a finale unfolds {Eiji}

[Eiji Almasy.]

He felt like breaking something other than glass. She looked desolate, sad and he didn't know what to do, to say, or how to act. There was sensations of hunger, but he couldn't move from where he stood. And he felt agitated, that usual restlessness of his occurring, but his fingers were frozen in their place, and his feet felt no secret beat. He was so painfully awkward, but there was a disinterested look in his eyes, and his countenance was all casual; he couldn't tell her anything, otherwise he would end up revealing even things he didn't intend to.

"Why doesn't he want to?" he questioned, appearing methodical when really, he was all turmoil and uncertainty inside, fluctuating blankness and coldness.
"It's almost unnatural," he said, unmindful of the situation and it took him a second to remember to curb the cruelty that ran rampant whenever he was in one of his moods. He remembered not to look at her directly then, because the implications would have been devastating, even if unintentional.

He placed his empty glass painstakingly softly on the counter, and then leaned himself forward, almost inside her personal space but yet not quite.
"Doesn't he hurt?" he asked her, "can't he feel? Or is he afraid of feeling too much?"
Eiji shook his head, but tried to then consider a proper answer. Not everyone was like him, so it would be hard not to tell Kara what to do; but he had never been a fan of being walked over, and so his sometimes heavy-handedness, was hard to repress.

"If he has a character flaw, he needs to get over it," he told her, not quite matter-of-fact but it was clear he thought it necessary, "he needs to learn how to stand up for himself; needs to know that no one has to put up with stupid shit like that. I wouldn't."

[ĸara вelova★]

His words were sharp, and cut into her. Kara had to stare intently at her wine to keep from reacting in a way that would give her up. It was just a story... stay calm...

"Maybe he's not natural. Maybe he doesn't hurt. He doesn't let them control how he feels, instead he wills himself to be numb to the things that don't matter..."

When the rythm of Eiji's words picked up, and he pushed on her what he would do, Kara scoffed.

"He's not you, Eiji," Kara took a larger mouthful of wine this time, holding it over her tongue for a painfully long second before she allowed herself to speak again, "He's far from flawless."

And in Kara's eyes, it was difficult for Eiji to do something flawed. He was her first friend, her only friend, and she had nothing else to compare him to. He was perfect, and sometimes it was painful. She wanted to be a good friend to him; he had so many, so many to compare her to. And she knew that she wasn't a good enough friend to him. He'd said before that friends were honest, friends trusted each other. She could feel his want to trust her, but also his inability to do so. For one split second, she wished Eiji knew everything about her, knew why she was the way she was. But that one moment was wasted drinking from the expensive goblet in her hands, and it passed by the time it was set shakily on the island.

"Am I a project to you?" Kara asked finally, breaking the topic of bullying again. "Do you pity me?"

Kara could make herself numb to the words Jessica Rey tossed at her, but it didn't mean the words bounced off her. In her lonesome she studied each and every sentence, dissected them. Some stuck, some dissolved into meaninglessness. These ones had clung to her mind like a bacteria though, even though she'd tried to dismiss it. She'd been able to pacify herself in that one moment, reassure herself that Eiji saw her as an enigma, not a lowly project. She'd told herself that Eiji liked being with her, and even admitted that she liked being with him too.

But now she would learn the truth, because Eiji didn't ever lie to Kara. It made her sad that she continuously did, but it was hard to kick a habit of self-preservation that was nearly sixteen years in the making. But she still felt that longing to give Eiji something of herself, something important that would be enough to hold onto him. But what could ever be that magnitude?

[Eiji Almasy.]

She'd said something potentially meaningful, and it was a testament to just how much of a poor character he was, when he intentionally looked over it. He was at a habit of avoiding anything that was at risk of turning his life upside down. Knowing was one thing, which he did a lot of, but actually acknowledging it and confronting, was something he didn't prefer. Kara was complicated, which was the best description he had. She was fragile and better left alone; if he touched her, he'd ruin it all.

