone else instead. But if someone doesn't want your heart, where do you put it? It doesn't fit in just anyone's hands.]
You're cute, [he blurts, matter-of-fact. And he wants it to sound like blood flow and all that comes with it, but instead it sounds like the heartbeat that drives it.] So, yeah, I want to see. There's probably a lot of stuff you're embarrassed about, but I'd like them, you know. That's how it works.
[Shinji has to clamp one hand over his mouth to stop himself from an outburst. You don't know me, he thinks viciously, a final injection of venom that's otherwise running out. You don't know the first thing about me. It isn't a stupid pimple that Shinji is embarrassed about. Of all the things that make him ugly, the pimple barely qualifies as anything, really. Arranged like this, they're almost impossible to see, but he can actually feel the far more hideous, existential scars on his wrists. They're hot and they're pulsating like a fresh brand. Shinji is always hiding them with his sleeves, or sweatbands, or some other trick, because they're as much the evidence of his weakness as they are a reminder that he can't do anything right. Nagisa doesn't know the first thing about living like this.
Nagisa's life seems like it could not be more privileged, or more charming. Everyone loves him. That isn't an exaggeration: everyone loves him, this former scourge of humankind. Maybe that's karma for you, maybe that's his reward, but Shinji hardly feels benevolent about it when another covey of girls comes up to him and starts asking about what Nagisa likes. "You're pretty close to Captain Nagisa, aren't you? You have to know what he's looking for in a girlfriend." And Shinji just wants to lose his shit at them for that, to tell them it isn't his fault that Nagisa likes him, that Nagisa can't stop falling for him. Captain Nagisa, the star of the volleyball team, who has perfect grades and volunteers at the animal shelter--it's already a scandal that he spends so much time with a loser like Shinji. No one would believe it if they found out Nagisa was fucking flirting with him right this very second.
Shinji tells himself to breathe, to breathe deeper, to give up and calm down already. He can't calm down. His wrists are hurting him. He should probably say something, but he can't figure out what to say. There's just the rustling of his blanket when he pulls it away from his head.
Moments later, Nagisa should receive a blank message with a file attachment. It's a picture of Shinji, albeit under somewhat bad lighting. From an overhead angle, it shows Shinji still lying in bed, with his head turned to the side and his gaze trained elsewhere. He isn't smiling. He's flushed and forlorn in the way of a Renaissance painting, like the ones they walked by when they went to the museum together. There's a hint of his frail, bare shoulders, even. His eyes are kind of puffy, maybe from sleep (or maybe from crying in his sleep). The pimple is a hard-to-spot blemish near his hairline, if that matters at all.]
That's the only one you're going to get, [he says, already regretting all of this.]
[There's the ping of a notification on Kaworu's phone, and then the shifting of skin, of fabric, while he pulls the phone away to open the message, the attachment. After that, it's quiet for a solid several seconds. From where Ikari is, there's no way to tell what Kaworu's face is doing. Probably something stupid. Yeah, got to be stupid, and utterly endeared, if his voice—] Wow, Ikari. [—is anything to go by, when he brings the phone back to his ear. Wow. One wrong note in that tone and it could be condescending, a sneer. But Kaworu sounds really soft and really warm, like fresh baked sweets. He swallows.]
I don't want it to be the only one.
[For once, he isn't whining or really even nagging. This is a confession with the same gravity as the so much from before. The same hope as it, too. Like he's got his eye on the horizon, like he's determined to make it there.
He's able to sound more casual when he says,] But I'm saving it for sure. Now I can look at you whenever I'm lonely. It's not really the same as being with you, but it's still good, and I know you were thinking of me when you took it. [His mouth dries up as soon as he says that, as if he hadn't processed the thought until voicing it. Ikari is lying in his bed, bare-shouldered, looking awfully warm, and he's thinking about Kaworu in the midst of all that. It's way more special than Kaworu expected it to be.
...]
Uh, [Kaworu says, having derailed his own train of thought, and he tries to regain his footing.] Anyway, you're looking away from me, but I like that side of you, too.
[God, it's like... Nagisa says things that make it sound like they're already in a relationship, a really serious one, drafting plans for a future together. He makes it sound like they won't be going their separate ways in a couple years, with college and all of that. Just because they've more or less confessed to liking each other doesn't guarantee a lovey-dovey outcome. Honestly, Shinji doesn't understand the hopeful quality of Nagisa's voice, and he's never going to understand it, either. It would be no different than looking at an approaching tidal wave and deciding they won't get wet. Ridiculous. Insane, even.
Shinji sighs with the full weight of inevitability.]
If you had said thank you, I would've sent you another one. But you didn't say thank you. I've been telling you to be more courteous, and you never listen to me... [It's just an excuse. Hearing that wow and then Ikari on a swell of endearment has made Shinji feel shy, awkward, ready to retreat.] It's a pretty good one, too. I'm looking at the camera and everything. Oh well. [His voice isn't as firm, as cool, as he would like it to be. It can't be called flirting when he can't even keep his voice from wobbling. Sometimes, he feels like this insanity is happening to someone else, like he can't actually control himself in Nagisa's presence. The side that wants to be left alone for good is losing out to the side that wants to be with Nagisa. Not even a push and pull anymore. Just a steady descent into desire, as with an anchor into the sea. Ikari. Ugh.
To make matters worse, now he's saying this:] You can just come over if you want to see me that badly. It's not like I have anywhere else to be.
