[ Nothing to gain except thirty philosophy books in three tidy piles, some clothes, piloting gear, all the trimmings from graduation, a small, green tomato plant courtesy of Suletta Mercury's experiments in genetic engineering, a diploma, and the most precious thing of all -- a heart that wants them, more than Four could ever permit himself to know.

Elan Ceres cannot fucking stand him. ]

You are so...

[ Just as it had back in Four's academy bedroom, the emotion in Elan's voice disgusts him -- pushes him off the proverbial precipice into something like anger, like real pain. Still, he places the piece of paper on the bed carefully. Still, he does the opposite of what his hands seem to want, flexing his fingers instead of curling them into fists. Still, he steps forward, just the once. ]

If you couldn't admit you wanted to go for yourself, couldn't you have done it for the people who care about you? Do you think I wanted to take that from them -- from you?

[ Graduation was the most fun Elan Ceres had in his life, and all the while -- never a true smile, because it wasn't really his; to enjoy, to desire, to share. Were he the poetic type, the event would strike him as a perverse facsimile of every day he's lived as his parents' son. A fungible investment from the start, where each moment of joy he feels -- or could feel -- is first and foremost in his family's service, and in that sense has nothing whatsoever to do with Elan Ceres himself.

It's a non-thought that makes itself known to him in the form of a tremor in his voice, in another step forward, in words tailor-made to hurt. ]

You are the most selfish, self-absorbed person I've ever met, and you don't even take...

[ Anything, is how Elan wants to finish his sentence, but finds he doesn't have the strength for it. He's not sure what's worse -- whatever he's feeling or its psychosomatic expression -- and as he takes a deep, shuddering breath, he's almost grateful that the crate's absorbed all of Four's attention. ]