Rinan slid into the steaming water gently, as though afraid to disturb the smooth, glasslike surface. It was warm and soothing, almost therapeutic, but for all his numerous hours of sleep, he was exhausted. It was strange, though, it wasn't the same kind of tired he always felt before. He felt more physically exhausted than mentally exhausted, and it was a strange feeling to suddenly remember. How long had it been since he'd last felt the world without his sickness overwhelming most of his senses..? The pale young man was even too tired to cry.

Izaak had led him to the bath and told him to relax and enjoy himself, that he had done will with the surgeries so far, but the last ones would be the most trying. The young doctor, who really had more carried Rinan rather than led him, left shortly after. Rinan found himself oddly sad to see him go. A strange, sudden affinity towards Izaak had come over Rinan as of late, unprovoked, seemingly, because the frail singer spent few conscious moments in the presence of the other. But Izaak was obviously a kind man, that Rinan was sure of, even taking in to account their brief meetings.

He found himself overcome with thoughts of his surgeon in his waking moments, even when they were spent alone. He attributed it all to Izaak's kindness towards him; he was, after all, performing the operations on him at no cost, and Rinan had yet to do his part of the bargain and earn his keep about the house. The young man sunk deeper into the warm water around him, his heart sinking just as well. Nothing had been done to pay Izaak back, and Rinan had to do something about that. Anything. He certainly felt well enough to try...

The water in the large tub sloshed around lightly as he slid from the tub, and he shivered slightly when his bare feet touched the cold, marble floor. There were soft, warm towels provided for him, and he wrapped one around himself, drying off. He had to find Izaak. Walking across the bathroom and pushing the door open, Rinan felt strange to be on his feet on his own after so long. It was tiring to be sure, but not in the same way as before... Not unbearably so.

Beyond the doors was a long,dark hall, reminiscent of the rest of the house. It was so large, much too large for Izaak to live in by himself, Rinan thought. But then, Rinan knew he was unaccustomed to unused wealth, and it did in fact seem that most of the Malachi estate went uninhabited, accounting for the lack of lighting in most of it. Still, he thought it seemed lonely to be all alone in such a large place...

None of the doors seemed familiar to Rinan in any way, and he stumbled down the hall, which now seemed longer than he remembered it to be, clinging the towel tightly around himself. The doors all looked different from one another, but he didn't recognize any of them, and he wasn't brave enough to try pushing one open to find what lay beyond its frame. Instead, he turned down a smaller, even more poorly lit hall.

A sudden feeling of coldness overwhelmed him, and he realized for the first time how loud his footsteps seemed upon the oriental rugs and wooden floor of the empty hall. He was also conscious, then, of an ominous feeling that seemed to be shrouding him, as though he didn't belong here in Izaak's house, no matter the reason. Rinan also felt tired now, and it seemed it had snuck up on him, but his feet were in some way compelled to continue trekking onward, down the hall, which ended in a simple, wooden door. Before he realized how far he had walked, his fingertips were brushing the doorknob on the old door, and he twisted it open.

His knees gave way, and the door swung inward, wide and open, as he caught himself on the ground with his hands. He stared at what was before him, dimly lit but unmistakable. Scott had said in her letters that there had been a young man of about his age at the Malachi manor the night he had arrived, but Rinan hadn't ever seen anyone but Izaak. His sister had also enclosed a faint description of him, in which he told his coloring was much that of Izaak's... But the young man sitting lethargically on the floor before him didn't resemble the young surgeon in even the faintest way.

He was so pale, a paleness Rinan feared that he himself might have exhibited all too well. But it was everything about him, the paleness of his skin, the pale color of his light, slightly blue-tinted hair, and the paleness of his of his dim, lifeless eyes. Rinan, who, suddenly found himself fearing that the motionless boy could be dead, lifted his hand and reached it out to the boy, only to be startled enough to wrench it away when he saw the twitch-like movement of the boy's left hand, which was closed into a fist and lay limply on the floor. And for the moments Rinan simply stared at the boy in faint, bewildered awe, he thought the young man of his resemblance looked, if anything could fit the definition at all, just like someone who was dreaming...

la Reveûr

The young man of his resemblance looked, if anything could fit the definition at all, just like someone who was dreaming, his eyes closed, but naturally so, and his body still and listless. Izaak hovered by his bedside restlessly, anxious for the boy, who should have woken up long ago, to finally do so. Just as Izaak had resigned himself to the complete failure of not even being able to bring the boy to life, the slightest movement the small form gave instantly caught his attention, giving him hope once again.