Ikari, [Kaworu says—more like whines, a groan heavy with petulance. This is the vocal quirk of a demand for table scraps, a puppy whose owner hand fed it during every meal, instilling within it a neediness.] You know I meant thank you. You always know stuff like that, even when I don't say it. [Maybe he doesn't actually realize how expressive he is. He's moving around on his bed, just the background noise makes it obvious...] I really want to have one of you looking at the camera. Don't say 'oh well', okay?
[His dialogue isn't completely clear throughout all of this—he seems to have taken the phone away from his face for part of it, and at one point he's even outright muffled. (He's scrambling to pull on a shirt.) He sounds overeager, too, but that part's not unusual.]
I'll listen to you this time. I mean it. Also, thank you. I mean that, too. [He's in a flurry if the sounds surrounding him are any indication—busy, busy, shuffling or crinkling.
Finally, that noise must be a door closing. He's left his room.]
[It's been less than thirty seconds, and Nagisa is flying out the door, on his way over. The door clicking shut raises the hair on the back of Shinji's neck, up and down his arms, just all over the place. A hot flutter of adrenaline makes itself known in his chest. What the hell am I doing? he wonders, with no possible answer for that. He shouldn't be actively encouraging whatever-this-is. The more time they spend together, the harder it's going to be to deal with splitting up.]
Now that's more like it, [he says, his throat tighter than before.] Just because I know what you mean doesn't excuse you from not saying it. Not everyone's going to be familiar with your brand of weirdness. That's all. [But everyone loves Nagisa with apparent ease, so it doesn't even matter. His college interviews are going to go off without a hitch. Whatever. Shinji is kind of running out of things to bitch at him for.
Before Shinji goes in search of a shirt for himself--dark, heavy, and long-sleeved, as per usual--he decides to send that other picture. As promised, it features him looking at the camera directly, with his eyelids halfway closed, his mouth still a vague line. He's definitely thinking about Nagisa in this one. Even though he's the least erotic person on the planet, he's looking up at the camera--and at Nagisa--with a warm, promising curiosity. It isn't suggestive like a pin-up would be, but it's...
...]
Don't say that, idiot. I mean, I'll make you lunch sometimes, but that's, you know... you've got to eat lunch.
[Shinji does put a tremendous amount of effort into every box of bento, whether he wants to admit it or not. Regardles, a mouthful of rice and seasoned beef shouldn't be all that flattering or life-changing for anyone.]
Aha. [One of his little half-laughs. It's not quite the measure of smooth he'd like it to be, but it's got that characteristic coal glow to it.] I'm okay with that. I like that you're familiar with me. [And, as pushy as ever,] I want you to be. [He's talking an awful lot about what he wants tonight. Pictures, and for Ikari to look, and for Ikari to listen. And for Ikari to be familiar with him, whatever that means in Kaworu's mind. All these confessions, though, all these demands of the heart, and still there's something left unsaid. It's there. It's hanging over the both of them even across the connection of the phone. The building isn't a wide enough berth, and Kaworu is charging through it with a sharp hull regardless. All that he wants, and the want in his throat, are too strong to capsize.
And that second picture just makes him more buoyant than ever. He can feel seawater rising within him, starting at his feet and bubbling up and upward, but he knows he's safe from it. His heart, and his guts, somehow separate entities, float perfectly atop the ocean billows. They are higher and higher and proud above everything. They're bobbing up even past his brain. Never mind that. All the churning in his stomach and all the squeezing of his heart outweigh whatever instilled protocol regarding school and future livelihood. The only livelihood Kaworu wants to see is Ikari looking up at him from his pillows.]
No, I mean it. [It's a little belated, a little breathless; could be blamed on his trek through the halls.] You make me lunch, and remember, when I lost at cards, you let me get you ice cream as payment... That was the best. And, and you helped me make that video for my parents so I could show them I wasn't slacking on the violin. And you listened to me practice for like three days beforehand because I actually had been slacking. [He laughs. There's wonderment in it.] And. You let me see that face, Ikari. That you made in the picture. [It's not always great, that his heart and guts are so buoyant. They're way past the part of his mind that tells him not to scare Ikari too bad, lest Ikari tell him to just stay in his own room tonight. But it bursts out of him, like biting into fresh fruit, when he says,] That was for me. Wasn't it? [That face. Ikari soft in his bed.]
[Now that he's wearing a shirt, Shinji heads into his small bathroom to look at himself in the mirror, just to make sure he doesn't look like total shit. (That's the one benefit to having famous, well-connected parents: a private room with a private bathroom.) He does, in fact, look like total shit. His eyes are still puffy, a little glazed over. His hair is sticking up at odd angles, even after he pushes his hand across it. And the color of his cheeks is all splotchy and awful--nothing like the pretty blushes of Nagisa's many, many admirers. There's no help for the hopeless, it seems.
The floor over by the front door is bare, metallic, and ice-cold. Shinji ends up waiting by it anyway, trying to breathe evenly, expecting Nagisa's footsteps any moment now. Nagisa is babbling on the phone and listing off the things that matter to him, things that never seemed important at the time, and Shinji wants to tell him to stop being sentimental. Literally anyone would've helped Nagisa make that video or listen to him practice. Literally anyone. Rusty or not, Nagisa was beautifully adept on the violin, with an appetite for the classics that mirrored Shinji's own. Anyone would be willing to listen to a free concert. To watch how gracefully Nagisa's fingers handle the strings, too. With his hair falling in his eyes and his mouth barely hanging open...
Being infatuated with Nagisa Kaworu is probably the most normal thing about Shinji. Not exactly a comfort.]
