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“It’s shock,” Even said with all the investment of an impatient parent. “It’ll wear off.”
Normally, Aeleus would’ve deferred to his judgment–he was, after all, the one of them who best understood the workings of the body–but they had been awake for weeks, had been complete for weeks, and he wasn’t buying that anymore. “Not like any shock I’ve ever seen.” It was as close to open defiance as he got.
There was a sour curl to Even’s upper lip, his exasperation only a moment from twisting itself into fury, as was so common, anymore. “Yes. Well. Not many bodies have experienced what we have, hmm? Humans aren’t meant to withstand what we have. It’s some sort of shock. And it will wear off in due time.”
He didn’t appreciate the tone. “We’ve all been through the same ordeal. We’re fine. He’s not.”
Even clucked his tongue before briskly walking away. “The boy’s always had a flair for the melodramatic.”
They had all been thrust back into this world, this life, and there were times–this one included–that made it feel as though they were starting from square one. Meeting each other all over again, forging bonds and relations. Aeleus had so hoped Even and Ienzo would’ve been able to salvage…something. Anything.
Instead, they had seemed to repel one another with more fervor than before, acting as magnets–powerful forces of nature that pushed each other farther and farther away for being too similar. Ienzo’s strange behavior had only stoked that particular fire, driving Even up the wall.
There were moments, Aeleus hated to admit, where it was hard to find fault in Even for that. Since waking up, Ienzo had been…different.
Manic. The word he kept coming back to was manic.
He flit from task to task, never stopping, never resting. Lord help anyone who got him talking, lest they find themselves on the receiving end of a markedly exuberant, enthusiastic, and long-winded sermon. Ienzo spoke without breathing, worked without sleeping, existed without pausing. And in those strange moments when someone did get him to stop between projects, his hands never did.
Ienzo had taken to clicking pens, snapping his fingers, fiddling with his ascot, and most noticeably, tangling his fingers in his hair. His hands were always in his hair, pushing it from out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ears, twisting in fistfuls from the root whenever he encountered any sort of setback.
It was unnerving, more than anything else. Zexion had always been so calm in his demeanor, so very, very placid. They had been on missions where he’d seen him remain perfectly still for impossible stretches of time, barely moving save for the dilation of his pupils or the slow rise and fall of his chest. He had been a creature of camouflage and stealth. Ienzo was a jittery blur of movement, buzzing like a mosquito with anxious energy.
Something was not right.
He rolled his eyes as the last echoes of Even’s footsteps disappeared, walking forward and pushing the door to Ansem’s study wide with an open palm. Ienzo didn’t look up from the shelf of books even as he entered.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Aeleus informed him, watching as he flipped through the yellowed pages of a particularly dusty book. “You should get some sleep.”
“Mmm,” was his only reply, brow furrowed, eyes scanning every word with breakneck speed as he turned each page.
Huffing a breath, he folded his arms across his chest; he was still getting used to the fabric of his uniform, so accustomed to the warning stretch of the taut leather cloak he’d worn for so long. “Are you listening to me?”
“Mmm.” A slightly higher pitch.
He took a step forward and sighed, plucking the book from Ienzo’s hands. “Ienzo.”
It was then that he looked up, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile that managed to be equal parts reassuring and perfectly unconvincing. “I’m listening,” he said, reaching back for the book. “I am,” he parroted, more forcefully as Aeleus refused to release the book. “And I will–I’ll get some rest. Once I’m done.”
“No.” Aeleus set the book down with a muted thump, a good three shelves above Ienzo’s head. “You’re going to make yourself sick. You haven’t slept in days.”
“Have you been counting?” His tone was playful, joking; his smirk vanished, replaced with obvious surprise when Aeleus replied with a firm “Yes.”
