humor me.
Abruptly burdened with the weight of his cosmic insignificance in an indifferent universe of absymal void and cold (dead) stars, it’s no real surprise Shinji’s fidgeting with the mentality of a cagey bird, chin propped up by the heart of his palms as he sways on his precarious perch. He starts the ball rolling, of course, with what he considers a hypothetical. ”Tell me the truth. Do I look upset all the time?”
“Yes.”
For an automatic response with record-breaking speed, it’s Ikari who ends up in verbal jetlag, mouth open and closing several times in tandem. ”What?”
His companion blinks, pauses a moment to ruminate over the one-word rejoinder with the air of a philosopher, maybe. Or a sarcastic radio broadcaster on the heels of his fifth coffee run on a slow, petering excuse of a Sunday evening with nothing but dead air and retro tunes society’s long-forgotten on perpetual replay. Probably. “My mistake, I wasn’t specific enough. You’re disenchanted with the fact that people will let you down in one way or another because we’re all fundamentally imperfect beings.”
“That’s not very optimistic.” Lips nearly twitching into a scowl, he keeps the poker face plastered through sheer force of willpower.
“I wouldn’t lie about something like this.” And there he goes off again with the barely-contentious qualifier that never fails to irk him.
“Is there something you would lie about?”
“High-waisted pants are going back into style anytime now.”
Shinji literally topples off the railing and onto the concrete with a startled gasp, coughing and wheezing away so plaintively it could’ve induced the assumption that he was going into cardiac arrest in the general public.
“I t-thought college students were supposed to be smart … !”
“In the majority’s case, not indefatigably so. Besides, you’re asking the wrong questions.”His companion bends down to offer his hand, which Shinji begrudgingly takes, sweeping dust motes and his pride off of his dress pants with vague consternation.
A tepid pause. “What constitutes a ‘right’ question, then?”
“An aptly-worded joke involving a double entendre, perhaps. I can’t put words into your mouth, but selective blindness isn’t the answer. You can’t run from your problems.”
Shinji jolts back on the rebound, expression waxing between mortification and flustered sheepishness. “What’s wrong with running away if reality sucks?”
“For one thing, your friends and relatives will come looking for you. You wouldn’t be forgotten. Take care of yourself, or people will undoubtedly become worried for your safety.”
Ikari blusters, evidently unsettled, and slips back on his backpack. Rocking on the heels of his patently-overrated Converse sneakers for a few fleeting seconds, he ends up brushing past Ii entirely, sluggishly meandering down the bridge. “… You don’t know the half of it.”It’s only when he’s nearly out of ear-shot that he catches the smart-aleck comeback, in all of its fizzling, cocksure resolve. An assertive lilt to his voice, confidence bright and transparent, an open admission of intention and its proponents.
“I never claimed to. I only know what I know, Shinji.”