Of course that was for you, [Shinji says, exasperated, as he leans his forehead against the door.] But I don't know why you're getting all worked up about a picture, or any of that other stuff. Like whenever I let you copy my notes, you start acting like I'm your--your savior--or something. But I'm just... [Some months ago, Misato had called with bad news from home: his fish, the one he'd had for years, given to him by his father, had died. Shinji reacted by telling Nagisa to get out of his room, to just go away, and then he started crying, but Nagisa didn't get out and didn't just go away. Nagisa reached out and touched Shinji's arm, and Shinji basically collapsed like so much dry, rotting wood. Nagisa gently held onto him for a while, without saying much of anything (for once). They didn't speak of it afterward. And Nagisa didn't gossip about it to anyone else, which was a relief.]
Nagisa, I don't know what you want from me.
[Even with all the hints, all the confessions, all the breathless reminiscing, Shinji can't be totally sure he's reading Nagisa right. It's too vaguely defined, too weird and murky, this space he's occupying in between friend and boyfriend and soul mate. If Nagisa wants a friend, then that's fine, that's all right, (that's disappointing,) and he just needs to say so and they can move on. If Nagisa wants more than that, then...
[Kaworu is listening to this—this obtuse underselling of Ikari's entire self—with a mounting headache. The way Ikari is talking, and always talks, about himself, incites a flurry inside of Kaworu. Anger? Defensiveness? Which is weird, because the insults, even when back-handed, have nothing to do with Kaworu, except they do, because they're about Ikari, and the way Kaworu feels about Ikari isn't wrong. It's totally right and it makes perfect sense. It's the most logical of conclusions, Kaworu feels: meeting Ikari, and getting to know him, and then seeking out his voice and his words and the quiver of his smile when they're alone. The back of his head when Kaworu is following him around. The brush of their arms when Kaworu catches up to walk beside him. After all that, it makes sense that Kaworu would want more of it, and more than it, every level of knowing Ikari and spending time with him. He wants Ikari to smile at him and feel confident in doing it. He wants to rest his head on Ikari's shoulder while they talk about the book they're reading in class. In the evening, with only night sounds and quiet music playing from cast-off earbuds, Kaworu wants to settle his hands at Ikari's hands, at his elbows, at any set of lines he can. He wants to hold Ikari's body like he holds the bow of a violin: gentle and sturdy, with purpose, poise, and the inevitability of being told he's wonderful for it.
And Ikari acts like Kaworu is so ridiculous for any of that. Who's dumb? Who's the idiot, here? Incredulous, and a little testy, Kaworu finally says,] Seriously, Ikari. [It's just flat enough to keep from being a question. Even when part of him is asking why Ikari has the nerve, the rest of him is vetoing it.
He's actually very proud of himself for liking Ikari. There's no one better to like, in his opinion, so it's very good that this is who he ended up liking. Someone strong and interesting, and someone who will tell him things plainly, but still keep enough hidden for him to want to know more... Someone with nice hands, even when he's nervous or pissed off. Someone who can't manage to hide that he's pretty good.
Kaworu knocks on Ikari's door three times, quick and sharp. When Ikari opens it, Kaworu is standing there, a little short of breath, bright-eyed. His phone is in one hand, dropped down inches from his face, and the shopping bag from last night is in his other hand.]
I like you and I want to be with you.
[He says it first off and immediate it, standing right out there in the hallway. He's too clear and cogent to be sullen, but the frustration in him is clear, too.]
That's all you have to know, right? I'm trying to be with you. And that's the one thing I won't let you say is stupid, so you shouldn't act like it is. Don't act like it's weird that I'm happy around you. Seriously. I'm telling you and telling you, I'm trying to be with you.
[A beat, and then he's blushing. His t-shirt is on backwards, mismanaged in his haste to leave his room and hurry over. He didn't pull on any shoes, just ran through the hallways like a frazzled moron. But he puckers his lips in his determination, and he refuses to look down even though he doesn't know if something bad will happen now that he's launched all this into the air between them. At any rate, he's at least able to keep from grabbing Ikari, swinging him around, and kissing his face. His nose scrunches up with the effort of that.]
[Seriously, Ikari. And that's all it takes for Shinji to start cringing in disgust, the most potent self-disgust, for knowing he's pushed things too far yet again. No one likes to hang out with a sad sack. No one likes a whiny loser, or a living rain cloud that will ruin any sunshine otherwise. Nagisa's voice has the quality of reproach, of frustration, and Shinji is convinced it won't take that much more to alienate Nagisa for good. All he'd have to say is he doesn't want to see Nagisa after all, that it was a bad idea to ever be his friend in the first place. That would be more than enough to get rid of him. Seriously. It's like someone is pouring motor oil over Shinji's head and down his back, slick and cold, corrosive, pollution at its worst. Seriously, Ikari. Maybe Nagisa has already turned back around on his own, writing off Shinji as a lost cause, a failed case for charity, and...
Nagisa is knocking on the door.
And Shinji is opening the door so fast, just as the third knock lands--he almost sprains his fingers just twisting the damn knob. He's left to stare at Nagisa, wider-eyed, thinner-lipped, as much of as a mess as he was when he looked in the mirror. He doesn't have a chance to think before Nagisa unloads on him, mincing no words, using no uncertain terms. It's unbelievable. He knows this is happening, that Nagisa is laying out the truth for him--Seriously, Ikari--I'm trying to be with you--but it's still unbelievable. After everything they've been through... After everything he's done to hurt Nagisa, some of it intentionally... Nagisa wants to be with him.]
Na...