He was actively blocking out everything except for thoughts of Alexander Mendes, Kara's protagonist, when she threw at him something completely insane.
"What?"* he demanded, and if he hadn't already put his glass down, he would have flung it somewhere to the side. Did she really think like this?

"Why would you say that?" he asked her and that hot flash of anger receded to vestiges of hurt he hadn't known from her since they'd first met.
"Is that what you think of yourself? Of me?"
He was animated again, hands tight and arms stiff, pacing the length of the kitchen. His expression was screened but the green of his eyes was fierce and cutting; he refrained from looking directly at her, gaze passing over her heavily, settling for one severe moment before moving elsewhere, and then over again.

"Is it this Mendes kid? Are you protecting him with that stupid story? Who told you to say something like that?"
Because there had to be someone else; it would hurt him tremendously if she really was this negative, if all she thought was the lowest. His head was a whirlwind and his skin felt chaffed; there was an irritation about him that he couldn't be rid of. She felt alien to him then, and he wracked himself to figure out a way to make it all stop.

[ĸara вelova★]

She jumped at the sudden pulse of emotion and the volume of his single, incredulous syllable. A passion she'd never felt before, the passion behind his indignance, was nearly crippling, and Kara fisted the stem of her glass in two hands. She stared at the liquid as it sloshed around in her trembling hold, and the nerves in her elbows protested as she leaned all her weight on them; her legs weren't doing a good enough job supporting her.

"No," Kara said, voice sounding feeble after all the energy Eiji had put into his. She wasn't sure what she was saying 'no' to. No, she didn't think that way. No, she didn't believe he would think that way. No, it isn't the Mendes kid. No she wasn't protecting him. No, no one told her to say it. She was saying no to everything. She was saying no to him.

"You're... that's not it."

And it wasn't. Kara's desire to be honest was winning, probably at the least beneficial time. Eiji wouldn't see her words as Kara opening up to him, but rather as compensation to make up for the state she'd put him in. He might not understand, but that was not the reason she spoke truthfully now. She became honest because Eiji deserved nothing less, and Kara was already as low as they came.

"I don't write. I don't protect people. I don't do what other people tell me to," She took a breath, her grip on the glass tightening, "I didn't mean to insult you. I didn't think you'd react like that."

She looked at him... really looked at him, her piercing blue eyes fiery with the same intensity she'd used to make him back off when they first met. Only it wasn't meant to intimidate or scare. The fire was a soft blue, not an angry glare, but the emotion she never let anyone see swirled beneath the surface to reveal she was not nearly as stable as she pretended to be.

The look he was giving her puzzled her, and being able to feel how unfamiliar she was to him... she could practically see herself through his eyes. This is how he felt when he caught just a glimpse of who she really was. Her teeth scored her lower lip as she bit back tears. She couldn't tell him anymore, couldn't show him anymore. She didn't want to lose him, and the selfish girl she was didn't care if he never knew the real her. If staying Eiji's friend meant concealing who she was, she'd do it and never think twice about it. She'd swallow the honesty he believed he wanted from her and refuse to let him see it. She'd remain the quiet girl he thought he knew.

He didn't know how valuable he was to her. And then she realized she lied.

I don't protect people.

She choked. Coughing on the breath she'd just tried to take, stuttering over her own epiphany, Kara tipped her head back so she could stare at the ceiling. Blinking back the evidence of her pain, the frail brunette took a deep breath and calmed herself, gift included.

"I'm sorry," She apologized. She was sorry she'd nearly cried in front of him. She was sorry she'd upset him too. And most of all, she was sorry he'd never know the truth.

[Eiji Almasy.]

"Kara," he said, in a tone that was reminiscent of a time that could have been. He did this; made her cry and fall apart. His righteous anger faded, turning on him and the guilt churned and burned at him from the inside, until he was crossing the counter and before her. He took her hands in his, holding on tight because he couldn't have her pull away, not when it was all so precarious and he didn't understand why.

