[ her voice cracks with her emotion, her betrayal twisting her expression from her anger at the memory of her death being displayed to something more raw. she's still angry, but it's also lost and full of loss. ]
I've asked why over and over again. I've asked One over and over again. I received no helpful answer! I asked to stop fighting. I only get told how I should die in cruder and more explicit ways! I wish I knew! Maybe I'd be—
[ less miserable. ]
Maybe I wouldn't have had to put up with all my sisters' shitty attitudes! And how much they act like they know better when they never fucking say anything!
[For a moment, Lavi can do nothing but stare in surprise -- not at Four's outburst, but at the words that spill out of her. For someone who's seen so much, he hadn't expected this. It paints the memory he just saw in an even darker light -- it was already a tragedy from start to finish, but this makes it worse?
...His death is so different from Four's, but the fury in her voice at not knowing why -- that feels familiar. Dying for someone else's silence -- and left without a chance to ever find out what those words could have been.
Maybe that's why he moves. Four's so tiny compared to him, but it doesn't take away the very real danger of her -- and yet he reaches out anyway, one hand coming to rest on the top of Four's head, pulling her in close so that he can't see her expression. So that he doesn't have to see anything else she doesn't want him to see.]
[ the problem with four is she is so full of anger, so full of bitterness, so full of hate. all her positivity slips through her fingers, falls through the cracks and gaping holes in her heart, and is batted away by memories she doesn't know arem't real.
she stills at the first touch, freezes when he pulls her close. the shock and disbelief make all her rage seep out of her, bit by slow bit. for as much as she doesn't believe anyone can be on her side, for as much as her paranoia pushes her to believe everyone will eventually turn on her, she has always been weak to any sliver of kindness she can cling to.
the gesture breaks her, and her small shoulders start to shake. she cries into his chest, quiet and broken sobs.
even if this, too, is fake, she can't help but want it, fragile and brittle as she is.
please don't forget she's a horrible racist and unrepentant mass murderer. ]
[Lavi stands so very still, but his hand remains steady as Four shakes in front of him, as she cries into his chest.
He's seen so much from her already, most of it unearned. He's seen her be kind and cruel. Spiteful and enraged. Determined and passionate. Even if it's fake, even if it's a front... well, he knows a thing or two about false acts. He knows that even at their most thin, they still have to be drawn from somewhere. Every feeling has a source, every action has a reason. The reason could be awful, just the worst -- four could be a horrible racist and unrepentant mass murderer -- but it's not in Lavi's nature to judge. If it was, then it's long since been trained out of him.
But the soft part of him, the part that's him and never Bookman, that part hopes that this moment -- as brief as it is compared to everything else -- can be one of relief, rather than pain. Is it foolish to hope so? He doesn't know. He does know that he'll continue to stand here as long as Four needs him to, gaze pinned to her hair.]
[ there is some relief. it's comfort that's foreign to her that someone would be willing to accept her, after seeing her at one of her lowest points. her pain, perceived or real, will always outweigh everything in the end, but for now, she can let it try to fill in some of the holes of her heart, for however long it'll last.
eventually, her tears dry, and she's quiet and still for a moment. ]
... Thank you, Lavi. [ ... ] I don't know.... I was... I'm not...
[ she struggles for any words to say. it hurts her to be honest. she doesn't want to be honest. it's why she hasn't stepped back from lavi yet. if her next words are muffled, it's for the better in her mind. ]
[It's the worst thing -- being seen. Lavi can relate to that too. It's why he doesn't push when others would, or pull back to see Four's face properly.
Four calls herself ugly, and he thinks yet again about the similarities between them.]
...You're not. You're a lot of things, but not that.
[Ugly is fine, ugly can be a good thing. But not the kind of ugly Four means.]
When I look at you, all I see is how real you are. You're proof that you're more than just ink.