[In his last moments, in the endless sea of LCL, Shinji thought of Nagisa Kaworu. He pictured Nagisa's earnest, obnoxious smile, with his horrible hair cutting across his eyes; Nagisa looked like he was ready to say something stupid or offensive or both at the same time. Shinji, in maybe his only worthwhile act ever, wished for Nagisa to be given a second chance. The world wouldn't be much of a world without him in it. That was what Shinji had decided.
Shinji is making another decision now, before he even fully realizes it: he reaches for Nagisa and doesn't stop reaching until he's caught hold of Nagisa's wrist. He curls his fingers around that wrist, too, tight and then tighter. He pulls Nagisa forward. It isn't like he has a plan or anything, but he doesn't stop pulling until Nagisa is firmly inside his room and the door is shut behind them.
They're standing very close together. At this distance, Nagisa's blush looks more like an out-of-control rash, that's how obvious it is. Shinji doubts he's faring any better. He really feels like he's covered in poison sumac, itching to jump right out of his skin and run away. But he doesn't run away from this.
Instead, he says, looking into Nagisa's eyes,] Okay. [He says,] If that's what you want. [And he says,] As long as you're sure that's what you want, Nagisa. [His surrender to Nagisa's terms is so sudden, so painfully complete, and somehow it's the easiest thing he's ever done in his life. It's the sort of easy that makes him wonder why he didn't try doing it sooner, when he presses his mouth to Nagisa's. He doesn't need anything else right now. Just this. Just this hint of happiness.]
[Pulled inside, door shut, Kaworu takes a deep breath. He's building himself up; he wants to make sure he has a protest at the ready. An argument, all insistence, just waiting in his throat. He'll convince Ikari that he's good to be with. He can do that. It's difficult to gather his thoughts while he's staring at Ikari's face, their blushes facing off heat for heat, Kaworu trying to parse all that he sees in Ikari's eyes. But he'll construct something good enough for Ikari to let him stay. I promise I'll be...
Ikari says, Okay. Kaworu blinks his fervent eyes, and his held breath leaves him in a rush. His shoulders drop; he hadn't realized how harshly he'd tensed up with the intent to riot. But he doesn't have to explain himself, not once Ikari is kissing him. Not with words, at least. He can say what he wants to with the encircling of his arms: the relief evident in his muscles, the arrangement of his grasp around Ikari's middle, and each of his hands still full with what he brought from his room. Kaworu feels like a mess, in disarray, but Ikari is resolving him. It's good. Ikari is taking all the sentence fragments that had been ready to burst out of Kaworu like scores of needy hands, and he's smoothing them over. He's filling up those hands himself.
Hugging Ikari is like muscle memory. Kissing him, too, even. Kaworu has done those things to other people and so of course he knows what they feel like, how pleasurable and gratifying the contact is, but being close like this with Ikari Shinji is like slipping into something Kaworu has been trying to remember. It's just—when Kaworu sighs, here, it's as reigned in as he can make it—it's how he wanted things to be. Feeling it now makes him sure of it. Yes, he's sure it's what he wants. He parts from Ikari enough to look at him, and once he's drawn back, he purses his lips. Trying to quell himself is futile, though. A second more, and he breaks out into such a smile. Such a smile, giving way to laughter—ahaha—it's more than just relief at not being rejected. It's like...]
I kept imagining how happy I would be if I got to kiss you, but it's way better than I thought.
[His wrists are crossed at the small of Ikari's back. His phone and crinkly shopping bag hang inconsequential from loose fingers. He's looking full at Ikari's face, the wonder of his face this close and honest. And he's somewhere between cheeky and joyful when he says,] It is a lot better than a picture, having you like this. But don't stop sending them, okay? We have to take some together, too. I want to look at them all the time. I want to think about you right here, exactly, when I see them. [Though whatever heartfelt proclamations don't preclude those kissing-oriented imaginings. He's inching back in for another kiss moment by moment, until his words stop short against Ikari's lips. Once he kisses Ikari for himself, his shoulders hike up, as if he's trying to contain his excitement in the angles of his body. It's hard not to squeeze Ikari in his arms, just out of sheer happiness.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shocksock) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2017-07-14 12:01 pm
no subject
I know we're already talking. I mean I want to actually talk. I mean
I'm thinking about you so I'm thinking about what you look like, but obviously you're not here right now. So I'm thinking about what you sound like too, and I want to hear you
And I want you to hear me
If I'm talking to you, I want you to hear me
[If you like what I say, then... then... It's in his throat, so physical that his throat actually hurts. He wants to get it out of there.]
no subject
And when Nagisa answers, Shinji mumbles something with waning breath. Shut up, it sounds like. He's ever a contradiction.]
no subject
Hey.
[...isn't much smoother. That just makes the caffeine high more obvious. One syllable manages to be so jittery.
And his third response isn't much of one at all. It's just a stretch of silence, which of course is uncharacteristic of Kaworu. He can be quiet if they're reading together or doing homework, yeah, but the quality of such silence is never stilted from his end... These stiff seconds are acting as a dam. Kaworu has a stampede ready right behind his teeth, and the dead air from his end of the phone makes that painfully clear.
Finally, he takes a breath. (Was he holding it before?)] Hey. [Again.] You know, last night was the best night I've spent in Japan. [A late night walk, frivolously breaking curfew, and loitering in a convenience store. It wouldn't sound glamorous on paper—maybe not even memorable. And yet...] And before you make a sound like you don't think I mean it, I mean it.
no subject
And then Nagisa speaks up. And as he's speaking, Shinji is dropping his head back down and closing his eyes tight. The sound of Nagisa's voice, now smoothed over, uninterrupted, is all the evidence Shinji needs to know he made the right call in going their separate ways last night. After a night like that, with its glamorous lack of glamor, its banal memorability--it just felt like too much to invite Nagisa into his room. It'd be way too much for his nerves. For his already burdened heart. He'd wake up beside Nagisa and who knows what would've happened next. Just hearing Nagisa say the best night is testing his every synapse. A superlative, then. Shinji always wanted to be someone's superlative.]