It was another long moment of complete stillness and silence before the boy's eyes actually opened, slowly, and not quite all the way. Izaak was elated, for the simple fact that he had actually, finally opened his eyes. But, as Izaak waited impatiently for the boy to make another motion, he declined to do so, and with a worried curiosity, Izaak's hand went to hover before the boy's face, as he wondered, his hope suddenly spiraling into a feeling of dread, if the boy's pretty but dull eyes could see him at all.

He let out a slight breath of relief that he hadn't even known he'd been containing when the boy's eyes finally shifted in his direction, and an irrepressible smile crossed the young doctor's lips. “My name is Izaak Malachi,” he said softly, resting the hovering hand, finally, on the boy's pale face, and turning him to get a better look at his features. While close, the coloring of his hair and eyes were still so entirely off... “Your name is Drei, and I created you.”

Chewing on his bottom lip nervously, Izaak found himself reluctant to continue. The next part of his practiced speech should have been “Do you understand?” the fact that Drei had yet to show much of an interest or even a reaction of any sort bothered Izaak to the point that he feared once more that something could truly be very, very wrong. And then he noticed Drei's eye shift once more, this time away from him, towards the other side of the room.

Because Drei had taken so long to finally wake up, and Izaak had feared that he had done something terribly wrong whilst creating him, he had moved his newest little creation to the lab where his most critical studies were conducted. And the lab where he had kept Ein since he had needed to be contained, shortly before Drei himself was completed. So, as Drei's eyes fixed on the smaller version of the boy whose likeness they both shared, he asked, “And who is he?” very, very softly, his words slow, the first thing he had yet to say.

“Ein.”

There was a pause, and then Drei turned his head once more to stare up at the ceiling for a moment, before closing his eyes again. “I see,” he said, and Izaak was overcome with a feeling of sorrow. Why did he act so pitiful and lifeless..? Even Zwei had taken an interest in waking up, but Drei had hardly spoken or moved at all. What had he done so wrong..? “And the one in the doorway?” Drei asked suddenly, catching the young doctor a bit off guard.

Izaak turned to the doorway in faint surprise, finding Zwei standing there, his green eyes dark and his expression unreadable. “Zwei,” Izaak said absently, looking just as such in Zwei's direction until, frowning, Zwei finally broke eye contact and disappeared from the doorway and off down the hall somewhere. He finally turned to look back at Drei, whose hand he now held in his and who had, as Izaak had expected, not moved at all. There was another long silence before Drei said anything again.

“I see,” was his only, faint reply, and eventually his eyes opened again and he looked back towards Ein, who remained as motionless as he, concealed as he was in the large, cylindrical glass tube of preservation fluids, an oxygen mask on his face, and wires monitoring even the slightest changes of his body floating aimlessly about inside. All the while, Izaak remained as silent as his newest little masterful mistake, looking, from time to time, at Ein as well, but mostly at the small, perfect hand in his, whose fingers he doubted would ever move. What had he done so wrong..?

What had he done so wrong..? How could it have turned out like this? Vier and Fünf were... But Vier hadn't even like Fünf at first, and now... What had gone so wrong? The door to the room swung open in at the less than gentle touch of his hands, and he found them both, just where he had expected. Both, initially, looked just as surprised, and pulled themselves from one another, Fünf confused and at a loss for what to say or do, and Vier trying to act far more indifferent than he truly was. Izaak's lips were set in a thin, firm line, and he simply stared at the two, each with their hair and clothes both tousled and awry, more conflicted now than he had been.

He'd never even suspected... Not until just a little while ago. He'd never had any idea. Why did he feel so betrayed? Because it hadn't been in his grand scheme for them to fall in love..? What hurt the most? And why, why, why, did it hurt at all? Desperately, his mind, scientific and calculating, tried to grasp for any plausible explanation. How had this happened? Why? How had he come to be so hurt by it all? He opened his mouth, but said nothing, unable to force the words from his lips, his hand, all the while, gradually sliding down the door, too occupied was he to worry on such trifling matters as the physical.

His eyes stung in a way that they hadn't when he'd found his father, cold and bleeding on the ground by make of his own hand. They stung in a manner which he had not felt since the innate betrayal of his life, when Freud had left him... Had Vier and Fünf now left him too..? Pushing himself, finally, off of the door, and staggering up to his feet, his hand was replaced onto his head, in which his mind was still struggling to interpret the strange sensations coming from his heart, that shouldn't have existed at all, coming from an organ primarily devoted to cardiovascular, circulatory...... The wet sensation of the blood against the pale skin of his forehead served to jostle his senses a bit, and he looked to the door, where his blood stained hand had left likewise stains.

