Distraction

Distraction
Date of Scene:	08 June 2016
Location:	Earth Court Frat House
Synopsis:	Nephrite's on guard duty the day Mamoru has to give up on the palaces and go be sick at home. He has some interesting questions about Kunzite, and Mamoru has some even more interesting reactions.
Cast of Characters:	Mamoru Chiba, Nephrite

---

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
It's always someone's turn. At night it's been Kunzite or Usagi or both, generally speaking. Since her house has been finished, she's gone back to having to lie to her parents about staying at one of the girls' houses if she's gone to the boys' apartment.

That's at night.

The school's been pretty understanding, accepting the absence of one of them at a time to mind their roommate during the day, especially when neither the hospital nor the specialists could determine anything but that the symptoms were both there and increasing in intensity, and couldn't do anything but prescribe things. So might as well stay home and have someone making sure the regimens are followed.

Today it's Nephrite's turn, and Mamoru's halfway out of it on pain medication, cranky as hell about the entire situation, and determinedly staying awake to keep Nephrite company. By now they all know that he's fine in his dreams, except for being mad about the enforced inactivity, and any of them can be drawn in if they're asleep, but if they're guarding him they can't be asleep, and then they're alone and he's alone.

Touch helps his mental equilibrium, always, but right now touch also hurts. His skin hurts. He's complained more than once that he'd love to slough it off like a snake.

He won't talk about Fiore. Fiore would probably just see what's happening to him and get told it's his so-called friends punishing him for Fiore trying to save him, or something. The flashes of realization or understanding in Fiore's eyes have just made it worse -- he knows what it's like, having something live in your head and taking over or shoving when you start to understand things, and then not being able to remember. He knows Kunzite had it worse.

Right now at this moment, he's silent, catching his breath from having been talking about what he's been missing in their shared classes. His filters being off, at least, has made some of his unedited opinions -- of their classmates and some of the teachers and of the curricula they follow -- absolutely hilarious.

Nephrite has posed:
Nephrite's turn means a lot of talking. He can talk, aimlessly, for hours. It also means inflicting as many reality shows on Mamoru as he can stand in his defenseless state. Mamoru has seen so many people try to eat shoes now.

He does not mind keeping himself quietly awake during those times that Mamoru manages to sleep. A person who is willing to spend hours staring at pinpoints of light does not mind reading or studying the star charts he has been mapping or, as a last resort, doing his actual homework. This extra time spent on school work is used to justify the school days that he happily skips to stay home with Mamoru. Oh, and he's been learning to how to text. And finding exciting new ways to annoy Zoisite from a distance.

Right now, he is shaking with laughter over Mamoru's colorful description of their math teacher. "No! He's more like... more like an angry turtle. When his mouth gets all turned down on the edges because somebody just asked him a question about something from three chapters ago." He sinks further down into his chair, propping his feet on the edge of Mamoru's bed, to giggle up at the ceiling. "Like a little turtle that glares at you every time you ask to go pee because he doesn't like the idea that anything's more important than what he's got to say."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Mamoru hasn't minded the reality shows at all: anything that isn't real that he can get incredulous or outraged over is basically super extra bonus points, when there's nothing he can do about that which outrages him in actual reality. He's even laughed a couple of times, even if in disbelief. And with the pain medication doing something for the general ongoing tiresome ache and somewhat more for the on-and-off migraine, he hasn't even remotely minded the aimless neverending chatter.

He looks mildly perplexed for a moment, though. "Is there ever a turtle who doesn't glare?" he asks, and it's clear when he actually overlays their math teacher's face with a turtle, because he starts laughing enough that his hands slip up to mash against pressure points to keep the headache from overpowering the drugs. "Godddd..." he gasps. "No he does, you're right. Does he never pee or something? I think our marks only make him more angry, like he has no ground to stand on..."