"Kara," he said again, that imploring note in her name and he stared at her through pleading eyes, "none of that matters. None of it."
She was confessing to him truths that he already knew. The sentiment was read but he felt that there was something else, something that she held from him but had right in front of him; they were just words inevitably, but they meant something, to her, and so they meant something to him too.

One obstinate grip on her lessened, and he let go entirely to tuck a lock of hair behind her ears. He wasn't afraid of touching her, not exactly, he was only more wary of her withdrawing from him. His fingers grazed her cheek, and he wished she wouldn't look away; he wished she would share everything, even if it meant that he would have to stand to see her cry.

"Don't cry," he murmured, quiet and ashamed, "I'm not worth it."
There was indecision on his face, uncertainty and an immense level of wretchedness; he was a great lie. He knew much of misery, and those things similar to it; Kara was a mask of those things, something quite like the one he wore.

He gazed at her blue-chipped fingers in silence, his own still curled around them, and he wondered if he could have it both ways.
"I need you to be honest with me," he told her, enunciation slow and rounded, of the utmost seriousness, "I need you to tell me what this is about, Kara, please."

[ĸara вelova★]

Her name, tender and softly spoken, caressed with emotion so endearing it nearly undid her, caused the girl to find a spot on that ceiling and stare at it for as long as possible. She couldn't look at him now. Not now. Because he would look at her, see the mess she was behind that mask, and figure out Kara wasn't worth cleaning up. Kara treated the wine with more care than she'd ever treated herself. But then his words, coupled with his fingertips, stroked the side of her face and surprisingly she turned to him, brain shut off. What she saw in his expression made her turn away as he'd expected, but tears were blinked back and having never been shed, posture regained, Kara was able to look at Eiji and smirk. It wasn't nearly as callous as she wanted it to be, but it was good enough to accompany her following words.

"You give yourself too much credit. I already know you're not worth it," but to soften the bite, her smirk turned into a moment of a genuine smile before it disappeared altogether, however the smile lingered in her eyes that didn't quite reach his.

As he beseeched her for honesty, with the most sincere, earnest method, she had but a moment's hesitation where she could have buckled. Could have caved. But she didn't, because if she had, she would have dissintigrated into an unrecognizeable shell of Kara Belova. She would be more of a stranger to him than when she'd asked if he pitied her. Instead she shook her head, and tried to smile as she stared down at his hands over hers.

"It was about me. But I've figured it out. Thank you."

It was a lie used in context, but if Eiji extracted it from their queer conversation altogether he'd find the sadness that underlined the words to be ruthlessly honest. Kara had figured it out, and that 'it' was who she had to be with Eiji. She knew he wouldn't want fake; Eiji deserved a real friend. Kara told herself that by pretending to be a good friend to him would be better than being an emotional wreck he wasn't ready for.

Because Kara was going to break down one day, and as much as she'd hope for his arms to hold her, and his lips to mouth 'Everything will be alright', it wouldn't be him.

She'd never allow it.

[Eiji Almasy.]

He could only describe it as a separation, a sense of crumbling and failure. She was withdrawing from him physically, he could feel it and with it there were claws scraping in his insides. He didn't doubt the truth of her words but she'd become a scab, a wound on him that was drying over and refusing to heal. He didn't imagine she realized the effect she'd put him through, and so he just nodded, a slight smile on his face and the color of his eyes suspiciously dull.

"Okay," he said, nodding again because it was all he could do; acknowledge her decision. He couldn't change her mind, not when she'd been always so set to keep him out. Slowly, he disentangled his fingers from hers, one hand running through his hair before joining the other inside his pockets. He stepped back from her, the proximity suffocating, and he felt an inexplicable sadness that hadn't plagued him since a few months before; whatever it was that she had figured out, it was hurting him a lot more than it should.

"I'm going to-," he began, but was at a loss for words; leave. He wanted to leave, get some air, drink, seek his best friend, talk to Draco, find a girl; the girl, and just sink.

