( later, four will consider the wrenching sound of a gasp from elan ceres, will go over it in his head the physicality of him both directed towards himself and then also at four, will turn over and over the happenings of this occurrence that should be stranger than it is. he will not, as it turns out, know what to do with it. five will ask him why he tried to help at all, even in a way that was rejected. there was, implied, an opportunity there after all. and four won't have an answer, which will somehow make five even more fed up with him than if he had an answer he disliked. but later.
for now, four has:
the debilitating calm that keeps him grounded, a flicker of pain when elan ceres' hand encircles his wrist, awareness when the shift happens and though elan ceres is in no way "okay" something has given way, and —
— no idea of what to do.
the seemingly unrelated direction confuses him. please from that mouth confuses him. elan ceres confuses him, and four —
— four hesitates.
not that it matters.
after all, it's only a second, two at most, but unignorable in how it is dissimilar from how he would normally respond: doing so immediately, naturally. wordless, he does remove them, setting them on the floor, keenly aware of the glass-like clink of the beads on the industrial floor. one rolls askew from the other but he doesn't make any effort to grab it. instead, his gaze moves again to elan ceres' shirt and then, coincidentally, to the piece of paper on his bed, then back to elan ceres, this time meeting his eyes directly. this close, and after the unavoidable collapse of would-be death throes, it would hardly surprise anyone to see him looking haggard; but it's not just that.
though not a people person, four has not survived on reticence alone though he might have tried if he could. there was also observation.
refined down to the shape of his nails, four can see the tiny inconsistencies all the clearer. the lay of his lashes, the now normalizing breadth of green in his eyes, the set of those eyes, even the angle of his nose, shape of mouth. nothing is perfect even if six approaches that and a rumored seven even more so. that's already three removed from the project four was at the time. and it's not like he doesn't read his own reports; his shortcomings and disappointments are well known to him.
not that it matters.
elan ceres' eyes returning to normal is a good sign. his breaths somehow matching to four's might also be a good sign, though he isn't one hundred percent certain of it; it sounds less like a struggle at least. despite his outward calm and inward calm — useless if not, if not, if not... —, his pulse races even now that he's been let go. it trips over itself in his chest and makes a mess of the many neatly sealed boxes stacked just so.
not that it matters.
subconscious stress, four's weakened constitution, it's a tightrope walk over and over, but he hasn't lost his balance in any way he can't take back just yet. strangely, he doesn't feel what his body cannot help but belie: red and white the lengths of his arms, up from under his collar, the glimmer of it making him all the more translucent. yet his frame remains normal, all of his well disciplined nothingness that often gets mistaken for a kind of bizarre poise, all in a moment that does not call for it.
unconscious unconscious unconscious: i don't know / i am not afraid to die / i don't know / i'm worried/ i don't know / i don't want someone elseyou to die, that's why i — / i don't know.
he does the only thing he can think to do, kneeling on the floor and ready to catch elan ceres if need be: he waits. )
no subject
for now, four has:
the debilitating calm that keeps him grounded, a flicker of pain when elan ceres' hand encircles his wrist, awareness when the shift happens and though elan ceres is in no way "okay" something has given way, and —
— no idea of what to do.
the seemingly unrelated direction confuses him. please from that mouth confuses him. elan ceres confuses him, and four —
— four hesitates.
not that it matters.
after all, it's only a second, two at most, but unignorable in how it is dissimilar from how he would normally respond: doing so immediately, naturally. wordless, he does remove them, setting them on the floor, keenly aware of the glass-like clink of the beads on the industrial floor. one rolls askew from the other but he doesn't make any effort to grab it. instead, his gaze moves again to elan ceres' shirt and then, coincidentally, to the piece of paper on his bed, then back to elan ceres, this time meeting his eyes directly. this close, and after the unavoidable collapse of would-be death throes, it would hardly surprise anyone to see him looking haggard; but it's not just that.
though not a people person, four has not survived on reticence alone though he might have tried if he could. there was also observation.
refined down to the shape of his nails, four can see the tiny inconsistencies all the clearer. the lay of his lashes, the now normalizing breadth of green in his eyes, the set of those eyes, even the angle of his nose, shape of mouth. nothing is perfect even if six approaches that and a rumored seven even more so. that's already three removed from the project four was at the time. and it's not like he doesn't read his own reports; his shortcomings and disappointments are well known to him.
not that it matters.
elan ceres' eyes returning to normal is a good sign. his breaths somehow matching to four's might also be a good sign, though he isn't one hundred percent certain of it; it sounds less like a struggle at least. despite his outward calm and inward calm — useless if not, if not, if not... —, his pulse races even now that he's been let go. it trips over itself in his chest and makes a mess of the many neatly sealed boxes stacked just so.
not that it matters.
subconscious stress, four's weakened constitution, it's a tightrope walk over and over, but he hasn't lost his balance in any way he can't take back just yet. strangely, he doesn't feel what his body cannot help but belie: red and white the lengths of his arms, up from under his collar, the glimmer of it making him all the more translucent. yet his frame remains normal, all of his well disciplined nothingness that often gets mistaken for a kind of bizarre poise, all in a moment that does not call for it.
unconscious unconscious unconscious: i don't know / i am not afraid to die / i don't know / i'm worried/ i don't know / i don't want someone else
youto die, that's why i — / i don't know.he does the only thing he can think to do, kneeling on the floor and ready to catch elan ceres if need be: he waits. )