Even had not stopped moving in what seemed like a few days now.
Yes, normally, his work did consume him, distracting him from most situations, tearing him away from nearly all emotional connections, but there was a deadened quality to his eyes as he wrote, as he read, as he studied. They did not quite seem to realize that people were around him, or that time was passing continually. They did not comprehend the passing of light to darkness and back again with the glorious sunrise and fall. They only seemed to comprehend motion, study and science.
He did not speak much anymore. It was one of the first warnings that something was going terribly awry. He no longer jibed or nagged or ordered and complained. It had only been a few lonely days, but he had hardly said a word and to the other apprentices of the castle, this was not only rare, it was unnatural. The halls of Ansem's castle without the ringing, jarring voice of Even to keep things in check was no longer itself anymore, it was haunted.
Braig had managed to get a rise out of him, in the only way that the one eyed guard had deemed suitable.
"He wasn't even your son!" He had sneered. He made such a good show of his arrogance, Dilan almost forgotten that he had heard him sobbing in the bathroom not two days prior. On any normal occasion, Even would have lashed out at such a blatant disregard, not only for his emotions but also their status difference. Braig had wanted it, longed for it, some semblance of noisy normalcy among all of this quiet chaos. He wanted to hear Even shriek and rant and go on for far longer than necessary about propriety.
He had not expected that blank stare, those empty eyes, that momentary, pregnant pause when one could almost hear the thrum of blood beyond their very flesh.
"I know." He answered, neither solemnly nor carefully, but the awkwardness in his voice was unmistakable. He cast his glance around quickly, as though just having realized where he was after waking in a foreign bed. With a jittery sigh, he exited the commons for his labs, retreating to a cold sanctuary and millions more scientific journals to plunge into. Night had fallen again before Even had a chance to notice it. He really didn't notice much of anything between the flipping of pages, the hiss of bubbling chemicals, and the harsh glow of an overhead light.
Which meant that Xehanort had little to no trouble finding his way in unnoticed. He stood before Even, the other man's poison green eyes all but glued to the text before him, when he would withdraw from it in a sudden flurry of motion to attend to the experiment beside him. His fingers were jittery, his calculations turning sloppy and unfocused, but he didn't seem to notice. His wide eyes simply didn't see.
"Even." The fellow apprentice greeted. The man in question jumped, sending his pencil flying. Oddly enough, he did not grumble or moan about the interruption; he picked up his pencil and took a deep, shaky breath.
"Xehanort." He greeted with a speedy nod before turning to walk away once again. The young man caught him by his slender arm and pulled him back, not at all surprised to feel how he had thinned, how rapidly he had wasted away beneath his heavy white coat.
"He's gone now." Xehanort dug to the root of the problem where no one else quite dared to step, fearing for a reaction which would shatter the fragile world which the apprentices had built up until this point, their glass walls modeled and reinforced with a lack of guidance from their supposed 'Master'. Even reached out, taking hold of a small pair of protective lab goggles, mundane and yellowed with use after all these years. He stretched them absentmindedly between his slender fingers.
"He wore these, you know. They were too big for his small head, they used to slip down his nose." Even held his breath. Xehanort waited patiently.
A painfully dry sob wracked his thin frame as he seemed to do his damnedest to hold himself upright, to deny it had happened to begin with, or that it was persisting and continuing. He did not cry, could not cry: the shock was too fresh, the wound too new and his tears could only be reflected in the absent hope that this was all a nightmare. A whispering flow of words which sounded oddly like, 'My fault' as they escaped his thin lips. The overhead light was not forgiving, a stark shadow was cast upon the scientist's face, showing every hour's lack of sleep in deep and forbidding contrast.
Xehanort watched him, his golden eyes pensive, patient and ohsovery careful, but not comforting. He leaned forward, drawing the apprentice close in what might have been a loving grasp, embracing him not unlike a vice, and murmuring smoothly in silken words, "You're right."
Even went absolutsely rigid in response, his breath caught in his throat. The other man held him fast, feeling that he was about to give way and pass out after days of mistreating and malnourishing his body and mind. "But I can bring him back."
He ended in an imploring hiss, absolutely sure of his chances now. "Side with me."