Disclaimer: I don't own Neon Genesis Evangelion.
Asphyxiation
Posted February Ninth, 2008
Kaworu's hands used to pause there, used to flit over the collar of his starched-white shirt and the sensitive skin of his neck. Used to hang over his shoulder, used to voice questions in the space right below his ear, amused in the way that Shinji himself could never be. Kaworu's breath used to ghost over the area when sleeping - or awake, because sometimes there was no difference - and once, once, he touched the other boy there himself. With his own hands in fit of rage that he regretted almost most of all.
There's nothing but silence now, because in the quiet he can - remember, hear, the two are the same - be comforted in the fact that the sight of messy hair and rumpled clothing could still meet him, again, in the daylight hours. He's breathing air, not blood. He's tasting skin, not LCL. He's hearing voices, slightly upset and desperate and disappointed, not the ticking of clocks or the rustling of sheets as seconds, minutes, hours pass him by.
The dust on the countertops has always been there.
He finds himself trailing a finger along his throat, seeing the marks that are left. Because every time Kaworu touched him, every time that gaze had reached his own, there had been a mark. Otherwise he could fool himself into thinking nothing was ever there, that those red, red eyes had never fixated on him in the first place.
That he had never existed.
There are fleeting bruises - Why do you hate me - a scuffle that he remembers clearly, as if it happened hours before. Because it happened hours before. Because those paper-white hands are at his throat and he can feel them squeezing, choking, determined in a way he only wished he was, and the shortness of breath transports him to an earlier time of interrupted showers and the invasion of personal space.
He can see a faint smile to his right, the grip is weakening, something like a mumble is spoken as he slides wearily off the bed and onto the floor. Shinji is almost positive that a door clicks shut as he rests on the ground, gasping and coughing. Kaworu will return tomorrow he thinks, and now time starts again with minute movements on the kitchen wall.
The counters. The third child pauses and entertains the idea of wiping them off, then shakes his head in dismissal. The dust on the countertops has always been there, and he walks away, fingering the collar of his starched-white shirt.
Inside his room, underneath cotton sheets, he hears the voice of a boy who is long-gone. He feels skin, alarmingly cold in the still warmth of the night, press against his own. And he thinks, maybe, if his breathing falls short, that he won't need a paper bag
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Oh... man. This was really a hiatus, wasn't it? I'm really sorry! Once everything ended, I was distracted by my new school and joining the anime club and everything. I haven't even caught up with Tsubasa or finished reading the Haruhi light novels. (I've been watching "Welcome to the NHK", "Twelve Kingdoms", "Revolutionary Girl Utena" and I just started "Lucky Star" too.)
Also, I got a new notebook. Red. One of those huge, 5-subject ones you never think you could possibly fill up.