Nagisa... [He doesn't make a disbelieving sound, but his tone suggests as much anyway.] I dared you to eat spicy watermelon strings and those super sour grape candies at the same time. Your face was ridiculous. I should've taken a picture of it when I had the chance. [How can torturing Nagisa with incompatible flavors of candy be the best night of anything? Shinji opens his eyes again, almost smiling, staring at the wall beside his bed.] I thought you were going to tell me to fuck off, but you never did. You were just... [...] You were really good.
no subject
[He breathes. His face is tremulous and he knows it—he can feel his muscles, nearly spasming, the outbreak of a smile slapped onto a frenetic hummingbird. Kaworu is somewhere between content and trepidatious.]
I had fun, too. [Always, always stressing the same point. Maybe he's afraid that what he says doesn't reach Ikari. I'll tell you again and again, he thinks, but what he should be saying in the first place is...] I had so much fun. [He's sinking back against his own pillow, now, letting the rest of himself flop down onto his bed. And he does it with a sigh, the kind he does after he eats a good meal.] So much, [he says. And,] I like you so much. You know that, right?
[He says it like it's something he's glad to say, even if his heart has buoyed up into his throat. And then—]
You can take a picture of my ridiculous face next time.
no subject
It's the very last thing he should be, though. It's the very thing he has been trying to avoid. If he can't resist this temptation, then he's more pathetic than he ever thought possible. Nagisa shouldn't like him because he doesn't deserve it in the first place. Because he did so much to hurt Nagisa in such an unforgivable way. Because he held Nagisa in both of his hands, and he squeezed--
He licks at his lips, realizing just how dry they are.] I know that. I... [And he doesn't like the way his voice keeps getting stuck in his throat. The frustrated few tears in his eyes are even worse.] I don't--think you'd waste your time on me if you didn't like me. [But it's still a waste of time, and anyone should be able to see that. Nagisa deserves someone stronger, braver, smarter, kinder, more put together. More attractive, at least. That one upperclassman, with the cool dyed hair, he'd probably be perfect for Nagisa...
A wobbly exhale, and then Shinji says:] You're always ridiculous. If you took a picture right now, you wouldn't look all that different. You know, I've... I have saved every single picture you've sent to me. Even the times I said I was deleting them, I saved them, and... I'm practically running out of space on my phone, and... [Shinji can't be sure he's even coherent anymore. Anxiety rises into his throat like bile, ten times as bitter, forcing him to swallow repeatedly.] That makes me sound like some kind of pervert, huh...
no subject
[And the rest of what Ikari says makes Kaworu shift against his bed. It feels like his blood has turned to soda. It's chilly outside, nearly cold enough to need gloves, but Kaworu has never felt the breadth of summer so vast and heavy on his body. He presses the back of his wrist against his mouth for a moment, because he doesn't know what will come out of him if he doesn't. It's not something he's afraid of saying—it's the fear that his entire heart, the whole and zealous burn of it, will come out all at once. It's overwhelming. He's not sure what to do about it.
He spends a few moments just breathing, and that interior heat seems to burn away all the oxygen. Well.] I don't mind. [He pushes some hair away from his forehead, feeling like he's lying in direct sunlight, but all Ikari will be able to hear is Kaworu's short, hard exhale.] Oh, man. Actually, it makes me really happy. I mean, I send them to you because I want you to look at them. [The back of his hand is resting up against his forehead, now, fingers lax, a dramatic display even if no one else can see it.] I want you to look.
no subject
[He spent literal years wondering if he'd come across Nagisa in this new world, and what he would do if it actually happened. His idle musings couldn't prepare him for finding Nagisa on that first day of school, in the middle of home room, surrounded by a swarm of students. Nagisa was already the most interesting guy there. It was horrifying. It was mortifying, too. Just as Nagisa earned his popularity with his shining charisma, Shinji ended up being known for his sullen nature and unnerving stares. They couldn't have been more diametrically opposed. More unsuited for each other. It still doesn't make any sense for Nagisa to talk about about the best night he's had and all the pictures he's sent.]
You make it impossible to look at anyone else.
[It's a simple factual statement, that Nagisa commands attention wherever he goes, but Shinji can only hope he sounds unpleasant instead of yearning. Then, feeling more vulnerable by the second, Shinji draws the blanket up and over his head entirely. It's warm under here, and it's humid, but that means his hot cheeks won't be so obvious. Stupid Nagisa, he thinks. This is so stupid. He shouldn't let this nonsense get this far.]
no subject
[Kaworu is forward even at the best of times, but the giddiness of being looked at, for longer than he knows, propels him forward like the coming of spring, like a growth spurt, all that eager ache in his hopeful body. He just goes for it, because when doesn't he?]
You should send me pictures once in a while, too. I only have a few of you. Because I feel like I can't look at anyone else, either, so you've got to give me something to work with when I don't have you around.
no subject
"Outrageous" doesn't begin to cover it, [he grouses, then. (It's easier to complain about Nagisa than it is to confront his own failings.)
