( the soft footed innate grace four has tended to exude hasn't left him even in his deterioration. when he kneels in front of elan ceres it's a smooth, natural motion no different than the gaze he casts over him: analytic, efficient, and well practiced. that elan ceres couldn't seem to focus on him was not lost on four, neither the way his automatic lie threw into even sharper relief the obviousness of it; a thing he is certain elan ceres would despise hearing, but four isn't about to tell him anyway.
in another instance, elan ceres' words would deluge four, bury him under water weight and airless lightless nothing.
paint it any way one wishes; certain things are immutable. for example: four serves elan ceres, even if he would default to peil between the two of them. with only one of said parties in front of him, it's not even a choice that needs making. four's gloveless hand is cold the way a person's hands only lose temperature when they cannot maintain it. he touches the back of it to elan ceres' forehead. considerable fever. unsurprising. unnatural breathing. unfocused vision. collapse. it would point to sickness if elan ceres had shown up as such; but he hadn't.
then...
the graduation ceremony, the various to-dos involved with it. the congratulatory gala. plenty of opportunity.
before it became clear the clones would need to be used in of all things, school attendance, peil had included in their long list of potential purposes for them: protection. there are a multitude of other reasons than gundam piloting for a high profile ceo and heir apparent to need a body double or seven, as it turns out. and, when he was first informed, enhanced person four bowed his head and murmured, "i understand". it's been long enough that the memory jars him even as he's all too sure that is what he's looking at.
or perhaps he's being dramatic.
the hand that touches the center of elan ceres' forehead, smooths to the side and four pushes his fingers into his hair not terribly unlike elan did quite some time ago. he brushes his hair back enough to be out of his eyes to get a clearer look at him. how bad is it? the heat radiating off of him stings. )
You should lie down. Do y--
( briefly four feels like he sees tears but he's not sure then, if it is or isn't, if it's not the sheen of the abrupt fever wreaking hell on elan ceres' entire frame. he doesn't have a handbook anymore of course. why would he? and he hasn't any other device. he shakes his head and tries again, )
I need to call someone to help. May I use your phone?
( polite. almost formal. not quite mechanical.
later, five will be angry with him. five will corner him more with his tenacious energy than his physicality. five will ask him what he was thinking. and four will tell him the truth: that i should save him, if i could.
if anyone else were there, they would find the overloaded cart behind four to be a strange and striking backdrop to this scene. the not yet ripe tomatoes, one smaller than the other. the books, a bit askew after their journey and also four bumping into the cart however lightly. clothes. the ceremonial blade. like the trappings of a life much longer than a high school student. something to pull out of an estate after they've been dead for fifty years and try to find out how much it is worth monetarily since no one's left alive who'd find the sentimental equivalent in it.
the hand not still holding elan ceres' hair back, goes carefully to his opposite shoulder in case he seems he might straight up keel over entirely, which he might.
a thought comes to him. the pinhole of something different than its surroundings.
yes, softly softly softly, it matters.
and in some ways, that in and of itself? is enough.
unnoticed: four's own heartrate too fast again, his own pallor disconcertingly off, as if echoing what he sees. none of it deters him from his methodical quiet actions though, and it would be hard to tell the difference in this and his natural deterioration. the frayed rope, unable to hold onto much; though it tries. )
no subject
in another instance, elan ceres' words would deluge four, bury him under water weight and airless lightless nothing.
paint it any way one wishes; certain things are immutable. for example: four serves elan ceres, even if he would default to peil between the two of them. with only one of said parties in front of him, it's not even a choice that needs making. four's gloveless hand is cold the way a person's hands only lose temperature when they cannot maintain it. he touches the back of it to elan ceres' forehead. considerable fever. unsurprising. unnatural breathing. unfocused vision. collapse. it would point to sickness if elan ceres had shown up as such; but he hadn't.
then...
the graduation ceremony, the various to-dos involved with it. the congratulatory gala. plenty of opportunity.
before it became clear the clones would need to be used in of all things, school attendance, peil had included in their long list of potential purposes for them: protection. there are a multitude of other reasons than gundam piloting for a high profile ceo and heir apparent to need a body double or seven, as it turns out. and, when he was first informed, enhanced person four bowed his head and murmured, "i understand". it's been long enough that the memory jars him even as he's all too sure that is what he's looking at.
or perhaps he's being dramatic.
the hand that touches the center of elan ceres' forehead, smooths to the side and four pushes his fingers into his hair not terribly unlike elan did quite some time ago. he brushes his hair back enough to be out of his eyes to get a clearer look at him. how bad is it? the heat radiating off of him stings. )
You should lie down. Do y--
( briefly four feels like he sees tears but he's not sure then, if it is or isn't, if it's not the sheen of the abrupt fever wreaking hell on elan ceres' entire frame. he doesn't have a handbook anymore of course. why would he? and he hasn't any other device. he shakes his head and tries again, )
I need to call someone to help. May I use your phone?
( polite. almost formal. not quite mechanical.
later, five will be angry with him. five will corner him more with his tenacious energy than his physicality. five will ask him what he was thinking. and four will tell him the truth: that i should save him, if i could.
if anyone else were there, they would find the overloaded cart behind four to be a strange and striking backdrop to this scene. the not yet ripe tomatoes, one smaller than the other. the books, a bit askew after their journey and also four bumping into the cart however lightly. clothes. the ceremonial blade. like the trappings of a life much longer than a high school student. something to pull out of an estate after they've been dead for fifty years and try to find out how much it is worth monetarily since no one's left alive who'd find the sentimental equivalent in it.
the hand not still holding elan ceres' hair back, goes carefully to his opposite shoulder in case he seems he might straight up keel over entirely, which he might.
a thought comes to him. the pinhole of something different than its surroundings.
yes, softly softly softly, it matters.
and in some ways, that in and of itself? is enough.
unnoticed: four's own heartrate too fast again, his own pallor disconcertingly off, as if echoing what he sees. none of it deters him from his methodical quiet actions though, and it would be hard to tell the difference in this and his natural deterioration. the frayed rope, unable to hold onto much; though it tries. )