Surely, I didn't like him. Like, like like. Surely, I didn't even like him. Like, just like. I only just tolerated him on a normal basis. So how could I like like him, if I didn't even like him?
But then again, surely, a normal person would be able to behave in a normal way to a person whom they have normal feelings towards?
His voice from the termination room sang in my ear: We are not normal people, 202.
Question. Why was it that I only admit to liking him when I was not on good terms with him? I mean, I was rarely ever on good terms with him. But the day after the frat house saw a whole new low. I didn't even properly speak to him after that, and nor did he. And nor did I care!
But I really like him, so I do care.
No, I don't! He's unkind! And, he literally has no emotions, so this would be waste of time if it were real, so thank the stars it isn't.
It was totally real.
"Em, you're in seat 4A on the side column with Arya," Amanda said, handing me my flight ticket. "Arya, you're next to Em in seat 4B." She handed Arya her ticket. "Ev, stop looking so stony, they're going to think we're about to hijack the plane. And, Everest, you are in– let me see... seat 4C, but in the middle column with me and Ja— Emerald, for goodness sake, put your hoodie back on!"
I vigorously lifted the damned thing over my head in irritation. I was supposed to be "unseen to avoid delays".
"Thank god, you're not wearing that awful eyebrow ring," was actually the first thing Amanda told me when we walked into the airport. It was so early that the sky was still inky, which wasn't really saying much, seeing as it was winter.
"It's not awful," I had retaliated the same time Jay told Amanda to leave me alone.
Arya, who was the only one with a suitcase, looked at me teasingly. "I think you look beautiful without it. Doesn't she look beautiful without it, Ev–?"
I kicked her.
"I just don't want to miss the flight," Amanda said, absentmindedly for the seventh time. "I had to bend over backward to get these tickets, especially when it's so close to Christmas. I mean, I could have booked the private jets, but they keep track of them back at the Front, so that would be a suicide mission," she rambled.
Despite doing things legally this time, I was more stressed in the duration of this plane journey than the last. Initially, I sat by the window and Arya beside me.
About two minutes after the plane stopped accelerating upwards, as soon as the seat belt sign went off, Everest called Arya over.
"Why's he calling?" I asked.
"I don't know, I haven't asked him yet, have I?" she replied and went.
I craned my neck to see what was up. I couldn't see much except Arya's back. She was there for so long that I eventually got bored and turned to admire the clouds decorating my window. Just as that was beginning to get tedious as well, Arya returned.
I turned. "What took you–" But it wasn't Arya who was sitting beside me anymore. I looked over and saw Arya sitting in Everest's seat (she gave me a friendly wave, which I did not return), and on Arya's former seat was–
Ugh.
I initially intended with such strong willpower to ignore him. But he didn't let me ignore him, because he spoke immediately.
"I didn't mean what I said yesterday."
I determinedly stared ahead at the seat in front of me, and savagely responded, "Okay."
"Are you angry with me?"
Like you care.
"No," I said bitterly. It was a profound lie; I said it spitefully so that he knew it right away.
A moment of silence passed, wherein I continued to train my eyes on the seat before me, without responding.
Will you stupid hands stop with the sweat?
"Listen, I'm sorry," he said. "Forgive?"
And it that word, which caused me to tear my eyes away from the seat. I stared at him in absolute stupefaction. It seemed, that the longer I spent with him, the more humane he became, the more humane he sounded and acted. He'd just asked me to forgive him. I had so much power in my hands!
But then I grew conscious of the fact that I had been looking at him for an unnaturally long time, so I averted my gaze back on the seat in front of me.
"You called me Director's lab rat," I deadpanned.
He opened his mouth.
"And you said I'm pathetic," I interrupted.
His mouth opened again.
"And then you called me a child."
"I said you act like a child."
I glared at him, ready to hit the rather low ceiling.
"But I didn't mean it," he quickly said.
"Then why did you say it?" I asked interrogatively.
He sighed, as though my lone question was already tiring him. "Because I was annoyed."
"At me," I pushed.
He fiddled with the knob on the tray table on the back of the seat in front of him. "At– yes."
"Because I got drunk," I stated.
"Because you forgot."
"Because I forgot what Gemma told me."
He took a deep breath and turned towards me. "Yeah. Sure. That too."
I frowned a bit. "What do you mean?"
"It doesn't matter," he replied dismissively.