Maybe there's nothing more outrageous than the way Nagisa can be so direct with him. Nagisa is the one who sounds like a pervert with him wanting something to work with and that engrossed tone of voice. But Shinji's being a hypocrite for even trying to pin immoral thoughts on Nagisa. More than once, he's looked at Nagisa's pictures and obsessed over how smooth and pale his skin is or how bright his eyes could be. The fall of Nagisa's hair against his shoulders can quicken a heartbeat all on its own, no matter how messy it's gotten. That makes Shinji the epitome of a desperate virgin, right?]
I don't know how to strike a pose like you do. I'd just end up looking stupid, and I have this pimple on my forehead, anyway, so it's like... you wouldn't want to see that.
[That's got to be the sort of excuse a girl would make. Pathetic.]
no subject
[Kaworu, meanwhile, doesn't sound like a virgin at all. Instead he sounds sturdy and confident, like his hands and arms are at the ready, strong as they are from being so good at volleyball. He's slender, still, lean and smooth, but firmer than he bets Ikari thinks. He wants Ikari to find out how strong he really is...
That awkward anxiety from earlier seems to be gone. Maybe he feels more in his element like this, charming and physical, his mouth and its words like the cradle of a palm at a shoulder or lower back. When Ikari first called him, Kaworu wanted so badly to hold him, and it felt like yearning: shard in heart, arms empty like a hunger. That hunger was so nerve-wracking—what if he starved to death? Now, this is easier. Now, he wants to hold Ikari and it feels like desire. It would be good, he's sure, if they could both learn what they felt like, aligned with each other. Shoulder to shoulder. All parts to all other parts. Simpler, then, to think about than how much he likes Ikari, how much he likes who Ikari is, what he says and does, even when he's ridiculous or frustrating. All he wants is all of this person, but it feels easier—more familiar—to want the curve of his back.]
Don't tell me I don't want to see it, anyway. You're just as outrageous, did you know that? I do want to see. I don't think you know, Ikari...
[The rejection of skin is what's easier, Kaworu realizes. If someone doesn't want you to touch them, you just don't touch them; you just go touch someone else instead. But if someone doesn't want your heart, where do you put it? It doesn't fit in just anyone's hands.]
You're cute, [he blurts, matter-of-fact. And he wants it to sound like blood flow and all that comes with it, but instead it sounds like the heartbeat that drives it.] So, yeah, I want to see. There's probably a lot of stuff you're embarrassed about, but I'd like them, you know. That's how it works.
["It" being the throb of his heart.]
no subject
Nagisa's life seems like it could not be more privileged, or more charming. Everyone loves him. That isn't an exaggeration: everyone loves him, this former scourge of humankind. Maybe that's karma for you, maybe that's his reward, but Shinji hardly feels benevolent about it when another covey of girls comes up to him and starts asking about what Nagisa likes. "You're pretty close to Captain Nagisa, aren't you? You have to know what he's looking for in a girlfriend." And Shinji just wants to lose his shit at them for that, to tell them it isn't his fault that Nagisa likes him, that Nagisa can't stop falling for him. Captain Nagisa, the star of the volleyball team, who has perfect grades and volunteers at the animal shelter--it's already a scandal that he spends so much time with a loser like Shinji. No one would believe it if they found out Nagisa was fucking flirting with him right this very second.
Shinji tells himself to breathe, to breathe deeper, to give up and calm down already. He can't calm down. His wrists are hurting him. He should probably say something, but he can't figure out what to say. There's just the rustling of his blanket when he pulls it away from his head.
Moments later, Nagisa should receive a blank message with a file attachment. It's a picture of Shinji, albeit under somewhat bad lighting. From an overhead angle, it shows Shinji still lying in bed, with his head turned to the side and his gaze trained elsewhere. He isn't smiling. He's flushed and forlorn in the way of a Renaissance painting, like the ones they walked by when they went to the museum together. There's a hint of his frail, bare shoulders, even. His eyes are kind of puffy, maybe from sleep (or maybe from crying in his sleep). The pimple is a hard-to-spot blemish near his hairline, if that matters at all.]
That's the only one you're going to get, [he says, already regretting all of this.]
no subject
I don't want it to be the only one.
[For once, he isn't whining or really even nagging. This is a confession with the same gravity as the so much from before. The same hope as it, too. Like he's got his eye on the horizon, like he's determined to make it there.
He's able to sound more casual when he says,] But I'm saving it for sure. Now I can look at you whenever I'm lonely. It's not really the same as being with you, but it's still good, and I know you were thinking of me when you took it. [His mouth dries up as soon as he says that, as if he hadn't processed the thought until voicing it. Ikari is lying in his bed, bare-shouldered, looking awfully warm, and he's thinking about Kaworu in the midst of all that. It's way more special than Kaworu expected it to be.
...]
Uh, [Kaworu says, having derailed his own train of thought, and he tries to regain his footing.] Anyway, you're looking away from me, but I like that side of you, too.
no subject
Shinji sighs with the full weight of inevitability.]
If you had said thank you, I would've sent you another one. But you didn't say thank you. I've been telling you to be more courteous, and you never listen to me... [It's just an excuse. Hearing that wow and then Ikari on a swell of endearment has made Shinji feel shy, awkward, ready to retreat.] It's a pretty good one, too. I'm looking at the camera and everything. Oh well. [His voice isn't as firm, as cool, as he would like it to be. It can't be called flirting when he can't even keep his voice from wobbling. Sometimes, he feels like this insanity is happening to someone else, like he can't actually control himself in Nagisa's presence. The side that wants to be left alone for good is losing out to the side that wants to be with Nagisa. Not even a push and pull anymore. Just a steady descent into desire, as with an anchor into the sea. Ikari. Ugh.