"I'm here," he said at last, a forced promise even as he averted from looking at her too long, "for you, if you ever want to talk. We're friends, right?"

[ĸara вelova★]

Panic. He was going to go. That wasn't what this was about. She hadn't meant to drive him away, but she knew he could sense her dishonesty - he was getting better at it, and soon he'd be able to figure out exactly when she wasn't telling the truth. He might even be able to see through her, and figure out what it was she couldn't tell him. She was still panicking noiselessly and motionlessly when his sentence changed into something less horrid in context, but something with a more fearful meaning to her.

"Friends..." she repeated, her voice a little unsteady. She couldn't look at him either. "Yes..."

Kara hesitated. She wanted to do something for him, to make it easier. It was hard not to sense his turmoil when he was standing right there with her.

"Eiji," she said his name in a much more stable voice, as though this conversation had no effect on her emotionally whatsoever. Her tone was bland and robotic, and she tried not to think about what a harsh contrast it was against his beautiful name, "can I show you something?"

She looked at him with level eyes, breathing unevenly. Everything about her was an oxymoron. She looked calm, cold even from the outside, but inwardly there was a battle raging and she knew that she'd lose it, it was only a matter of time. She was trying to look nonchalant by posing the question, but she was somewhat hoping he'd tell her 'no' and politely ask her to leave.

She wanted to show him part of her life. It would explain so much about her, but not yet everything. It would help him understand why she was such a freak, and maybe even help unravel the mystery that was Kara Belova.

Doesn't he hurt? Can't he feel? Or is he afraid of feeling too much?

The coolness of her eyes flickered into something more meaningful.

[Eiji Almasy.]

He wanted to choose to see, and he wanted to not be so susceptible to the easy way out. So much had changed in the months between that January talk with Kellan, another of his friends, and now; he wouldn't be so quick or sure in responding that he was his own biggest regret, but the truth lay there, in that he was something much like a mistake. She was brimming with hints and their exchanges didn't leave much to the imagination; how she hid now, and he was the one to run. It was simple, and he turned away.

He wondered then, the significance in his choice, and what it meant because he had made it under sound mind; did that mean something? And was it further meaning behind another? He returned his eyes to her then and looked; looked, looked, saw and forced a glass wall before her. She was a list of needs, each one different and opposing to each other; he could read her almost as well as he couldn't, the only outcome being his confusion. He wanted then, more than he ever had, to give her everything, which would consist of all the things he couldn't, and so he said yes.

He nodded to the unknown and murmured;
"Yes," which was silent but clear all together. Yes, because he would trust her this once, wholly, to not lead him wrong. And then, because he was mostly hopeless, he ventured;
"will we be leaving?"

[ĸara вelova★]

She hadn't realized she'd stopped breathing before the moment she was able to again. His single word started her heartbeat again, and she lived once more. His question, young in its context, made her smile because it made her feel older; as though she had the power in this situation. And she did really, because Eiji was depending on her to not be herself and do something very un-Kara like.

And in this moment alone, he could hold her to that, and not be disappointed. Shaking her head ever so slightly so her nearly black hair tickled her shoulders, Kara took his hands and stared down at them.

"I'm going to show you why I am the way I am. How I can be insensitive and uncaring," she forewarned him. She took in a deep breath and looked up, and the moment her queer blue eyes locked onto Eiji's beautiful green ones, he would feel a jolt of... nothingness. She was showing him the pure bliss and absolute horror of what it felt like to feel nothing. When Kara was scared or upset or nervous she would blanket herself in this feeling to make it all go away. Kara walked around, numb to the words people threw at her, numb to the injuries she sustained, unfeeling and blind and ignorant.

She didn't know if it would scare Eiji or if he would somehow understand, but she wouldn't be able to tell until she lifted the heavy emotionless veil from him. Part of her didn't want to. Part of her wanted to keep him shrouded in the abyss of numbness he stood in now. But all of her knew she couldn't keep him like that, couldn't keep him at all.