He falls silent again, catching his breath and getting the pounding in his head to calm down some, eyes shut. After a second he adds in a grumble, "I swear to god Tohru is copying off Zoi, though. Get pictures when the shit hits the fan?"

Nephrite has posed:
The mental image has Nephrite laughing so hard he can hardly speak. "He--he never has to pee because he stores it in his s-shell!"

He collapses back in his chair, catching his breath. This conversation is going to make tomorrow's math class so much more interesting. "I promise, buddy. If Zoisite loses his shit in class, I am taking video and posting it on the internet."

Of course, doing so might risk being set on fire. Or at the very least, getting his hair pulled. "Ugh, Kunzite's so lucky he doesn't have to go to school. I wish I could sit around and stare stoically at the walls all day. That's what he does with his time, right? That sounds so much better than listening to Mr Turtleface drone."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"Zoisite, Internet Sensation," Mamoru tries out, half mumbling into his pillow while Nephrite giggles himself sick. "Hm. Bound to happen sooner or later..."

He trails off, then opens one blue eye, squinting at Nephrite. "It probably is better than listening to Turtle-sensei drone, but he's been getting shit done while we're either busy or, you know, being useless in bed. He's looking after my projects and some of my other friends. Or getting involved in their crap because I would be helping them but can't right now."

His eyes stay open, but go absently unfocused as he stares at the wall beyond Neph; his hands open and close, open and close. Stretch, flex, curl; fingers bend one at a time, then in unison-- it's rote at this point, hand exercises for arthritis to prevent the stiffness from getting worse. It looks like fidgeting, and maybe it is, but only in addition to its primary function.

"I think he also worries about his hair," he says finally. "Hours and hours a day, worrying about how fast it's gonna grow back all the way."

Nephrite has posed:
"Maybe if he concentrates hard enough, it'll grow back faster," Nephrite tries, very hard, to say without snickering. "Maybe he talks to it, like people talk to their houseplants. Every day he locks himself in the bathroom and whispers sweet nothings to his poor stubbly head."

The movement in Mamoru's hands does not go unnoticed. It just becomes, like the other symptoms, another thing that Nephrite continues not to look at too closely, even as he makes mental note of it. One more thing to try to draw Mamoru's attention away from. One more reason to be an entertaining distraction.

The problem is, he's only got so many reality shows in his backlog, and they've pretty much wrung out any entertainment value the topic of school can possibly provide. Unless Mamoru wants to listen to a lecture on why it is significant that a comet is passing 1° due north of Chi Aquarii rather than 1° south of it, he's going to have to shift gears.

He props his chin on his hand, dark eyes still glittering in amusement. "Or maybe he just needs a bit of your healing to make it grow faster. That's why you're petting it a lot, right? You're helping."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Given the interest with which Mamoru listened to stuff like 'trine Pluto blah blah' with regard to the optimal time to start the Kunzite Resurrection Process, it's entirely possible that he might honestly be interested in such a lecture.

Or it could, indeed, be the potential confounding variable in that correlation.

Blue eyes refocus from the wall past Nephrite to Nephrite himself, and Mamoru squints a little bit. "Hair is dead cells," he says reasonably, "you can't heal hair. It's not hurt, it's just short." There's a pause as he processes the question part of what Nephrite just said.

The prince's face colors.

"I'm not anymore, it's too long to be fuzzy now," he says obstinately. "And it was because I could get away with it and it's hilarious when he looks resigned."

Nephrite has posed:
The color in Mamoru's face is very interesting. Of course, it could mean any number of things, but it's certainly a reaction.

Nephrite holds up his hands defensively. "Excuse me, Doctor Chiba. I naively thought there was a medical reason why he looks like he's about to start purring like a cat whenever you pet his head." He pauses to uncap the bottle of iced coffee he's been sipping all afternoon. "You know, when I tried doing that, I thought I might have to fear for my safety. It seems like Kunzite lets you do just about anything." He takes a long gulp of coffee, to hide his smirk.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
This is the part where Mamoru stares at Nephrite uncertainly. He's not entirely sure if he's hallucinating this conversation, if he's reading into it, if Nephrite is messing with him, or if Nephrite is fishing for what's definitely there. Unfortunately for the dignity of all involved, he loses track of why in god's name it might actually matter, halfway through trying to sort it out.

