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
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.]