[ is she real? she may be real, but is she genuine? that's a question that four can't answer. it's a question she won't answer honestly unless given no choice.
lavi's words are soothing, and she can't help but be moved, can't help but be swayed. she hesitates before she reaches out for his hand with the lightest touch, the loosest hold, as if afraid he'll whip his hand away. ]
We're real, aren't we? Despite whatever faces we put on, despite how we try to present.
[The touch is so light, barely there. It brings to mind a memory, 'Lavi' crouched on a corner, coaxing a sparrow to try and land on his hand. He'd been very careful then, hadn't moved at all -- and still, the bird had flown away. He has the faintest inkling that keeping still will get him that same result. Maybe that's why he reaches back, pressing his hand against Four's, curling his bare fingers against her gloved ones.
Before he can think of whether or not that's a terrible idea -- attachments are always, aren't they? -- he hears Four's words, and his eye goes wide.]
More...?
[More than what they were raised to be?
He thinks of Bookman, who gave him the chance to see the world. Who gave him a place to see it from. Here was the space he was meant to fill, forbidden from going past the edges.]
...I guess the fact that we're here now, it's proof that we're more than what they could have expected.
[Even though they're dead. But it's hard to concentrate on that, when Four's hand is warm in his.]
[ attachments are a terrible idea, but four can't help but crave it. her head won't stop telling her that people will find a way to turn on her, but her emotions always win out. her fingers curl in return.
she likes saying words she wants to be real. she likes saying things she wants to be the truth. she doesn't know what she was created for or why, and she doesn't know easily she fell into that reason. ]
We can always be more, as long as we don't stop trying.
[ killing isn't more than what was expected from her. it's only how little remorse she feels while killing that's unexpected. ]
... We don't need to conform to what was expected of us because we're here now.
[ because they're dead and because it's something she wants to believe in with lavi here, holding her hand after knowing she's a murder, after knowing how fragile her mind is, after knowing more about her than she ever wanted anyone to know. ]
[How strange, that Lavi had meant to comfort Four, and now it's her words that are reaching him this time.
If she said it with confidence, like she truly believed, then he would have pulled back. Retreated behind the mask he always fools himself into thinking isn't real. It would have hurt him to look at her sincerity, like staring too long into the sun. But Four speaks like it's a hope, a mirage that could burst at any moment.
He believes in her hesitation more than he would have her certainty, because it echoes what he's thinking, it echoes the doubt in his voice when he replies,]
...I don't know how to be anything else.
[He looks down at their joined hands, then at Four. The smile on his face is equally tentative. He can't tell if it's his real smile, or Lavi's. But it's something. It's there.]
But I guess I can't just sit back and do nothing, not if you're gonna try.
[ four is too cold to have sincerity with any degree of warmth. she has fewer pretenses here, now that she's died and died again, with a screen that strips away enough walls she wants to continue to build up. old habits are hard to break, and she can't stop herself from wanting to be different, from wanting to be something else, from wanting what she doesn't have, from wanting things she thinks she could never have.
she gives him a smile in return despite what she's about to say next. ]
You don't have to smile, if you don't wish to.
[ if he doesn't know who he's smiling for or why he's smiling. ]
As long as you try not to.... [ leave her or abandon her, he doesn't need to smile for her. ]
As long as you're.... here, I don't need you to try to be.... whoever you think you need to be.
[ if being a Bookman is how he can accept her, that's fine. if not being a Bookman is what means he won't turn on her for some reason, that's fine, too. she'll take whatever combination makes her feel better.
her lips part to say, I don't need you to be anyone but someone who's fine with me, but she's always been a coward. ]
Four tells him he doesn't have to smile, but he finds himself doing just that. But for once, not in an attempt to please or pacify. Just from something soft and genuine, a place that's more him than he's ever been willing to admit.]
...That's my line, you know? [maybe Four can really read his thoughts after all.
Maybe that's another sign of how similar they are. The first few times Lavi's talked to Four, she'd always been trying to keep herself under control. Put her best face forward, no matter what.]