"How do you feel?" She asked, still forcing the lack of feeling on him. She knew exactly what he was feeling, but she wanted to hear it described by someone else. Someone who meant something to her. Someone she was going to lose soon, and no matter how strong a dose she gave herself, that feeling of inevitability hung about her like a storm cloud.

[Eiji Almasy.]

It was everything he wasn't.
Eiji compartmentalized, he buried and he avoided. He preferred to obscure the truth, not exactly lie but not exactly acknowledge the real either. He had a thousand different expressions to play all the different roles, but he was always aware of who he was, inside and beneath all his masks. He was an observer of himself, saw himself make the choice to dance to strings and made himself make the choice to change. The matter was that it was all him, whatever he decided it wasn't without motivation or reason; he understood and he felt.

"How are you doing this?" he breathed, completely, well, nothing. He stared wide-eyed at her, the green of his gaze translucent and hand turning in her grip to hold her tightly. This was insane. He was a blanket of fucking nothing and he tried desperately to feel the beat of his heart, which remained at a calm, steady pace and he wondered then if it was even beating at all; this was an illusion of living.

He could never again be accused of not being brave, of not ever feeling or being conscientious of who and what surrounded him. He wanted to let go of her hand, to step away in haste and take deep breaths, force some color back into him and to feel his heart pound, like it should have been doing then. He wanted to follow habit, because he tended to freak out, in small, minuscule, Eiji-like ways; maybe grab something much stronger than a Merlot, forgo a glass and swig his scotch from the bottle. There was a lot, as there was nothing, but he knew that he couldn't leave her yet; if he did, well, it would be devastating.

"I feel," he began, in a voice of trepidation, of deep-thought and frailty, "like I couldn't wear this forever, like I could forget who I was with this. I don't feel like me; I would hate to lose myself."

[ĸara вelova★]

She chose not to answer the 'how' and instead held his hands more tightly when he squeezed. At his reply about losing himself and forgetting who he was, Kara nodded gravely. She looked away, and also subtly let the nothingness fade until Eiji felt like himself again. She was still holding his hands in a Vulcan death grip - she didn't want him to pull away. She wanted him to understand.

"That is what I feel every day. That is why I don't cry, don't care, and don't feel. This is why it's so difficult to understand me; there's nothing to understand."

Parts of what she was saying were real, parts were lies, but it didn't matter any more. Eiji knew how powerful she was and what she was capable of now. What she said hardly meant anything. He was probably shaken, maybe even scared of her. She'd never told him what her 'gift' was. It was frightening and strong and terrible. Its subtlety was dangerous, and now Eiji would know she wasn't nearly as defenseless as she pretended to be. If she wanted she could suffocate someone in that feeling, or drown them in their own sorrow, or drive a perfectly healthy man insane, or put someone in a coma and never allowing them to feel alive again. Kara was a beautiful and dangerous thing, and it was only this lack of emotion that kept her in check. Eiji might not understand that, but she had thought about it on many a different occassions. What was stopping her from going over the edge and abusing her powers?

It was Eiji. Kara's grip loosened and she looked up at him finally, hoping he would meet her hardened blue eyes.

[Eiji Almasy.]

He hugged her to him. Arms threaded around her back to clutch at her, to press her to him so that there was no space, so that she could feel him. He turned his face into the curve of her neck, his skin touching the lines of her body and he breathed.
"When you've been dead for a hundred years," he told her, voice so quiet and restrained, unlike himself but a signature of truth anyway; cut apart with the emotion he repressed, every different facet of his tone meaningful and wrenching, "you've only begun to be dead. Why would you want to be this way?"

Eiji refused to let go and he didn't care about her reservations or the complete inappropriateness of the situation. He held her because it shook him, what he wanted to do to have her wake up from the nightmare she continued to weave; he held her because the only other alternative was not allowed. She could have continued standing there unresponsive, but he brushed aside that small setback. He was warm, always mostly was, and he fiercely willed for it to turn on her; if he could have, he would have touched her heart to see it burn.