"Okay. So I forgot a few things. And you think that makes me Director's lab—"
"No," he cut me off impatiently. "How many times do I have to tell you that I didn't mean it?"
"But you did!" I suddenly. "At least to some extent."
He opened his mouth again.
"Because it's true!" I spoke over him. "I was his human experiment. And you know it, too."
"No, I don't. You're completely misunderstanding the context. It came out of me in a spasm of anger. I didn't mean–"
"Don't bullshit me, everyone at the Front thinks so."
"I–"
"So why wouldn't you, Director's golden boy?"
Everest momentarily closed his eyes. "202, stop being difficult," he replied rather calmly. Not coldly, or scoldingly. Just calmly. Like—
I clenched and unclenched my jaw, wishing the blood would stop pounding in my ears. "Director used to say that to me."
Everest stopped fiddling the knob, and stared at me for a few seconds, as the plane rumbled ceaselessly. "Are you associating me with him?"
I folded my arms looking straight ahead, as his eyes burned into the right side of my face.
No. Director isn't hot.
He waited a few seconds for my response, and then laid his head back against the headrest, as though tired with every word I spoke to him.
Way to win him over, Emerald.
Even on an entirely normal basis, I was the worst at flirting, so what would I even say to someone as stony as him?
"Your coldness is truly a blessing. Every day of the year will be like Christmas?"
"The intensity of your frosty glares lifts me up to heights as tall as mountains?"
"I love you to the Everest and back?"
"Look–" he started, lifting his head up, and snapped me out of my comically absurd thoughts. He stopped and looked at me more closely. "Why are you smiling?"
I wiped the unconscious smile off my face at the speed of light, without responding. Sometimes I was too funny for my own good.
"Look," he repeated, "I don't know what you want me to say, and there's no point talking to you if you're going to disagree with every single thing I say."
"I don't disagree with every si–"
"You're literally doing it right now."
Crap!
I thought about it. "Answer me a question."
He looked at me suspiciously.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to ask you for your birth certificate, just answer one question."
"Go on."
"You were close to Director, weren't you?"
"To some extent," he responded. "And your question is up."
"No, it isn't. What did he say about me to you?"
One hand still fidgeting with the knob, Everest studied me for a moment, like a petrologist examining a rock for substance. "A lot."
"Such as?" I prompted.
"He often compared you and me."
I jerked my head about a millimetre in his direction. "In what way?"
"He... said you were weak–" he paused and corrected, "–er than me. Because I don't have–"
"Grief, empathy, shame, fear, remorse, love – I get it," I interrupted. "What else did he say?" I asked.
"You're on like your fourth question now," he retaliated.
Instead of replying, I stubbornly waited for him to respond to my previous question.
Everest let out a breath, and the warm air fell on a bit of my skin, making my chest contract for some absurd reason. "He complained about the failure of 202, how hard he worked on it, and how it all went down the drain. Other than that, he talked about your termination."
"What about the termination?" I inquired.
"I don't know, 202," Everest replied irritably still fiddling with the knob. "He talked about killing you. Ways to kill you."
An announcement went off: "Ladies and gentlemen, breakfast will be served in a few minutes time, please ensure your tray tables are kept open."
I opened mine, but Everest wasn't listening and continued fiddling with the knob of this tray table. I swatted his hand away and opened it for him.
"Ways to kill me? What do you mean ways to kill me?"
"What would be best, Everest?" he imitated. "Her telepathy is weaker than yours, do you reckon you could hypnotise her to kick the bucket, or would that raise even more questions? Or how about you fracture her nervous system, and we could frame it to be an accident of some kind? That's what he said when he talked about you. He was obsessed with you, like some gemologist studying diamonds. Whatever he did and wherever he was, you always seemed to be on the back of his mind, as if you were some sort of a, a–"
"Burden," I said. "Cargo. Dead weight."
There was a moment of silence.
"They tried to fix it," he suddenly said. "the 202 drug. But only so many people could know about it, and in the end, you were the closest they could get to the Original Cure."
"To you. 202 was the closest they could get to you." The prodigy.
"It's not like that," he said, but even he knew this was a lie.
"Stop being so humble about it," I said. "The Front is a pristine, impeccable, flawless company, of course, they would look at me as dead weight."
"Flawless," Everest scoffed.