To make matters worse, now he's saying this:] You can just come over if you want to see me that badly. It's not like I have anywhere else to be.
no subject
[His dialogue isn't completely clear throughout all of this—he seems to have taken the phone away from his face for part of it, and at one point he's even outright muffled. (He's scrambling to pull on a shirt.) He sounds overeager, too, but that part's not unusual.]
I'll listen to you this time. I mean it. Also, thank you. I mean that, too. [He's in a flurry if the sounds surrounding him are any indication—busy, busy, shuffling or crinkling.
Finally, that noise must be a door closing. He's left his room.]
You're always doing special stuff for me.
no subject
Now that's more like it, [he says, his throat tighter than before.] Just because I know what you mean doesn't excuse you from not saying it. Not everyone's going to be familiar with your brand of weirdness. That's all. [But everyone loves Nagisa with apparent ease, so it doesn't even matter. His college interviews are going to go off without a hitch. Whatever. Shinji is kind of running out of things to bitch at him for.
Before Shinji goes in search of a shirt for himself--dark, heavy, and long-sleeved, as per usual--he decides to send that other picture. As promised, it features him looking at the camera directly, with his eyelids halfway closed, his mouth still a vague line. He's definitely thinking about Nagisa in this one. Even though he's the least erotic person on the planet, he's looking up at the camera--and at Nagisa--with a warm, promising curiosity. It isn't suggestive like a pin-up would be, but it's...
...]
Don't say that, idiot. I mean, I'll make you lunch sometimes, but that's, you know... you've got to eat lunch.
[Shinji does put a tremendous amount of effort into every box of bento, whether he wants to admit it or not. Regardles, a mouthful of rice and seasoned beef shouldn't be all that flattering or life-changing for anyone.]
no subject
And that second picture just makes him more buoyant than ever. He can feel seawater rising within him, starting at his feet and bubbling up and upward, but he knows he's safe from it. His heart, and his guts, somehow separate entities, float perfectly atop the ocean billows. They are higher and higher and proud above everything. They're bobbing up even past his brain. Never mind that. All the churning in his stomach and all the squeezing of his heart outweigh whatever instilled protocol regarding school and future livelihood. The only livelihood Kaworu wants to see is Ikari looking up at him from his pillows.]
No, I mean it. [It's a little belated, a little breathless; could be blamed on his trek through the halls.] You make me lunch, and remember, when I lost at cards, you let me get you ice cream as payment... That was the best. And, and you helped me make that video for my parents so I could show them I wasn't slacking on the violin. And you listened to me practice for like three days beforehand because I actually had been slacking. [He laughs. There's wonderment in it.] And. You let me see that face, Ikari. That you made in the picture. [It's not always great, that his heart and guts are so buoyant. They're way past the part of his mind that tells him not to scare Ikari too bad, lest Ikari tell him to just stay in his own room tonight. But it bursts out of him, like biting into fresh fruit, when he says,] That was for me. Wasn't it? [That face. Ikari soft in his bed.]
no subject
The floor over by the front door is bare, metallic, and ice-cold. Shinji ends up waiting by it anyway, trying to breathe evenly, expecting Nagisa's footsteps any moment now. Nagisa is babbling on the phone and listing off the things that matter to him, things that never seemed important at the time, and Shinji wants to tell him to stop being sentimental. Literally anyone would've helped Nagisa make that video or listen to him practice. Literally anyone. Rusty or not, Nagisa was beautifully adept on the violin, with an appetite for the classics that mirrored Shinji's own. Anyone would be willing to listen to a free concert. To watch how gracefully Nagisa's fingers handle the strings, too. With his hair falling in his eyes and his mouth barely hanging open...
Being infatuated with Nagisa Kaworu is probably the most normal thing about Shinji. Not exactly a comfort.]
Of course that was for you, [Shinji says, exasperated, as he leans his forehead against the door.] But I don't know why you're getting all worked up about a picture, or any of that other stuff. Like whenever I let you copy my notes, you start acting like I'm your--your savior--or something. But I'm just... [Some months ago, Misato had called with bad news from home: his fish, the one he'd had for years, given to him by his father, had died. Shinji reacted by telling Nagisa to get out of his room, to just go away, and then he started crying, but Nagisa didn't get out and didn't just go away. Nagisa reached out and touched Shinji's arm, and Shinji basically collapsed like so much dry, rotting wood. Nagisa gently held onto him for a while, without saying much of anything (for once). They didn't speak of it afterward. And Nagisa didn't gossip about it to anyone else, which was a relief.]
Nagisa, I don't know what you want from me.
[Even with all the hints, all the confessions, all the breathless reminiscing, Shinji can't be totally sure he's reading Nagisa right. It's too vaguely defined, too weird and murky, this space he's occupying in between friend and boyfriend and soul mate. If Nagisa wants a friend, then that's fine, that's all right, (that's disappointing,) and he just needs to say so and they can move on. If Nagisa wants more than that, then...
His voice is getting smaller:]
I don't know anything.
no subject
And Ikari acts like Kaworu is so ridiculous for any of that. Who's dumb? Who's the idiot, here? Incredulous, and a little testy, Kaworu finally says,] Seriously, Ikari. [It's just flat enough to keep from being a question. Even when part of him is asking why Ikari has the nerve, the rest of him is vetoing it.
He's actually very proud of himself for liking Ikari. There's no one better to like, in his opinion, so it's very good that this is who he ended up liking. Someone strong and interesting, and someone who will tell him things plainly, but still keep enough hidden for him to want to know more... Someone with nice hands, even when he's nervous or pissed off. Someone who can't manage to hide that he's pretty good.