You don't have to hold back around me either, Clover. I wanna remember the real you.
[ she continues to hold back because she thinks he won't put up with the real her. at her worst, at her most insecure, at her most paranoid, even she can't stand it.
(she's never been able to stand herself. that's why she focuses on standing others less.)
she is too scared to be known. ]
.... You won't leave once you know the real me, will you?
[ if he decides to lean back into that part of being a Bookman..... not that she knows much about being a Bookman, but the implications of his memory are enough to feed into her anxieties that he would just up and go. ]
[The part that wants to reassure her is automatic, as false as his words might be. Why would he leave? He could say. We're in hell now, there's no where else to go. Is another possible reply.
He looks at their joined hands, then tilts his head up a little to meet Four's gaze.]
...If I leave, it won't be because of you.
[then, as if he can sense her anxiety, he squeezes her hand.]
You can come with me. I always travel to record history or go on missions. Never really went for fun before.... So I want to see all the other places here, if I can.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I don't know!
[ her voice cracks with her emotion, her betrayal twisting her expression from her anger at the memory of her death being displayed to something more raw. she's still angry, but it's also lost and full of loss. ]
I've asked why over and over again. I've asked One over and over again. I received no helpful answer! I asked to stop fighting. I only get told how I should die in cruder and more explicit ways! I wish I knew! Maybe I'd be—
[ less miserable. ]
Maybe I wouldn't have had to put up with all my sisters' shitty attitudes! And how much they act like they know better when they never fucking say anything!
no subject
...His death is so different from Four's, but the fury in her voice at not knowing why -- that feels familiar. Dying for someone else's silence -- and left without a chance to ever find out what those words could have been.
Maybe that's why he moves. Four's so tiny compared to him, but it doesn't take away the very real danger of her -- and yet he reaches out anyway, one hand coming to rest on the top of Four's head, pulling her in close so that he can't see her expression. So that he doesn't have to see anything else she doesn't want him to see.]
...Sorry. [...] I wish you knew too.
no subject
she stills at the first touch, freezes when he pulls her close. the shock and disbelief make all her rage seep out of her, bit by slow bit. for as much as she doesn't believe anyone can be on her side, for as much as her paranoia pushes her to believe everyone will eventually turn on her, she has always been weak to any sliver of kindness she can cling to.
the gesture breaks her, and her small shoulders start to shake. she cries into his chest, quiet and broken sobs.
even if this, too, is fake, she can't help but want it, fragile and brittle as she is.
please don't forget she's a horrible racist and unrepentant mass murderer. ]
no subject
He's seen so much from her already, most of it unearned. He's seen her be kind and cruel. Spiteful and enraged. Determined and passionate. Even if it's fake, even if it's a front... well, he knows a thing or two about false acts. He knows that even at their most thin, they still have to be drawn from somewhere. Every feeling has a source, every action has a reason. The reason could be awful, just the worst -- four could be a horrible racist and unrepentant mass murderer -- but it's not in Lavi's nature to judge. If it was, then it's long since been trained out of him.
But the soft part of him, the part that's him and never Bookman, that part hopes that this moment -- as brief as it is compared to everything else -- can be one of relief, rather than pain. Is it foolish to hope so? He doesn't know. He does know that he'll continue to stand here as long as Four needs him to, gaze pinned to her hair.]
no subject
eventually, her tears dry, and she's quiet and still for a moment. ]
... Thank you, Lavi. [ ... ] I don't know.... I was... I'm not...
[ she struggles for any words to say. it hurts her to be honest. she doesn't want to be honest. it's why she hasn't stepped back from lavi yet. if her next words are muffled, it's for the better in her mind. ]
All I am is ugly.
[ inside and out. ]
no subject
Four calls herself ugly, and he thinks yet again about the similarities between them.]
...You're not. You're a lot of things, but not that.
[Ugly is fine, ugly can be a good thing. But not the kind of ugly Four means.]