In fact, he completely loses track of the flavor of the question and obviously has no idea what's going on.

"...do you want me to pet your head?" he asks after a long moment, faintly bewildered. "I mean. You have Makoto to pet your head, right? But I can if you want, your hair is very pretty. Also I don't think Kunzite purrs? That's the caracal..."

Nephrite has posed:
Nephrite belatedly wishes he had thought to film this instead of any mere incident involving Zoisite losing his shit. After all, Zoisite only loses his shit on days ending in Y.

"It's okay buddy, I do have Makoto to pet my hair. I think you've got your hands full with Kunzite, anyway. Are you sure he doesn't purr? Maybe you need to try rubbing his tummy."

Elsewhere, Kunzite is almost certainly plotting his swift demise, whether he is consciously aware of it or not.

Nephrite caps his iced coffee and gestures with it. "Maybe I'm wrong, though. I don't think the caracal has ever made you blush like a schoolgirl. Or has it?"

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
The prince in the bed is back to staring at Nephrite, trying so hard to make sense of this. "...wait, no," he says slowly, brow furrowing as he tries to puzzle this out. "...you think about rubbing Kunzite's stomach? Like... on a scale of 'only every other breath' to 'literally all the time especially in the shower' how often do you think about this? Because if you want him that bad you should probably talk to Makoto, she might be okay with it. Usa is. I mean also you should talk to Kunzite first obviously, he might not be that into you. You could try getting your mind mostly erased and filled with bees and crying on his shoulder about it, but it's not really a route I recommend for casual interest?"

Wait, is that salt? Is he salty? Has he gone from confused to being aware he's being trolled and either failing to appreciate it or honestly feeling so attacked right now? He's certainly gone from blushing to talking in a sort of slow-motion step-taking upward-inflected deadpan, and there is the growing impression of flateyes, even if they're still only mostly focused on Nephrite. "Unless the door sessions and all the hell you saw he was in because of what he did, locked in the back of his mind in those last days, wasn't--"

Mamoru cuts himself off. This may actually be the first time Neph's seen this from his prince in this lifetime -- it has a lot more of Endymion's steel in it than what he's seen of Mamoru so far, but there are definite elements of Mamoru clouding the flavor of it. The restraint, the 'don't hurt me' mixed with 'I am capable of destroying you to prevent it', the memory of Nephrite teasing like this before and it being okay warring with this lifetime's worth of being the only one to ever defend himself-- that's not the breezy self-assured princeling he knew, who Nephrite so frequently evokes with just his presence.

The black-haired boy's long-fingered hands half-vanish against his chest under the near-weightless sheet, working themselves relentlessly and methodically, and his brow furrows again as he returns to consternation from a building spiky anger. He closes his eyes. "No. I'm not mad at you. You're just teasing," he says evenly, telling himself even if he's addressing Neph. "You do that. That's what you do. It's to help. It's okay."

His eyes open again, and they're a little too bright, and his voice isn't entirely solid anymore. "I don't blush like a schoolgirl. I blush like a popular and unavailable overachieving athlete who didn't ever even date before last year because my studies were too important. Get it right. I got a rep to maintain." Then his voice is smaller. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at this yet. Not when it's real."

Nephrite has posed:
The level of shade Mamoru is throwing at Nephrite is startling. It's unexpected from Mamoru at any time, but moreso when he has been spending the day propped up in bed on a mound of pillows, swimming in and out of consciousness. It's certainly the longest speech he's delivered recently.