Kaworu knocks on Ikari's door three times, quick and sharp. When Ikari opens it, Kaworu is standing there, a little short of breath, bright-eyed. His phone is in one hand, dropped down inches from his face, and the shopping bag from last night is in his other hand.]
I like you and I want to be with you.
[He says it first off and immediate it, standing right out there in the hallway. He's too clear and cogent to be sullen, but the frustration in him is clear, too.]
That's all you have to know, right? I'm trying to be with you. And that's the one thing I won't let you say is stupid, so you shouldn't act like it is. Don't act like it's weird that I'm happy around you. Seriously. I'm telling you and telling you, I'm trying to be with you.
[A beat, and then he's blushing. His t-shirt is on backwards, mismanaged in his haste to leave his room and hurry over. He didn't pull on any shoes, just ran through the hallways like a frazzled moron. But he puckers his lips in his determination, and he refuses to look down even though he doesn't know if something bad will happen now that he's launched all this into the air between them. At any rate, he's at least able to keep from grabbing Ikari, swinging him around, and kissing his face. His nose scrunches up with the effort of that.]
no subject
Nagisa is knocking on the door.
And Shinji is opening the door so fast, just as the third knock lands--he almost sprains his fingers just twisting the damn knob. He's left to stare at Nagisa, wider-eyed, thinner-lipped, as much of as a mess as he was when he looked in the mirror. He doesn't have a chance to think before Nagisa unloads on him, mincing no words, using no uncertain terms. It's unbelievable. He knows this is happening, that Nagisa is laying out the truth for him--Seriously, Ikari--I'm trying to be with you--but it's still unbelievable. After everything they've been through... After everything he's done to hurt Nagisa, some of it intentionally... Nagisa wants to be with him.]
Na...
[In his last moments, in the endless sea of LCL, Shinji thought of Nagisa Kaworu. He pictured Nagisa's earnest, obnoxious smile, with his horrible hair cutting across his eyes; Nagisa looked like he was ready to say something stupid or offensive or both at the same time. Shinji, in maybe his only worthwhile act ever, wished for Nagisa to be given a second chance. The world wouldn't be much of a world without him in it. That was what Shinji had decided.
Shinji is making another decision now, before he even fully realizes it: he reaches for Nagisa and doesn't stop reaching until he's caught hold of Nagisa's wrist. He curls his fingers around that wrist, too, tight and then tighter. He pulls Nagisa forward. It isn't like he has a plan or anything, but he doesn't stop pulling until Nagisa is firmly inside his room and the door is shut behind them.
They're standing very close together. At this distance, Nagisa's blush looks more like an out-of-control rash, that's how obvious it is. Shinji doubts he's faring any better. He really feels like he's covered in poison sumac, itching to jump right out of his skin and run away. But he doesn't run away from this.
Instead, he says, looking into Nagisa's eyes,] Okay. [He says,] If that's what you want. [And he says,] As long as you're sure that's what you want, Nagisa. [His surrender to Nagisa's terms is so sudden, so painfully complete, and somehow it's the easiest thing he's ever done in his life. It's the sort of easy that makes him wonder why he didn't try doing it sooner, when he presses his mouth to Nagisa's. He doesn't need anything else right now. Just this. Just this hint of happiness.]
no subject
Ikari says, Okay. Kaworu blinks his fervent eyes, and his held breath leaves him in a rush. His shoulders drop; he hadn't realized how harshly he'd tensed up with the intent to riot. But he doesn't have to explain himself, not once Ikari is kissing him. Not with words, at least. He can say what he wants to with the encircling of his arms: the relief evident in his muscles, the arrangement of his grasp around Ikari's middle, and each of his hands still full with what he brought from his room. Kaworu feels like a mess, in disarray, but Ikari is resolving him. It's good. Ikari is taking all the sentence fragments that had been ready to burst out of Kaworu like scores of needy hands, and he's smoothing them over. He's filling up those hands himself.
Hugging Ikari is like muscle memory. Kissing him, too, even. Kaworu has done those things to other people and so of course he knows what they feel like, how pleasurable and gratifying the contact is, but being close like this with Ikari Shinji is like slipping into something Kaworu has been trying to remember. It's just—when Kaworu sighs, here, it's as reigned in as he can make it—it's how he wanted things to be. Feeling it now makes him sure of it. Yes, he's sure it's what he wants. He parts from Ikari enough to look at him, and once he's drawn back, he purses his lips. Trying to quell himself is futile, though. A second more, and he breaks out into such a smile. Such a smile, giving way to laughter—ahaha—it's more than just relief at not being rejected. It's like...]
I kept imagining how happy I would be if I got to kiss you, but it's way better than I thought.
[His wrists are crossed at the small of Ikari's back. His phone and crinkly shopping bag hang inconsequential from loose fingers. He's looking full at Ikari's face, the wonder of his face this close and honest. And he's somewhere between cheeky and joyful when he says,] It is a lot better than a picture, having you like this. But don't stop sending them, okay? We have to take some together, too. I want to look at them all the time. I want to think about you right here, exactly, when I see them. [Though whatever heartfelt proclamations don't preclude those kissing-oriented imaginings. He's inching back in for another kiss moment by moment, until his words stop short against Ikari's lips. Once he kisses Ikari for himself, his shoulders hike up, as if he's trying to contain his excitement in the angles of his body. It's hard not to squeeze Ikari in his arms, just out of sheer happiness.]