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Endymion slouched in his armor as a sort of penance, letting it dig into his sides and stomach as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd seen Kunzite brooding over a picture of Zoisite earlier that day and screwed up-- despite the fact that there were four hundred million ways in which Endymion found it delightful to annoy Kunzite, stepping on his grief wasn't one of them.
The Dark Prince finally leaned forward to survey the map of the place Kunzite had picked for the next scheme; he needed to map out as many contingencies as he could to undermine the damn thing. He'd told the Dark General repeatedly that his plans were stupid, and then he'd made sure they failed -- after all, he knew that they'd work alarmingly well on the Sailor Senshi, as good as Kunzite was on pinning the exact ways in which the girls were predictable. He also knew Kunzite actually enjoyed worthy opponents, or opponents who survived long enough to learn from the lessons he taught, and make use of them.
Endymion told himself that in ensuring the survival of the Senshi, he was giving the older man a precious gift. It annoyed the white-haired General, to be sure, but rising ire was at least something that would keep Kunzite's will to live somewhat intact. Or at least functional. If he could irritate the man enough, he might turn his anger directly toward Endymion, might engage with him, might actually wake up inside and claw his way out of Zoisite's grave-- and Endymion knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he wanted Kunzite to pay attention to him. He wanted to keep him close; he wanted to keep him--
Obviously, he was also interested in fair fights with the Senshi.
It's just that for some reason, Endymion was most interested in being able to preserve that antagonism-- to preserve the fair balance of power, to preserve Kunzite and the Senshi, at least until they were all on equal footing. Then he could sabotage it anyway so they all lived to fight another day. Beryl's demands were, after all, even dumber than he kept saying Kunzite's plans were. What fun could there possibly be in actual destruction?
What on Earth would he do without Kunzite?
"They're going to see through this immediately," he said without preamble, addressing what had been thin air a moment ago, but was now a space occupied by white hair and a rakishly open collar disguising a man composed entirely of grief, rage, and despair.
Endymion glanced up and smiled when he saw the grief and despair swallowed by a swift and unstoppable freight train of immense aggravation. Saw Kunzite come to life.
Kunzite let the convulsion of reality disperse after teleporting into Endymion's 'office' and stared at the prince in simmering distaste. One day he'd catch him deliberately sabotaging an operation and-- what? Complain to Beryl again? That was useless; Endymion was her favorite. He didn't want Beryl to punish the idiot prince, anyway; he wanted that task for himself. He wanted to show Endymion loss, make him suffer his grief; he wanted to steal the boy away from here and keep him.
Then Endymion looked up and spoke, and the cold dead fury that filled Kunzite's heart burst into incandescent annoyance. "They're not going to see through it," Kunzite said flatly, schooling his face into naked disdain. He flipped his cape back for emphasis as he strode forward and looked down his nose at the map. "You're going to insist on coming along, and you're going to shove their insipid faces through it."
He wanted to carve that smirk out of Endymion's face. It was wrong. It crawled up his spine and throttled his hindbrain, trying to shake something loose, and he imagined his hands around Endymion's neck in anger-- and that was more wrong than the smirk. Kunzite's flat expression turned into a scowl. The mental image of his hands around that pretty neck shifted, and the last of the Shitennou shied away from it: not like that either. He needs to actually suffer, not--
Thankfully, Endymion interrupted again. "It's not my fault they're both lucky and have a habit of learning from you. At least they're a diversion, and you're barely trying, Kunzite. You don't want to win. And I haven't told the Queen, because I know why." His voice was like lava pouring slowly over a green garden, inexorable and appropriative. "I don't want you to die at their hands."
"You won't be able to kill me, if that's what you're after," said Kunzite, carefully dismissive, even as he tried to read Endymion's face. He thought he saw something like affection, baffling and alien, unsettling.
"I don't want you to die," Endymion said, looking up again, strangely arresting blue eyes showing a rare honesty behind the words. "And the Phantom Silver Crystal can work miracles. Perhaps we can hope for one if it's used correctly."
Kunzite stared at him for a long moment, then stalked out.
Perhaps the boy wasn't trying to replace Zoisite. Perhaps he was only... different. Different and familiar. And infuriatingly beautiful. And bloody annoying.
Endymion exhaled and slumped again, dragging his hands down his face. Why couldn't he want something easy, like world peace through mass destruction?