Disclaimer: I do not own Megami Kohousei or its wonderful characters – especially Ernest.
Notes: Well, after receiving some encouraging reviews (thanks, animechick and GoldenWings!), and Yele's comment about my fics being too short, I decided to turn "Candidate 39" into a multi-part fic. Please R&R. You'll probably get another chapter faster that way! lol
Warnings: In contrast to chapter 1, this chapter contains angst.
Chapter 2 - Jealousy
Candidate 39 woke up with a small yawn, dressed, and ate his GOA inspected, nutrients-laden, really awfully tasting, breakfast. If anyone had seen him in the corner of the lunchroom, they'd have laughed at his face. With his nose scrunched up, 39 looked like a rabbit. But no one did. That was until a booming voice yelled out from across the room.
"ERNEST!"
The other candidates paused in their meals to look around. They didn't know anyone named Ernest, although they sure knew who Gareas was. The green haired boy was notorious for harassing strangers, but in a strangely friendly way that had them chatting like old buds in no time. He'd punch you good-naturedly in the arm if you told a good joke, then laugh, not realizing he had somehow put to much power in his aim and left you with a purple bruise. So, it was surprising that he'd befriend someone as delicate looking as 39. So surprising, that now most of the candidates in the lunchroom (numbers 30 thru 45) knew the shy, blond telepath's name who barely spoke two words in a day.
"Hello, Garu."
Gareas beamed as he took a seat next to his friend.
"You gotta see my new repairer. She's got legs from here to the sky."
Ernest had heard. Although they'd only met their repairers yesterday, he'd gotten wind of Gareas punching 35's lights out when he wolf-whistled at Leena-san. He took a sip of his drink, which was a poor, vitamin-enhanced version of milk. It tasted awful too.
Gareas frowned when he found Ernest looking disinterested, "So, what about yours?"
"Oh, Tune-san? She's nice…I suppose."
In truth, the girl was so flustered that she had barely kept eye contact with Ernest, and had tugged on her sleeves the whole day. Ernest remembered Tune's striking blue hair, but he could recall little else. Frankly, it had been embarrassing to try to reach out to a stranger he'd never set eyes on before, especially since he'd actually been trying to avoid reaching out to anybody since he got to GOA.
"Aww…don't worry, you still have me!" Gareas grinned, and batted his eyelashes. Ernest choked on his fake milk. Gareas' laugh was like a braying donkey's. Sometimes, he really wished Garu had not reached out to him – he couldn't recall coming so close to death so many times in his life since Garu had decided to become his friend. Then, he felt Garu's concerned hand on his back.
Seconds later, Leena, a cute girl with blue eyes and long yellow-white hair, entered into the lunchroom to escort Garu to their early morning training. As he watched the pair leave, Garu saluting cockily as he did so, Ernest had to admit he was sad to see Garu go. But there was also a strange type of feeling in his heart that he had only felt before in the minds of others.
It was jealousy.
So, Ernest felt jealous. If he had been Garu, he'd just have shrugged it off and dealt with more pressing matters – like impressing Leena with his battle prowess. But Ernest was the type of person to dwell on things. So during the mid-afternoon training, when all the late 30s were practicing together, he kept his eye on the green-haired boy. He watched with mixed feelings as Leena brushed a shoulder or hand, or how the other candidates circled, and hi-fived Garu when he stepped out of the simulation game. For their givers, they were such thoughtless, casual touches.
"That was great Gareas-kun!"
"Wow! How did you move so fast?"
"Hey Garu, you'll teach me how to do that drop-kick, right?"
From his corner of the room, Ernest said nothing.
That night, alone in his room, Ernest contemplated the lines in the palm of his hand. He recalled his first meeting with Gareas, and the warmth of his hand on his shoulder. Somehow, bitterness had been mixed into the fondness of that memory.
39 realized he was crying.
To Be Continued…