Well, crap. Maybe he pushed the teasing a little too far. Teasing really only works when the person on the receiving end is in on the joke. And maybe "too sick to move" is not the preferred state for Mamoru to be in when he tests out just how much Mamoru understands his sense of humor.

He lets Mamoru finish talking his way through it before responding, his voice softer than it was before. "Yes. I was teasing. I think you are a bit mad, but that's my fault. I shouldn't be teasing about something that matters that much to you. I don't really know what you two have going on, but it looks like you're both happy about it. Seeing as how you're both my brothers, that's all that matters to me. If it's not any of my business beyond that, you can tell me to butt out now." Nephrite isn't lounging back in his seat anymore. He's leaning forward with his elbows on the arms of his chair, looking directly at Mamoru so he can be as clear and direct as possible.

He shrugs, sitting back again with his iced coffee. "And you said Usagi knows, so... good." There are some bonds too sacred to be broken, and one of those is between a guy and the nice girl who bought him underwear once.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
After a second, voice even smaller, Mamoru says, "I was right then, but then I remembered who I'm talking to. I'm just not... I can't even tell how you feel. Whatever I take to make this shit stop hurting also turns everything to sludge. I can't read you from here. But I'm not mad, I just feel like a shit for taking that out on you."

He's silent for a moment, but the silence is hesitation, not a lack of things to express.

Eventually, one hand snakes out from under the sheets, open and palm up, reaching for Nephrite. "Can I show you? What I'm afraid of. Nothing sketch, I promise. And then we can go back to being idiots. If I didn't fuck that up too bad."

Nephrite has posed:
Nephrite's face splits into a grin. "In the short time that you've known me, have you ever seen anything stop me from being an idiot? You'd have to try a lot harder than that to stop me."

He eyes the offered hand. Right now, with how touch-averse Mamoru is, he wouldn't be offering it lightly. "Okay, but I'm holding you to that promise. I see even a hint of Kunzite's tummy, I'm out." He doesn't make Mamoru move his hand any further, reaching out to close the gap himself.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"That's like 'don't think about pink elephants', you ass," complains Mamoru; he's already relaxed some at the sight of the grin, it's just complaining for its own sake.

It's the lightest touch of fingertips, and suddenly, communication's so very much easier. The familiar golden warmth is lesser, somehow, as though the stability of granite were actually ancient wet concrete, beginning to crumble-- as though static interfered with the signal. Mamoru's doing his best to filter his dulled background awareness of the Earth's distress from their link, but there's enough noise that it's distracting once it's noticed. All that expanded sensory input Neph became aware of back in the palaces when Mamoru was wearing that damned hoodie, it's a muddled haze of aches-- and in the midst of it, the prince is focusing past it to hang on to Nephrite's own solidity.

"I love all of you, so much," he's saying/not-saying, and he's patiently pulling images up of when each of the Shitennou has steadied him, helped him, completed him. Not just in the Dark Kingdom, but with Nephrite and Jadeite, even before they were free, while he was still only Mamoru. Not just then, either, but especially afterwards. Again and again, he's let himself fall a little bit apart when he's known one of them could catch him and shore him up. Each time they've shared his psychometric connection, each time there's been touch and it hasn't alarmed him, hurt him, made him shut himself off-- each time he's sought them.

It's contrasted with his life before last year. Before he met Usagi, there was no one at all he was willing to touch, no one at all could touch him without the danger of unsolicited psychic feedback if he wasn't warned, or if he was too tired-- and if he was prepared, there was always the headache-inducing effort of keeping his ill-practiced power in check. Standoffish, aloof. Smilingly unattainable was at least less likely to garner enemies than 'germophobe' or 'snob', but--

--amusement in the back of the mind of the boy who wants to be a doctor--

--no oxytocin. No chemistry. No connections. No bonds.