"What? They are on top of everything – their technology, medicine, the brains..."
"They were. Before the Reynolds' attack. But now, however bad you think Reynolds are, the Front's just as bad, if not worse. Everything went south the moment Director sat on the CEO's chair."
I couldn't lie. Everything Everest was saying was true, and he had a point with every statement that he made. But beyond that, the things he was saying sounded personal. To him. As if he wasn't only speaking factually but actually picking out his own views on the Front by the root...
But that didn't make sense to me. Where Director constructed exhaustive methods of killing me, the same man treated Everest like an oyster possessing innumerable white pearls. So why would he have a problem with a group of people who treated him as if he were an Egyptian prince?
Just then, the flight attendant came over and served two trays containing breakfast – a croissant, pancakes with syrup and fruits, some sliced avocados, toast, and hot chocolate (Everest switched his for black coffee – weirdo).
I glanced over and saw him absentmindedly picking at the flakes of his untouched croissant.
"I know. Why should I have a problem with the Front?" he said, as though he had just read my mind through my glass-like skull. "The Front is top notch in all they do, there's no denying that," he said. "But they are far from impeccable, and always will be because they lack humanity. And even I understand that."
They say the truth hurts. But when Everest speaks truth (especially if it's unpleasant things about the Front) you just casually fall in love with him a little bit more. At least, I did.
A thought presented itself to me, then. But asking about it to him unsettled me a little. I was by no means afraid of him. But past occurrences had taught me that anything regarding this particular topic would not end well for anyone on the receiving end of the Everest's response.
Maybe I was stupid, but I asked anyway.
"Your mother must have worked for the Front, right?" My pulse shot up at about the same time his fingers stopped picking at his breakfast.
"Yeah," he replied after a while, his fingers now picking the bottom of his lower lip instead. Somehow, he couldn't seem to be able to keep his fingers still. "Both of my parents... worked for the Front," he paused for a long moment. "They died," he deadpanned emotionless as if the sentence was a textbook fact. He bit his lips slightly. Not so emotionless. "In the Reynolds' attack."
I began tearing up. But it was only because the hot chocolate got caught in my throat from what he said.
I thought it would be offensive to cry but explain to him that I wasn't crying because his parents had died, but then again it'd be strange to say I was crying over people whom I didn't even know. So I quickly wiped the tears out of my eyes and cleared the hot chocolate from my throat.
Once I was done acting like an idiot, the reality of what he had just said hit me with its full blow.
I didn't know what I was expecting. For him to have grown up in foster care? For his unknown parents to be living happily ever after in a family house, whilst their son is busy being Director's personal assassin? Whatever it was, it didn't once occur to me that his parents may have been involved in the affairs of the Front.
But it wasn't just that. I guess I wasn't expecting the background story regarding his parents to hit so close to home.
"Like mine," I said, referring to my parents. I turned to him. "I'm sorry, Everest."
"Don't you think it's messed up, that the only people we know are the ones who have some sort of a link to the Front? That we barely know anything about the world outside of the Front?" he asked, and I was surprised for a moment that he was actually asking me for my own opinion, instead of another interrogatory question.
"Yes. But it's not something we could have helped."
"Obviously," I mentally laughed at the way he said the word, like a sulking child. "I'm not saying it's our fault," he continued. "But it's still true. Who do you know outside of the Front and all its affairs?"
I thought, and only emptiness came to mind. "Okay, you have a point," I admitted.
"And who is Director to you?" he asked.
"An asshole," I replied solemnly.
"Before all of this," he said, coldly, but I saw the corners of his mouth twitch. "Who was he to you before the launch evening took place?"
"I don't know," I said, telling the biggest lie of my life. The truth was that I did know who Director was to me, but I was too embarrassed to say it after knowing him for the traitor he is.
"A father-figure," Everest answered.
"Everest?"
"Yes?"
"Can you read minds?"
"No."
"Oh," I replied, disappointed.
"But I read your files when deciding how to terminate you," he said. Charmer. "In one of them, you described Director as a father-figure."
Shifted awkwardly, tucking a stupid strand of raven hair behind my ear.
"What?" Everest asked.
"Nothing." I sat still. "It's just a bit embarrassing that I thought of him as a father."
"No, it's not," Everest responded. "When I was younger, I said that, too."
I thought my heart skipped a beat when he said that.
But then he ruined it by saying, "And nothing I say is embarrassing."
