[ if kaworu was anything like strohl, he might not have even noticed anything else was going on in the simulation room when he realized anders was gone. for strohl, it was tunnel vision the moment he looked to his left and realized vi was gone.
he'd gotten up then, stormed out of the room, and made a noise - a scream, the guttural, feral scream of a person in abject grief, nearly a howl of fury and misery, more animal than person - followed moments later by the sound of shattering glass and sparks flying.
that was hours ago, now, though. he finds himself instead at kaworu's lounge. knocks on the door, late into the night, and says, ]
Nagisa. [ his voice is rough, sandpaper glass - the sound of someone who's been crying, gruff and short-syllabled, but persisting. ]
[Kaworu had fallen asleep, head on Anders' shoulder, like he'd done many times before, always safe and comfortable. When he'd awoken on the cold ground, he'd decided to believe that Anders had simply woken up before him as was normal.
Except he knew deep down that this was not normal. So he'd gotten up and just ran away. Ran before anyone could call his name. Ran before his body even remember how to do things like create tears or scream. Ran to try to find a place where this wasn't true, where this wasn't happening, that Anders could just be in the next shop, in the next restaurant, in the next corner, in the distance.
Running away from the despair pooling inside his chest.
Hours later, he's not in his lounge, he's in the hallway when he sees Stohl, dry-eyed but oddly damp.]
Don't call me that.
[Only Shinji Ikari ever called him that. A boy he hadn't seen in over a year now. And yet it still feels like derisive comment.]
he opens the door, and he'll see strohl sort of the opposite. dry, himself, but his eyes are wet and red. he's not crying anymore, not now, but it's clear he has been since the announcement dropped. now he's just... hollow.
he rubs his face, nods. weirdly, this comment is like - normal? normal enough. it's the first non sympathy he's had all fucking day, and maybe that's actually what he wants. ]
Kaworu. [ corrected. rough. he sucks in a breath, rubs his wrist across his eyes. ] You need to eat.
[It's not even accusatory in tone. It's said as though commenting on the color of a wall.
He hasn't cried. He doesn't know why. He feels like his heart has been torn out, leaving nothing but an aching, gaping hole inside of his body. It hurts to even breathe. Every minute ticking away without Anders feels more and more unbearable.
[He just... stands there. He doesn't know what else to say. Or what to do. He should let Strohl keep his promise but it feels like he can't remember how to even exist, let alone eat.]
[ with a little nod, he'll make his way over to their kitchen, rudely poking around for ingredients to make -- something. nothing fancy. like a grilled cheese, or something easy to eat.
he pulls out a potato from their pantry, and sets it down on a cutting board. grabs a knife. pushes it across the table to wherever kaworu is. ]
Here. Cut this. Long lines. Don't think about it, just move the knife.
[He does it. Why not? He has nothing else to do. He thinks about how he could just stick the knife into himself. Just to see what happens. But certainly the rules probably wouldn't allow it. At most it would cause their hosts some trouble.
[ thank you for not doing that he would've gotten tackled across the fucking counter
at any rate. he just puts another potato in front of him. monotonous, easy - stupid little tasks, like making a stupid little sandwich and some french fries, like trying to pretend the entire world hasn't fallen apart around your ears. sometimes in the face of such devastating loss, that's all you can do. ]
He keeps cutting. Cutting and cutting and cutting. His hands start trembling. Suddenly there's blood on the cutting board and he wonders if he's slipped and cut himself but...
No there's just blood dripping from his nose. He catches some in his palm and stares at it. How much blood will there be tomorrow...?]