It's emphasized earlier still: in the orphanage, where no one wasn't maladjusted somehow, and where the adults there were just paid to be there, there was occasionally the adult who honestly cared. But all it ever took was once and they were afraid of him, and left or just ignored him. Even then, he could make himself unobtrusive enough to be overlooked by his peers, he could avoid being targeted, but he watched. He watched everyone-- when they formed connections with each other, made friends; when they fought with each other, when they felt bad about themselves, when they picked on someone else in order to feel better. Chiba Mamoru, baby psychosociologist and immune to perpetrating the observer effect.

He watched as kids got teased, and as the teasing turned to outright mockery when reactions were visible, and as the mockery turned into straight-up bullying if the reactions turned to clear distress. A couple of times he intervened if someone was getting bullied, and it never failed to end in him getting noticed and thoroughly avoided by his intended rescuee, who'd be tarred with his brush thereafter. At least they were honest. At least they didn't politely lie. He convinced himself he didn't need them, didn't need friends or help or touch or anyone. He had a ghost and a mission, and someday he'd even find out what that mission was, and until then he didn't have time for nonsense because he had to prepare.

There are people who can't stand touch. There are people who don't care about anyone. Mamoru has never been one of them. (There is a contrast with the bright and easy young Endymion, who casually used his gift like breathing, with friends and strangers alike-- who grew up with it as an accepted part of his existence, who grew up knowing the insides of people. This one had to learn by watching and it never made up for the lack--)

Then the images, the sensations, the emotional content-- it all gets turned back around to how he felt when he found them, and when they were finally all back, for real. The most profound relief. The most intense sense of belonging. (There's a brief contrast with the time spent waiting, while Kunzite was a rock, while his mind was there but his emotional intensity was not, and while contact was impossible. The ache was physical. The hoodie was real.)

"There are exactly five people in the world I share pieces of my soul with, Neph. Five. And that's what it takes for touch to not be, on some level, a hassle. I mean, it's better now? It's better after I learned with an all-or-nothing crash course in reflexive shielding in the Dark Kingdom? But it's still-- you four and Usagi are the only people I never ever have to worry about, have to think about filtering for, have to think about being careful. I love all of you with all my heart. You're so important to me. It's just-- that Kunzite-- is also--"

There is no Kunzite tummy image. Instead there's Mamoru at a loss, and the images all fade.

One bubbles up from the orphanage. Someone getting bullied for being gay, and his friends not defending him when they found out it was true. His friends turning away. Another: the concerned adults who were concerned until they found out the hard way that he was different. Another: the things Infinity's rumor mill talks about, and the kind of things they say-- and Neph and Zoi and Jadeite are all there now, and can hear all of it, and if it changes flow in a heartbeat, what will it tell them? They know better, they do, but what if.

"I know it's not like that. I'm just so afraid of any of you judging me, or him, for it-- I'm so afraid of you pulling away and keeping your distance in any way, because I know viscerally what it's like without you, and I can't go back."

He doesn't say it, he doesn't think it; the shadow of thinking about it is nowhere in Mamoru's mind -- but the fact remains that they've turned from him once before, judged him once before, and his skittishness is a learned thing. Endymion didn't have it. This life magnified it in multiple ways, but it was created in the last one.

It's not suspicion. It's just a cloud of misattributed anxiety.

Nephrite has posed:
"Hey." Nephrite says the word out loud. His mind does not work like Mamoru's, focusing itself so that thoughts are transferred as easily (maybe more easily, with the rich sensory information conveyed well beyond words) as a conversation. His memories jump to several places at once, not quite as complete and neatly ordered as the ones Mamoru gave him.

Nephrite's shadow splitting from him, coalescing into solid form, taking a shape that looks exactly like himself. Boring. It rearranges itself. Wider hips, narrower waist. Same eyes and hair. Same jawline. Cuter nose. So much more makeup. Skirt that he saw in a shop window. Him, if he were her. Better.

A hellish labyrinth, five months imprisonment, brought to an end by Endymion's voice ringing through his soul. The first time anybody has ever come to save him. The first time he feels real connection.

