( four has minutes before he goes through another wave not unlike the one elan ceres witnessed back in peil house. he considers the way elan ceres shivers, the way he lays himself down, the way his arm covers his face. there yet exists tension; discomfort, four discerns, and no wonder. a precaution in place to immediately reject or antidote a poison does not remove the effects of the attempt. the diploma is spoken for, but four cannot move elan ceres to the bed without moving that first. presumably there are his own quarters as well, but four has no idea where they are or if he could indeed get him there in his current state.
to say nothing of the fact that elan ceres hasn't asked or told him to do anything at all.
four's bigger problem.
(right?)
in this way, "sela" was both very similar and very different: waiting to notice what was wanted of him so he could anticipate and act upon it before being asked or demanded. even if four's memories of who he once was were returned to him, he wouldn't understand. he hadn't understood back then either, grasping at the straws of being worthy of being around, of that smile he never saw much of again after that first birthday. to be worthy. to be of use. that four is both the worst and the best predisposed for the job he signed up for has perhaps been clear early on to peil, to elan ceres. well equipped for coloring inside the lines but also prone to forgetting what those lines are, the curiosity shaped loneliness boxed up so many times he's lost track of it.
though certain things pushed him in the right direction.
which might also be the wrong one.
they call them enhanced persons but it's no secret they aren't viewed as people.
except elan ceres sort of has been treating him like that.
hasn't he.
he's bored. he'll stop soon. it's nothing.
things four fell back on. falls.
looking down at him now, it does not even occur to him that there is yet another opportunity here.
instead:
i wish i knew what is it you wanted from me?
ah.
the sinking feeling that falls through the burn of permet like something cold and heavy articulates itself; that sense of having disappointed. it pricks at muscle memory more than five years old at this point, confuses things even more, and leads four to curling his hands on his knees a little too tightly. if elan ceres will not give him direction, if he will not speak to him —
— is it dismissal?
he doesn't quite know what to do with that thought.
there are no hypotheticals in place because four has long believed he would die due to the nature of piloting, the inescapable toll despite four's long game of simply enduring. not even suletta mercury's devastating kindness could change that, or so he had come to the conclusion some time ago. the very concept of being discarded at this stage...
..his fingers curl so deeply into his palms the nails break the skin. he breathes. unsteady.
it's fine.
it's fine. because even when he's made human, four checks for his strings.
what makes sense? what is practical? he scans elan ceres again, gaze cataloging the sweat soaked clothes, the unwell pallor, the collapse of his body in the wake of fending of whatever poison. he blinks, and when he speaks it's soft in a way that could be taken for gentle because when four isn't cold that might very well be his default. though he would not take credit for that kind of compassion.
even if he cares; even if he should(n't). )
Should I acquire fresh clothing for you?
( the unspoken question: won't staying like that make you sick?
won't you feel worse?
if one of them was staring down at the other over the cracking edge of the cliff, it would be impossible at this precise moment to tell who looks from which vantage. )
no subject
to say nothing of the fact that elan ceres hasn't asked or told him to do anything at all.
four's bigger problem.
(right?)
in this way, "sela" was both very similar and very different: waiting to notice what was wanted of him so he could anticipate and act upon it before being asked or demanded. even if four's memories of who he once was were returned to him, he wouldn't understand. he hadn't understood back then either, grasping at the straws of being worthy of being around, of that smile he never saw much of again after that first birthday. to be worthy. to be of use. that four is both the worst and the best predisposed for the job he signed up for has perhaps been clear early on to peil, to elan ceres. well equipped for coloring inside the lines but also prone to forgetting what those lines are, the curiosity shaped loneliness boxed up so many times he's lost track of it.
though certain things pushed him in the right direction.
which might also be the wrong one.
they call them enhanced persons but it's no secret they aren't viewed as people.
except elan ceres sort of has been treating him like that.
hasn't he.
he's bored. he'll stop soon. it's nothing.
things four fell back on. falls.
looking down at him now, it does not even occur to him that there is yet another opportunity here.
instead:
i wish i knewwhat is it you wantedfrom me?ah.
the sinking feeling that falls through the burn of permet like something cold and heavy articulates itself; that sense of having disappointed. it pricks at muscle memory more than five years old at this point, confuses things even more, and leads four to curling his hands on his knees a little too tightly. if elan ceres will not give him direction, if he will not speak to him —
— is it dismissal?
he doesn't quite know what to do with that thought.
there are no hypotheticals in place because four has long believed he would die due to the nature of piloting, the inescapable toll despite four's long game of simply enduring. not even suletta mercury's devastating kindness could change that, or so he had come to the conclusion some time ago. the very concept of being discarded at this stage...
..his fingers curl so deeply into his palms the nails break the skin. he breathes. unsteady.
it's fine.
it's fine. because even when he's made human, four checks for his strings.
what makes sense? what is practical? he scans elan ceres again, gaze cataloging the sweat soaked clothes, the unwell pallor, the collapse of his body in the wake of fending of whatever poison. he blinks, and when he speaks it's soft in a way that could be taken for gentle because when four isn't cold that might very well be his default. though he would not take credit for that kind of compassion.
even if he cares; even if he should(n't). )
Should I acquire fresh clothing for you?
( the unspoken question: won't staying like that make you sick?
won't you feel worse?
if one of them was staring down at the other over the cracking edge of the cliff, it would be impossible at this precise moment to tell who looks from which vantage. )