A beat passed between them, and he could see the cogs whirling in Ienzo’s head–proof positive that he was, in fact, running on fumes. Ienzo took a deep breath in, and then that uncomfortable smile was back, and he turned to look through the shelves again. “I will. I just…I need to find…I don’t know if you remember, but there was this report that Ansem had…oh it was years ago, now. I don’t know where I–” He grabbed another book, lips pursing with silent displeasure as it, too, was plucked from his grasp. He turned back to Aeleus, leaning one of his shoulders against the bookcase. “I said I will. I just need to finish this.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.” One of his arms moved up, his fingers twisting around one of the longer strands of his hair, knotting and unknotting with jerky motions. “So let me.”
“No.” He set the book down as he had the first. “You need to stop this.” Before Ienzo could get the first word out, Aeleus shook his head. “Don’t start, I won’t be distracted.” Ienzo shut his mouth, but the papery smile he’d worn had been replaced with something a bit more natural–a burgeoning scowl. “This isn’t helping anything. It isn’t helping you. You can’t stay busy forever. You’ll have to rest eventually. And when you do, when you’re not thinking, you’re going to have to come to terms with some things. You don’t want to–I know that. But you can’t avoid it forever.”
Ienzo opened his mouth to respond again, but seemed to think better of it, clenching his jaw tightly and forcing his gaze away like a petulant child might.
“It’s not going to be easy. It’s not. Being alone with your thoughts after everything that’s happened…” Aeleus exhaled deeply, “It’s torture. But you can’t keep doing this. You’d rather run yourself to death than have to face–”
“Why are you even talking to me?!” The outburst was sudden, violent. Ienzo’s shoulders were tense, his posture strangely angular as he faced him down. The scowl had deepened, and the corners of his eyes had narrowed dangerously. Even so, Aeleus had seen Zexion’s ire before–this was decidedly less potent. “Why are you so concerned? It’s not your job to keep me safe anymore, I’m not your responsibility–”
“No,” he agreed, still perfectly calm. “You’re not.”
“Then why do you care?” His composure didn’t waver, so much as it crumbled. “Have you looked outside lately? Have you seen…” he gestured vaguely, “All of that? I did that. Me.” Ienzo jammed a finger into his own chest, eyes still defiant. “I destroyed this place. I ruined all of our lives. And in Oblivion–” His voice cracked. It was slight, it was small, but it was telling. He swallowed hard. “Let me do what I need to do.”
“No.”
At that, he released a loud, fervent breath like a humorless laugh. “What is wrong with you?!” Ienzo pushed himself up from his lean and away from the bookshelf, rounding on Aeleus. “Are you really this thick?! Or just pathetic? Do you not realize that you’ve only ever been a tool?” The pits of his cheeks were bright red with something Aeleus couldn’t quite place, his lower lip taking on a tremor he’d never before seen. “I used you–just like Xehanort used me. That’s all I’ve ever done, that’s all I’m ever going to do! So why won’t you leave me alone?!”
With a swift motion, he grabbed Ienzo’s wrist, keeping him from tugging at his hair again, trying to halt some of his frantic movement. “Stop it,” his voice was low but insistent, unyielding as his grip. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”
“I’m not feeling like myself!” Ienzo snapped, and when he looked up to meet Aeleus’s gaze, his eyes were almost fever-bright.
That gave him pause, if only for a moment. He couldn’t recall one single, solitary instance of Ienzo using that word since waking up. Feel. His forehead creased with concern–with realization–and when he next spoke, it was with a softened tone. “How do you feel?” Aeleus watched as surprise flickered across Ienzo’s face, quickly followed by a flurry of microexpressions he’d never before seen twist at his features.
“…Bad.” The word caught in his throat, emerging part croak, part whisper. Ienzo took in a small, sharp breath; it was as though the thought had only just occurred to him. And it had. He looked away from Aeleus, focusing instead on the space between him and the bookcase, lips falling open into a deflated ‘o’ of shock. “Bad,” he repeated, and when he pulled his hand from Aeleus’s, there was no resistance. Ienzo clasped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide as he drew in on himself. The glassiness of his eyes broke and then spilled over, running down his cheeks in tears he had expected to burn like acid.
But they didn’t. Instead, they were warm–warm with relief, with the beginnings of what could become acceptance. Nearly as warm as Aeleus’s arms.