A slimy businessman insinuates over cocktails that someone is of an unsavory orientation. Masato Sanjouin walks away from the conversation, dropping the deal they had all but shaken on.

Jadeite and Mamoru collapsing into giggles over rock puns and it's awful because there is a real rock there and it's pink but it still knows how to glare but the three of them fit together like puzzle pieces and the glare is a promise that the last piece will be there soon.

Zoisite, in a grey uniform, switching seamlessly from insulting Nephrite to flirting with him, often with so little notice that it is hard to distinguish one from the other. The awareness that Nephrite is far more concerned about a knife in the back than about whether Zoisite is a boy.

Kunzite, in a rare moment of unawareness of his surroundings, gently laying his cheek on Mamoru's head. Contentment on both their faces. A softness in Kunzite's features that Nephrite has never been privileged to see. Caution not to disturb them. Let them have this.

If he were not concerned about Mamoru's fragile state, Nephrite would have his hand in a crushing grip. He very lightly wraps Mamoru's hand in his own instead. "I won't pull away. You're never losing me. Especially not to something like that. I'm still here, okay? And I may not be able to read the others' thoughts, but I don't see them doing that either. And if they do, I will personally beat them up and drag them back."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Unlike Endymion's presentations of memories and associated feelings and worries, his reactions are in realtime, firing off with every image and encounter and sequence that Nephrite thinks of. There's a definite sense of 'oh!' at Nephrite's shadow, and of feeling slightly silly for not having thought about it at all -- of an acknowledgement, sheepish, that Mamoru had just figured 'Neph' and left it at that. (The sense that it's 'so much more' makeup does have him glancing somewhat fuzzily at Nephrite's face to see whether those astounding contours are natural or applied, with a general aura of amazement.)

The prince's reaction to the memory of the labyrinth involves that too-brightness in his eyes being joined by sudden congestion and a lump in his throat, and a sudden clarity in the quality of the golden warmth Nephrite knows so well; just the reminder of that connection is enough to strengthen it, to bolster and clear it, burnished and bright. It's shining by the time the memory of the giggling and the glaring pink rock is through.

There's definite amusement regarding Zoisite's insulting and flirting and the blurred lines of perception regarding the youngest of the Shitennou's self-presentation, amusement that's full of warm affection and understanding; of shared lack of caring as to 'what' when everything comes down to 'who'-- an associated reference drawn up of once in the Dark Kingdom, just before they rescued Nephrite, of Zoisite comforting Endymion in bafflement at being asked for it, but not asking questions and not hesitating. This leads into the memory of his fruitlessly searching for Jadeite while knowing he wasn't there, of Nephrite making a connection with him against all odds through the language of numbers, of a fading and buried light allowing itself to be used as a steady thing for another fading buried light to lean against at the bottom of the deepest well of despair. The unnameable gratitude when the shell of Endymion realized that Zoisite was with Nephrite, that Zoisite would be cared for.

And the image of Kunzite with his cheek leaned against Mamoru's head-- Nephrite's probably never seen the inside of a pleased blush before. Everything's at once rosy and sheepish; the prince hadn't realized Nephrite had seen, and he doesn't mind now, but the memory is right there, from a perspective not his own, and seeing it is feeling it again.

The sheepishness transfers, spilling over, and though the irritability of his skin is a thing, the fact that Nephrite's not intensifying the ache of the bones in his hand means that any other discomfort is ignored in favor of savoring the solidity of the contact. "I don't honestly-- think you would. Or that they would. It's just-- it's just reflex, not because of you, just because of what 'different' has always netted before," Mamoru says a little choppily, stilted and hesitating. "And when I'm not-- half out of my mind, my head can reason with my heart, remind it what I really do know and feel. I'm glad you know. And hell--"