[ NO THANK YOU!!!!!! picks up this fucking waterbottle under my arm
it takes strohl a second too - he looks up to say something, to collect the first set of potato cuttings from kaworu when he sees the blood. it startles him, all sorts of at odds on edge, and he makes a sharp, surprised noise. ]
Kaworu -- [ and before he's even realizing, he grabs a paper towel and immediately gets into his space, nudging the cutting board away and putting it up to his nose. there's concern in the way he says his name, the immediate surge of worry and care in his soft-- ] Hey, hey. Take it easy.
week 1 friday
he'd gotten up then, stormed out of the room, and made a noise - a scream, the guttural, feral scream of a person in abject grief, nearly a howl of fury and misery, more animal than person - followed moments later by the sound of shattering glass and sparks flying.
that was hours ago, now, though. he finds himself instead at kaworu's lounge. knocks on the door, late into the night, and says, ]
Nagisa. [ his voice is rough, sandpaper glass - the sound of someone who's been crying, gruff and short-syllabled, but persisting. ]
no subject
Except he knew deep down that this was not normal. So he'd gotten up and just ran away. Ran before anyone could call his name. Ran before his body even remember how to do things like create tears or scream. Ran to try to find a place where this wasn't true, where this wasn't happening, that Anders could just be in the next shop, in the next restaurant, in the next corner, in the distance.
Running away from the despair pooling inside his chest.
Hours later, he's not in his lounge, he's in the hallway when he sees Stohl, dry-eyed but oddly damp.]
Don't call me that.
[Only Shinji Ikari ever called him that. A boy he hadn't seen in over a year now. And yet it still feels like derisive comment.]
no subject
he opens the door, and he'll see strohl sort of the opposite. dry, himself, but his eyes are wet and red. he's not crying anymore, not now, but it's clear he has been since the announcement dropped. now he's just... hollow.
he rubs his face, nods. weirdly, this comment is like - normal? normal enough. it's the first non sympathy he's had all fucking day, and maybe that's actually what he wants. ]
Kaworu. [ corrected. rough. he sucks in a breath, rubs his wrist across his eyes. ] You need to eat.
no subject
[It's not even accusatory in tone. It's said as though commenting on the color of a wall.
He hasn't cried. He doesn't know why. He feels like his heart has been torn out, leaving nothing but an aching, gaping hole inside of his body. It hurts to even breathe. Every minute ticking away without Anders feels more and more unbearable.
But the tears don't come.]
no subject
[ said at first - voice still rough, the sheer opposite of kaworu. he shakes his head. ]
... And you need to eat, so you can have your strength for tomorrow - to do what he would do. [ get justice. ]
no subject
[He lifts his chin a little to look at Strohl directly in the eyes. His pupils are red, unnatural and eerie.]
I am prepared to do what needs to be done.
[Not necessarily justice.]
no subject
Good. [ that rough, sandpaper-scratched tone remains. ] That makes two of us.
no subject
[He just... stands there. He doesn't know what else to say. Or what to do. He should let Strohl keep his promise but it feels like he can't remember how to even exist, let alone eat.]
no subject
Let me in. [ inside to the lounge. if they have a kitchen, that is. ]
no subject
no subject
he pulls out a potato from their pantry, and sets it down on a cutting board. grabs a knife. pushes it across the table to wherever kaworu is. ]
Here. Cut this. Long lines. Don't think about it, just move the knife.
cw: self harm mention
He just cuts until there's no more more to cut.]
no subject
at any rate. he just puts another potato in front of him. monotonous, easy - stupid little tasks, like making a stupid little sandwich and some french fries, like trying to pretend the entire world hasn't fallen apart around your ears. sometimes in the face of such devastating loss, that's all you can do. ]
no subject
He keeps cutting. Cutting and cutting and cutting. His hands start trembling. Suddenly there's blood on the cutting board and he wonders if he's slipped and cut himself but...
No there's just blood dripping from his nose. He catches some in his palm and stares at it. How much blood will there be tomorrow...?]
no subject
it takes strohl a second too - he looks up to say something, to collect the first set of potato cuttings from kaworu when he sees the blood. it startles him, all sorts of at odds on edge, and he makes a sharp, surprised noise. ]
Kaworu -- [ and before he's even realizing, he grabs a paper towel and immediately gets into his space, nudging the cutting board away and putting it up to his nose. there's concern in the way he says his name, the immediate surge of worry and care in his soft-- ] Hey, hey. Take it easy.