"Okay, so what about Director?" I asked.
"He took advantage of the fact that we saw him as a parent. He had control over us, he made us think that he was the only person who could make us into something. And that's why we don't know anything really outside the Front."
"Wait!" I gasped.
"What?"
"If we both thought of Director as a father-figure. Wouldn't that make us related?"
He blinked and frowned and blinked again. And when he spoke, he spoke as if I were as young as Fluorine.
"We literally have different chromosomes. Now, I don't know how good your biology is, but having different chromosomes means having different parents."
"Duh," I said, annoyed. "But aren't we like... adoptive siblings?"
"Just stop talking," he said immediately. "And for the record, they didn't adopt us, they manipulated us."
But you got the better end of the deal, I thought both savagely and childishly.
"You know," he paused and blinked a slow, pretty blink. I guess he did it unintentionally but it brought to life the butterflies I was aware I had in my stomach. "We have a lot more in common than you think," he said.
I smiled. "Yeah, I guess we do. Superpowers, check. Raised by the Front, check. Betrayal, check. Parents who worked for the same company and died the same way, check. We're practically the same people."
"Superpowers," he repeated, a smile tugging on his lips, but I would never understand why he hadn't completed the smile – it would have been a blessed sight. "I'll just need greener eyes, darker hair, and an eyebrow ring, then I'd be you." His eyes traveled to each of the features as he named them. The butterflies batted their wings as vigorously as ever. "Although, I think I'd prefer to be without the eyebrow ring."
"Finish your breakfast," I instructed, suddenly determined to throw out all my eyebrow rings.
"I am finished."
I looked at his plate. The pancakes were untouched.
"I don't like pancakes," he elaborated.
I was sitting next to a lunatic.
"What is wrong with you?" I gasped.
"Nothing," he answered, folding his arms, and the early morning sunlight caught the minimal blue in his eyes
A hot lunatic.
"No, you're clearly not understanding the point; there is obviously something wrong with you if you don't like pancakes," I spoke quickly. "I mean, what do you do on Pancake Day? Eat ice cream?"
"No. I don't like ice cream either."
Maybe because you're so cold, ice cream is too hot for you.
"One stupid fact about yourself at a time, Everest."
After some time, a flight attendant took our plates away, and I scowled.
"That food could have fed the poor," I scolded Everest and looked over at Arya, who had fallen asleep beside Amanda who was reading a book, and jay, who was also sleeping.
"You can do that once you're off being a humanitarian."
"That's right, I will!" I promised.
Following my gaze, Everest looked over at his old seat. "I'll switch back with Arya," he told me and moved to get up.
Nah.
"Wait," I placed my hand on his knee. "Stay."
Only for Arya's sake.
Everything quietened out about twenty minutes later; Everest had fallen asleep, one side of his face against his headrest, and I tried to get comfortable against the window. But my neck began aching, so I turned to Everest's side.
It still wasn't comfortable, because I had to maintain the job of trying to be as far away from him as possible in this limited space.
But then, his head fell on my shoulder, a soft touch but psychologically with my stupid mind racing, it felt like the weight of the whole plane had just been placed upon my shoulder. I was pretty sure I had stopped breathing for about thirty seconds, and when I did breathe, my breaths came out shakily.
Maybe I should wake him?
But I like this.
But it's scary!
But I like it.
Okay, maybe if I just move my hand a tiiiny bit. There we go. And now, I just need to shift my shoulder a little. Ah. There, now we're less intimate. Now for the arm. If I could just–
"Stop moving."
I froze. But my pulse did the opposite. "Everest?" I whispered.
Silence.
"Everest," I whispered louder.
No answer.
"Everest!"
"202?"
I swallowed. "Yes?"
"Shut up," he mumbled, moving his head back to its original place on my shoulder.
My heart was racing so fast, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had felt the pulse thudding in my neck. Maybe he'd notice that every single muscle in my body was tense, not like it so much, and move away?
But he didn't move away. His just slept there, half of his face pressed against my very body, looking all cute and adorable, and making me feel ridiculous emotions, which he couldn't feel.
But most importantly, looking all cute and adorable.
Ah, what the heck?
Smiling stupidly, I leaned my head on his. 537Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡROgj2mgUsJ
537Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO1bKyBgyaI
Author's note:
I'm the crappiest updater alive.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