Images from his perspective are bubbling up: the way Jadeite's looked at him before, the way Zoisite looks at him now. The related feelings: do they want or need more from him, too? More that he's willing to give them because he loves them too? The image of Usagi in tears because she kissed Ami, because she loves Minako, because she loves her girls too and is as silly as he's been; the honest feeling that Nephrite himself might be teasing because he's jealous, twisted by fear into digs because of how vulnerable Kunzite is, and how hurt Kunzite might be and hide it if Nephrite teased him, even though Kunzite knows so much more recently of how Nephrite's humor works--

He's crying, a little bit; he's flustered and embarrassed, but not in a bad way. "--I'm a mess. I'm so surprised, even when I shouldn't be, every time you're so willing to put up with the mess. Every time my damage gets in the way. I'm getting better, I promise. It's just been so much so fast, from all the years leading up to this past one, and then this past one. Everything's changed and is so much better, and even though I know, I know it's not temporary, I still feel like if I believe it with my whole heart, I'll wake up and it'll all be gone. None of this has been for me since before the accident. Sometimes I can believe. And sometimes I'm afraid. And Fiore showing up and threatening to take it all away, when he was the first one to stay even a little while to make sure I wasn't alone--"

It's all apologies, but it's also a much clearer picture of how messed up Mamoru's been without them. He's still Endymion, he'll always be Endymion, and sometimes everything that Endymion always was can shine through unobstructed. With them, it's both easier and harder. Easier because they remind him how right it is to be himself, harder because 'himself' is also another person, one they don't know as well and might not like as much-- which makes him feel like a fraud. Like he showed them what he was to pull them in, and can't live up to it all the time.

But this is background, this is all apologetic background knowledge that washes through the strengthened connection along with his profound relief that Nephrite is here, that Nephrite isn't going to turn away, that Nephrite really doesn't give a crap if he's different or damaged, that his soul can stay intact.

As stilted and roundabout as his speaking is because talking is harder than showing, he's already more relaxed than he's been since the time in the palace when he let Nephrite see what he sees, and Neph basically hugged that part of who he is.

Finally he says with a hitch of a laugh, "The stupid hoodie. It was Kazuo's, before he got taken. It was in the go-bag of his stuff along with his passport."

Nephrite has posed:
There is a lot to sort through, there. The flow of Mamoru's mind is so much faster than the shifting of stars, and almost as soon as Nephrite can latch on to one thing, Mamoru's moving on to the next.

The idea that he might be jealous looms up as a big flashing billboard, though. That needs addressing. "No, not jealous. Very not jealous." There is no lack of focus in his thoughts this time. She floods his mind, tall and warm and smelling like flowers and cookies, leaning on his arm and petting his hair (see? She does do that). Blue forget-me-nots springing up on his forest's floor, lightning crackling on her fingertips. Her kitchen, viewed through a haze of dark energy, deception and manipulation tainting their interaction. Her kitchen again after everything has changed, overly direct and graceless in his request, determined to be the opposite of what he was.

"I'm committed to this. To her. I don't want anything else. I've still got you both. That hasn't changed, and it won't." Maybe the idea would have interested him once, but what he has with her is to important.

"No more a mess than the rest of us," he smirks. A jar of red marbles, stuffed in the back of his closet. Not really the same circumstance, but not exactly a healthy sign.

Well the riddle of the hoodie certainly took its time revealing its answers. All mysteries are solved in the end. "Well I'm glad to see he's developed better taste since then." Well. Relatively speaking.

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
"Good okay," Mamoru half-whispers at Neph's 'very not jealous'-- and since there's still direct contact, there's no question that it's not a slight in any way, just relief that that's not one of Nephrite's problems, and joy in the connection and the love that his stargazer and his sister share. Because out of any of the others, Makoto really is his sister: there are vague tangential flashes of moments-- the first time they really heard each other, the first time she accidentally touched him and they found what else they have in common, how willing she was to put him up indefinitely when he had nowhere safe to go, her reaction to finding out who else he was, the first time she called him niisan...