When I look at you, all I see is how real you are. You're proof that you're more than just ink.
no subject
lavi's words are soothing, and she can't help but be moved, can't help but be swayed. she hesitates before she reaches out for his hand with the lightest touch, the loosest hold, as if afraid he'll whip his hand away. ]
We're real, aren't we? Despite whatever faces we put on, despite how we try to present.
We exist, as more than what we were raised to be.
[ even if they are dead now. ]
no subject
Before he can think of whether or not that's a terrible idea -- attachments are always, aren't they? -- he hears Four's words, and his eye goes wide.]
More...?
[More than what they were raised to be?
He thinks of Bookman, who gave him the chance to see the world. Who gave him a place to see it from. Here was the space he was meant to fill, forbidden from going past the edges.]
...I guess the fact that we're here now, it's proof that we're more than what they could have expected.
[Even though they're dead. But it's hard to concentrate on that, when Four's hand is warm in his.]
no subject
she likes saying words she wants to be real. she likes saying things she wants to be the truth. she doesn't know what she was created for or why, and she doesn't know easily she fell into that reason. ]
We can always be more, as long as we don't stop trying.
[ killing isn't more than what was expected from her. it's only how little remorse she feels while killing that's unexpected. ]
... We don't need to conform to what was expected of us because we're here now.
[ because they're dead and because it's something she wants to believe in with lavi here, holding her hand after knowing she's a murder, after knowing how fragile her mind is, after knowing more about her than she ever wanted anyone to know. ]
no subject
If she said it with confidence, like she truly believed, then he would have pulled back. Retreated behind the mask he always fools himself into thinking isn't real. It would have hurt him to look at her sincerity, like staring too long into the sun. But Four speaks like it's a hope, a mirage that could burst at any moment.
He believes in her hesitation more than he would have her certainty, because it echoes what he's thinking, it echoes the doubt in his voice when he replies,]
...I don't know how to be anything else.
[He looks down at their joined hands, then at Four. The smile on his face is equally tentative. He can't tell if it's his real smile, or Lavi's. But it's something. It's there.]
But I guess I can't just sit back and do nothing, not if you're gonna try.
no subject
she gives him a smile in return despite what she's about to say next. ]
You don't have to smile, if you don't wish to.
[ if he doesn't know who he's smiling for or why he's smiling. ]
As long as you try not to.... [ leave her or abandon her, he doesn't need to smile for her. ]
As long as you're.... here, I don't need you to try to be.... whoever you think you need to be.
[ if being a Bookman is how he can accept her, that's fine. if not being a Bookman is what means he won't turn on her for some reason, that's fine, too. she'll take whatever combination makes her feel better.
her lips part to say, I don't need you to be anyone but someone who's fine with me, but she's always been a coward. ]
no subject
Four tells him he doesn't have to smile, but he finds himself doing just that. But for once, not in an attempt to please or pacify. Just from something soft and genuine, a place that's more him than he's ever been willing to admit.]
...That's my line, you know? [maybe Four can really read his thoughts after all.
Maybe that's another sign of how similar they are. The first few times Lavi's talked to Four, she'd always been trying to keep herself under control. Put her best face forward, no matter what.]
You don't have to hold back around me either, Clover. I wanna remember the real you.
no subject
(she's never been able to stand herself. that's why she focuses on standing others less.)
she is too scared to be known. ]
.... You won't leave once you know the real me, will you?
[ if he decides to lean back into that part of being a Bookman..... not that she knows much about being a Bookman, but the implications of his memory are enough to feed into her anxieties that he would just up and go. ]
no subject
He looks at their joined hands, then tilts his head up a little to meet Four's gaze.]
...If I leave, it won't be because of you.
[then, as if he can sense her anxiety, he squeezes her hand.]
You can come with me. I always travel to record history or go on missions. Never really went for fun before.... So I want to see all the other places here, if I can.