"Kara," he murmured, harsh, brilliant green clenched tight, "Kara, Kara, Kara."
His lips found her ear, and he prayed for anything, everything, for divinity, savior and God; she was the kid he was trying to save, and it was as much about him as it was her. The possibilities were rallying against him and his closet pansy self wasn't prepared to let her go yet, to let her continue thinking that it was a-goddamn-okay, all right, fine to live as she did.

"Help me, help you," he spoke, and the part of him that was prone to hysteria threatened to laugh at the quote. He teetered dangerously, brushing her cheek and brought his face apart from her slightly, to bore a stare into her, wearing an expression of utmost seriousness.

[ĸara вelova★]

The actress in her died. It would have been better if Eiji believed she was an unfeeling creature, numb to everything he did, everything he said. She didn't resist his pull and she let him wrap his arms around her while hers lay limp at her sides. The closeness was just bearable, the texture of his shirt and his skin burned her the way he wanted it to and before she knew it tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. He couldn't see, not yet, and the silent sufferer she was tried to blink them away before he noticed.

Her name repeated and murmured with a care she'd never experienced before undid every barrier she'd put up against him, every carefully constructed excuse not to love him. When he held her like this, and cared for her like this, it was impossible to be numb.

Help me, help you.

She couldn't hide it anymore. When he pulled back to look at her, the tears spilled and she gasped in a long suppressed sob.

"Eiji!" Kara cried and quite suddenly she was holding him. She didn't want him to see her tear-stained face. She didn't want him remembering this, not after how painstakingly she'd tried to paint him a fearless image of herself.

Cheek pressed against his neck, nails biting into the back of his shirt, Kara cried. She cried for herself, cried for Eiji, and cried for their limited time together. Their collision was either untimely or a Godsend, Fate was either toying with her or rewarding her. It was too early to say; it all depended on how much he meant to her the moment her life was taken from her.

That moment was approaching too soon.

"I'm so sorry."

[Eiji Almasy.]

There was a sickness clawing at him; it wore his face and taunted him. Are you proud, now that she had broken. Did you get what you wanted from her, now that he had ripped her apart. And who the fuck is going to put her back together after you? You sick fuck because he had tried so hard to set her aside from the rest, to keep her different and untouched, but now the only separation between her and the others was that he hadn't fucked her, just opened her enough to slip in the poison that was him, and he was sure he would eat at her for a long time. He knew of her fears, held a vague knowledge of them, but she knew nothing of the inevitable truth, which was that he would hurt her and then leave her. He wasn't two for two yet, and could only be thankful that the third in his usual mode of operation, had been left undone.

She held him like he was the light at the end of the tunnel, and he winced and wished he was good enough, worthy. A chorus of what the fuck are you going to do now; lie, is what you're going to do now ran through his head, and he closed his eyes, hiding the murky nature of the green. She would never know, but he would drown to save her, his reasons no where near as wholly heroic as it could have been; in the deep end was where he belonged, not anywhere above ground where he would be allowed to pollute everything he touched. He cursed his damn heart and refused to believe that he was inherently good; that his kindness from the first day had led* to this. If he had known in September that November would come to be a time where he held her, and had to tell her that the truth behind his distance was because he was a sonuvabitch who made a habit of making messes and breaking hearts, then he would have never bothered to see her home.

And she was sorry. The apology was a nail on his coffin; he wanted to be taken away, from Eve, from Kellan, from Kara, from Elliot. It went from a desperate notion, to need her to stop hurting, to his own shattering. The pain was still there, and that was when he knew he couldn't tell her.
"It's okay," he said, when it wasn't, and he held her closer, made himself comfortable and felt God forsaken. He couldn't ask her why, because he was writing off every entitlement he had to her; she was still young and impressionable, and you need to man the fuck up. He knew what he was to her; the blue was different, always different, but it held the same quality that he had once saw before, and he knew what it read, and what it meant.