#ikiruwill

It’s red. The floor and the ceiling. The window is continuous and glowing; a darkroom without the iodide. There is a single desk in the wide expanse of nothing and a shadow sits there, its glasses gleaming like the taillights of a car, only it does not veer away even if Shinji, bony and forever folded in on himself, may wish for nothing more. The air tastes disinfected. Like a hospital.

Toji Suzuhara, 14. I’ll be the Fourth if you promise to take care of my sister. His sister is an only child, now.

"I expected better from you," the shadow continues.

What's that sound? A perpetual hum, so low it might not be there at all. An air unit, maybe, or the buzzing in your ears. There is nothing between them save for the red and silence, the years they can’t make up for. He never unfolds his hands. "If you have something to say, say it now."

@ikiruwill​    : ──  Good tidings we bring 🎁! ( you’re awesome for doing this 💕 !! )  ──  ( send ‘Good Tidings We Bring!  🎁’ to my inbox and I’ll give you a treat!! )

░░░░░░ ☾ coming to japan seems to have burned the manners out of her. that’s the only explanation for it, really; she never would have felt this way if she was wrapped in the heart of her home. “you should know you have to walk a good five feet behind me.” she turns her nose up at shinji. “after that stunt you pulled yesterday, you should be grateful i’m even letting you walk near me at all.” she flicks her fingers at him. “go on.”

       Kaworu could hear it. 

       The faint sound of suffering that flourished in the hollow night air. He listened perhaps longer than he should. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. He heard it often among his final days and yet, something stirred in him each time. Was it pity? Fascination? The echoes of a sensation he that himself had long forgotten? He didn’t know but before he could rise and tend to the torments of his guest, he felt his mattress bend. 

       Heat. Kaworu could feel his heat immediately. His ear grew humid with Shinji’s breath as he settled meekly on the awkward stretch of bedding between its lip and the ashen-haired boy. There was no move to overtake the expanse of mattress that Kaworu had to himself, Shinji merely stayed perched on his side. He didn’t know Kaworu was awake. 

       So Kaworu stayed still a moment longer lingering on the thought that despite the boy’s reserve, he would press to his side for refuge from his mind’s terrors. To be gifted with this honour brought a smile to his lips. Perhaps that was inappropriate but it went without notice in the dark. 

     kaworu’s hair paints the concrete white -- fanned out like a brush around his head, a halo. angelic though he may be, he pales ( figuratively, literally ) in comparison to shinji ikari-kun. 

          they’ve spent a while like this; perhaps hours, perhaps minutes. time is a lilin concept, and kaworu has infinities. he’s much more invested in the boy lying beside him than in the stars, because shinji, himself, contains multitudes. he is proxima centauri: small, distant, dwindling. he is sirius: bright, blinding. he is polaris: guiding, anchoring, home. kaworu would not exist without him, he doesn’t think. he need not exist without him.

     “ what a fascinating place your mind is, ” he says, body turning onto its side and with it, his gaze. shinji has a beautiful profile. kaworu wants to commit it to memory. he already has. “ the stars are always changing. though they do not move, they die, and they are born. like humans, they are not eternal. ”

          shinji is drawn to the stars in the same way kaworu is drawn to the sea. it is easy to get lost in the vastness of these bodies of nature. as such, it is also easy to get lost in the vastness of one’s mortal form. shinji seeks an escape from his own mind. he hates himself, and yet, his self is the only thing that tethers him to this world. 

     “ tell me about them, ” he says. “ the stars -- what meaning do they hold for you ? ”

kamina nodded a few times, more to himself than to shinji.  ❝ man, your gunmen’s huge. ❞ he whislted as he grabbed his sharp, red sunglasses. he moved them to rest at an angle on his forehead, then he turned towards the other.

🍫 !!

    She doesn’t think much of it at first. Her eyes glaze over the open box of pocky briefly, strawberry-flavored, and with a shrug of her shoulders, plucks one right out of the box, into her mouth. Caught in between her teeth, she snaps the snack into two, humming appreciatively. It’s sweet, savory on her tongue, and she makes quick work on eating both halves before shamelessly going for another.

“You’re allowed to get mad.” It’s said almost idly, eyes just daring to brush over Shinji. He’s always so quiet, so reserved, so unloving of the power that’s been bestowed upon him with the EVA. Lelouch has seen the glances traveling between Ikari and his son and has gleaned some sort of understanding of the dynamic between the two, but... well, that was about it.

Those with no respect for the power in their hands / do they deserve to have it? It’s a question Lelouch ponders day in and day out as he watches the EVA’s pilots go about their daily missions.

Though he is a master at operating from the shadows, responsible for the tactics Ikari and Fuyutsuki generally dish out---------------Lelouch longs for the spotlight. There could be so much change he alone could bring. This world is not his, however, so he sticks to the shadows.