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

[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.