With a wrench, the prince makes himself focus, and it's a ragged-edged thing, on its way out. He started tired and is only getting moreso. Finally there's nothing coming across that link but a hazy peace, flickering orange-gold like a hearth in a house in a hollow on a winter's night, secret and safe and sleepy.

"I don't think it was even his taste to begin with," the black-haired boy mumbles with a bubbling little laugh, "it was still in its plastic, unopened. But it was still his. He only remembers little bits of what came before, in this life."

Then the ramble starts again: he hoped for idiocy, but a lack of filters goes unpredictable places, and thinking about pasts none of them properly remembers, with the reminder of that jar of marbles, sets him off on a tangent. His voice is vague, matter-of-fact. "I was trying to piece things together by ages... I think he got taken the same year Mako-chan's parents died. Her birthday's in December. It was before that, I remember her memory of their funeral.

"And you guys... probably during the Touhoku quake and the tsunami and Fukushima, the next year, not too long after. Saburo... his cover identity, still dunno if it's really his name or just something he picked, 's from Okinawa. Dunno where Zoi is from but I'm pretty sure it's not Japan... but I was still twelve, my birthday's not until August. Lots of people went missing, presumed dead. I don't really remember what I was doing, which is weird, because for all I couldn't remember before six, I kept all my other memories pretty sacred."

Finally Mamoru stops, alarmed. "Man you don't need to think about all that shit, I'm sorry."

Nephrite has posed:
Undoubtedly Mamoru picked up on the uncomfortable squirm from Nephrite with all this talk of pasts. The bits of the others' lives that are known to them but still unknown about himself. The uncertainty of whether those are things that he really wants to pursue. To track down a life that might not fit into the one he is trying to build himself now. To wade through the jar of bad memories to find a name.

But this is not a new discomfort, and it is not one that is unknown to Mamoru. It's something he can procrastinate on today as easily as he has been for so many days before this.

His red-brown eyes narrow at Mamoru. "Neither do you. Not right now, anyway. It's bedtime for sleepy princes. You can theorize about how everybody's timelines line up to your heart's content after you've napped. I'll even draw up diagrams. But if you don't go to sleep then I'll have an excuse to avoid doing my homework for Turtle Face and then it will be all your fault when I don't hand it in tomorrow."

Mamoru Chiba has posed:
Mamoru honestly doesn't look that far from sleep anyway. He certainly hasn't sounded like it, either. "Ooh, diagrams," he says super-fuzzily, settling down, currently omnipresent crease between his brows smoothing some. "Hand it in. Homework is really important."

His hand stays where it is-- possibly because it would feel like sandpaper on an abrasion to slip it out from between Nephrite's, possibly because as long as he's got it, he's keeping the contact-- and he closes his eyes. "Neph... thanks, man. And--"

It's a moment. He's breathing evenly. He looks like he fell asleep mid-sentence. Maybe he did. He probably did.

That doesn't stop him from finishing it after that moment, though. "...this place is an astronomical unit. 'Cause it's a hella big apartment."

Nephrite has posed:
"...Okay, buddy. That's great to know, thanks." Nephrite smiles in amusement that Mamoru kept himself awake long enough to convey this very important information.

He waits until sleep seems to have overtaken the prince entirely before carefully peeling his hands away. He leans back with a sigh. This might complicate some things. Possibly. Introduce a new source of tension to a group only just learning to live together. Or it might be absolutely fine. A necessary development for a guardian and his liege who both needed something more. Either way, it's a change. And change is something Nephrite always has an eye out for.

Whether he brings this up to Kunzite or allows Mamoru to break the news... that depends on Kunzite's mood when he sees him next.

Grudgingly, he pulls his math textbook from his bag. Better not make Turtle Face mad if he's planning on skipping more classes, even if he can already recite the formula in his sleep. And anyway, prince's orders. He's allowed to make those sometimes. And sometimes, Nephrite even obeys them.