Week 0, Thursday - Sandalphon

[fragileprophet]

[There's something...tense about the night. Maybe it's because it's the only night of the week with a curfew. It isn't too long after the dorms lock for the night, and without much else left to do but stew in nervous energy, Ion goes to bed without fuss.

And, in that nervous energy, he lays, unable to sleep, back to his roommate, trying not to toss and turn. Ultimately, he can't help himself, and he dares to call out softly.]

Are you asleep?

Comments

[melancoffeea]

[Sandalphon, on his part, is content to lie on his side and stare at the wall until sleep claims his consciousness. Whatever happens the next day, he'll deal with it as it comes. That thought is interrupted, however, by a soft voice.]

Not yet.

[fragileprophet]

[Another moment stretches on in silence even after Sandalphon responds, as he pushes past the awkward knot in his throat. Maybe this doesn't quite count, but he did say to come to him if he needed anything...]

Sorry to trouble you...

[Actually, he's not sure he knows what he means to say. Underneath the covers, his pale hands ball into fists.]

I'm just feeling so anxious, I'm finding it hard to sleep.

[melancoffeea]

[All things considered, Ion is the furthest person or thing to bother him. Sandalphon is still, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest with each steady breath he takes. Well, he thinks, it's not like Ion has anyone else to talk to, with the curfew in effect.]

What's troubling you?

[There are too many obvious answers to not ask such an obvious question.]

[fragileprophet]

Well...

[How does he put his thoughts together in a way that doesn't sound...naive and ridiculous?]

With each passing day, I tell myself to be careful, but I can't stop myself from getting close to others. It's a game of war, and I understand that we have no way of measuring what the casualties will ultimately be, but nonetheless, I only find my dread growing. I have a terrible sense of foreboding.

[melancoffeea]

[This is beyond what he can handle—though, admittedly, he can only handle so much. He hasn't the words to provide solace for Ion. But if there's one thing he understands intimately, it's that one can't help but to feel.]

Knowing doesn't stop your emotions. What you're feeling is natural.

[That's why the only solution is to give up on everything.]

[fragileprophet]

[No that's not--that's not how we do things.]

I suppose it is.

[Natural to feel anxious, helpless, pathetic. The happy days he's felt, the happy stolen moments, the friendship, it feels very far away right now. The room they sleep in is beautiful, but it seems so desperately cold at the same time.]

As hard as I try to steel myself for loss, I can't seem to reconcile the idea of being without even a single person here. Maybe that's a bit much for me to say about a varied group of near-strangers, but nonetheless I...

[He cares, he cares so much. Ion takes a breath.]

I promised myself that I'd lead with compassion and a level-head, and I worry I'll fall so far from that ideal.

[melancoffeea]

[Such pure-hearted words. Is this how he felt when they talked before everything went wrong, he wonders. Sandalphon is quiet as he mulls over Ion's revelation.

It'd be so easy to brush it off as naivety, but he knows how much it hurts to be left alone. There's nothing wrong with being naive and thus free of sin, either.]

You're afraid of losing yourself as much as if someone else were to die.

[fragileprophet]

That's a good way to put it.

[Not a way he would have thought of. It's depressingly accurate, honestly. And he already feels so lost with the person he was meant to replace here with them. It confuses him, makes him wonder if he should be doing all that he's doing. Of course, knowing the attitude of his Original, if he wasn't doing what he was doing, who would be? Ion rolls onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, and folds his hands together on top of his stomach.]

And I doubt there's anything that can be done about it more than trying to...come to terms with what happens as it does happen. I realize this is all a little premature, but I can't seem to stop thinking.

[melancoffeea]

[He both hears and feels the shift on the bed. The heaviness of the topic stays Sandalphon in his current position, his gaze fixed on a nondescript spot on the wall.]

Time is relentless. No matter what you feel or think, it keeps on moving; so it's better to think about things beforehand. Once you're in the moment, you won't have the chance.

[The events preceding his arrival here were like a blur to him. So many long, endless years in solitude contrasted by a whirlwind of action. He imagines that, once things start to get a move on here, even the calm days won't feel as long as they've been.

Of course, there's one potential flaw in his proposed design—the very one that he made in the past.]

But thinking the same thought won't do anything.

[fragileprophet]

Then it stands to reason to think about something else, doesn't it?

[But he has no idea what to think about instead. It's hard to drag anything else up. Anything too positive feels cheap.]

How do you find it in you to tear yourself away from thoughts that serve no purpose?

[melancoffeea]

I don't know.

[Beyond ceasing to care about everything, he hasn't figured that part out. Is a spare capable of having meaningful thought? Maybe there isn't a way; maybe they're doomed to be trapped within themselves like this for as long as they draw breath.

All of a sudden, he feels tired again.]

I don't know . . .

[fragileprophet]

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have troubled you so much over it--of course I know, nobody ever has all the answers.

[Why are they both so depressed?]

Nonetheless, I thank you for taking the time. This means a lot to me.

[melancoffeea]

Mm.

[Why thank him? He had nothing helpful to say. And while the conversation is as good as over, leaving it this way doesn't feel right or proper.

Several beats pass before Sandalphon pipes up softly.]

Stay close to me tomorrow.