He was a good actor. Jono suspected that there was something besides the chronically happy attitude and polite smiles, even though he had no proof to back up that suspicion. Well, nothing beyond his own experience, anyway; he’d never even tried to pretend he was anything but miserable, and he’d built quite a reputation out of daring anyone to call him on that. If everyone assumed that misery stemmed solely from his powers, well, that was their problem, and he wasn’t keen on correcting them anytime soon.
He wondered how long it would be before Evan reached that point as well, though even the idea made him inexplicably upset.
<<It’s Welsh, turns out.>> He held up his phone and turned it around for Evan to see that he’d pulled up the Wikipedia entry, though he quickly drew the phone back to read it aloud. Or “aloud,” as it was. <<From the word ‘lefen,’ which, being Welsh, probably has about eight syllables and which I’m mispronouncing. And it means–are you bloody kidding me?>> He squinted and tilted his head slightly, then looked up at Evan with an expression that was remarkably annoyed, given half his face was wrapped up like an especially fashionable mummy. <<It’s from the Welsh form of John. So my parents literally named me Jonothon John. What the fuck.>>
He shook his head and closed the browser window, then thumbed through the photo gallery again to pull up some of the few photos he had of himself, and the small handful in particular that were taken from his days as … well, as an older Evan, it looked. His fingertip ran along the corner of the phone, betraying his unease as he spoke.
<<Look, mate, I–I did wanna show you something. Well, not really want to show you, but I think you need to see it. I’m sure some people round here know, but this stays between us, yeah? So … yeah. Here.>>
Without further explanation, he handed the phone over to Evan and immediately looked away, pretending to take a sudden and intense interest in a patch of grass several feet to his left.
ACTING WAS SECOND NATURE to Evan. The years at the school had taught him many things but mostly, how to hide his emotions. If the other students or professors knew how turbulent his thoughts were at times, it would cause panic. He had even began to master to hide his thoughts from the telepaths. Only Quentin was permitted glimpses into his darkest thoughts but they understood each other. With others, he had learned to lock it all away. If you stayed positive it almost helped keep him happy. Sometimes it worked and other days ( namely his birthday ) it didn’t.
Right now, he wasn’t acting. The only feeling he was encountering was confusion, which showed clearly on his face. Jono being amicable and wanting to talk was enough to make anyone confused.
The definition of his name meant little to him, it was just a name given to him but it was something that made him feel human. He didn’t mean to but he grinned, chuckling in a huff of air. To avoid the ire of the other, he quickly straightened up, searching for a way to fix it. “ It could be worse. ” He wasn’t sure how but it was his nature to be reassuring. The smile that had formed quickly slid from his lips as a memory forced it’s way to the forefront of his mind. “ My father had a Welsh background. Or so the program taught me. ” It wasn’t real, he reminded himself. None of it was real. He was a program, a clone, not a boy from Kansas.
He barely registers the awkward silence that follows, too caught up in his own thoughts until the phone is thrust out towards him. Taking the professors phone felt strange but he did so, looking down at the screen with surprise. The photographs tell a story, more than he ever thought he would hear from Jono. He felt like he was seeing a part of this man that he didn’t know or no one knew. It felt too personal for Evan to be seeing but he understood. The pictures reflected him. The same blue skin that linked him with the genocidal mutant that so many feared. There were the same lines around the lips as well and he raised his fingers to his own face, tracing those lines.
Finally he looked back up at the other, passing his phone back without a word. What could he say? The shock was still settling in. He didn’t understand what this could mean for him or what it meant from Jono.
“ I don’t understand, ” he said slowly. “ Is this some sort of trick? ”
Instantly he began second guessing the shared moment. What if this was a trick? Or a joke? Did he think it was funny to make fun of him for the marks he had, or for his heritage? He was the clone, the copy of the most awful mutant in their history, did he think this was funny?
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