“Izaak...” It was Vier, surprisingly, who had taken a step forwards, his hand outreached to his creator. Izaak stared, in stead, at his own hands, suddenly seeming to be oblivious at the travesty before him. He'd been in the middle of another alteration for Sechs, who he had yet to complete, when he'd just... Known. He didn't know how; it had been something that Zwei had said... Though in retrospect, he could not remember what. Somehow he'd just known, and he'd come, so abruptly, to find them... Together... “Izaak,” Vier said again, almost pleadingly, his hand, slowly as it had been moved, so near to Izaak now that any moment they would touch, and... Vier stepped back, suddenly, in shock, Fünf cowering behind him.

When Vier's fingers hand glanced across the blood covered skin at the back of Izaak's hand, the young doctor had jerked it away in almost a violent motion, startling both himself and his two creation. His green eyes were wide now, and he stared at Vier, who stared, terrified, back at him. Why had he become so angry? Did he not love them? Was he so imperfect a creator..? His hand, much as Vier's had, reached out to touch his lovingly crafted handy work, but Vier, seemingly involuntarily, flinched away, and he protectively pulled Fünf behind him.

He was losing. He was losing them, he was losing everything. His hand, darker now, covered in blood that had begun to dry, clenched into a fist, and he held it so tight in all his frustration that he began to shake, and the whiteness of his knuckles was visible even from beneath the crimson sheen. Was he not the one who should be protecting them, and loving them, unconditionally, for they were his own? But they had chosen each other over him, so should he need validation to feel the hot, alien anger he felt, burning inside him, in the same place that should not produce emotion... And it ached so.

Finally he turned, sorrowful, angry, and hurt, his hand whipping down to his side, and he made to leave them to his own means. He stopped, however, suddenly, finding that behind him had stood Drei, who had come so quietly that he had not been noticed. The sickening silence of the room was transformed into a mutual one of surprise by all parties but Drei, who, after a moment of being stared at by all three, and staring lethargically as ever back up at Izaak, fell forwards, caught in strong, bloodied hands. “Drei,” Izaak murmured quietly in disbelief, gazing in faint wonder at the small, frail creature in his arms. Vier and Fünf too seemed equally as startled, and Fünf peered anxiously from behind Vier, his brows knitted together in a most troubled fashion.

“You should not be up,” Izaak said, taking the boy more carefully into his arms, peering down at him through his anguish worriedly. Drei had most always remained at the entrance to Ein's room, unable as he was to move far without assistance. All day he sat outside the door, his posture limp, his eyes dull and half-lidded, so much like a frail, broken doll. “How did you get here?” Izaak asked in troubled wonder. “Zwei?” But even as the name left his lips, he knew there was no presence of his other anywhere near the vicinity of the large manner, and he continued to stare at the boy, who had come, ill of aid, from the entire other end of the place, in confusion.

“Izaak,” he said, and oh how the young doctor loved to hear his name, loved to hear Sechs from the lips of the one who nary uttered a word. Tension grew in the room, static in the air, and behind him he felt the newer two fidget and move, anxious as he for the pale boy to continue. “You know....” he said, his head lulling to the side some, lightly violet strands falling over his heavy, chocolate colored eyes, and Izaak's hand, now dried, though still dark, moved to touch his face. “We love you,” came his faint whisper, and Izaak felt far the more profound pang just then than he had moments before. “And we would love you,” he continued, his words slow and his pauses long.

“Even though your heart does not belong to us.” And that was it. He was drawn into Izaak's arms, and Izaak held on to him dearly as he dared, the frail body warm but unresponsive in his grip. And as he fell to his knees, still careful with the one whom he dared not let go of, he knew it was true. He had created, simply, what he was, and loved another as they did. Always it would be as such, and he had been unfair. The betrayal now replaced with guilt, he dared not face those whom he had nearly accosted. “Forgive them, Izaak..?” Drei asked, and a dry sob shook the surgeon, who had hidden himself in the nape of his pale neck. “For their love for one another is their love for you...”

The most tortuous thing he had felt in his life were the hand of Vier and Fünf upon him, and then their arms around him as his were around Drei. He was wrong, he knew, but it still hurt him to know that Vier and Fünf were in love. It had taken his beautiful little dreamer to show him the truth, and for that he was grateful. Looking back, he couldn't remember how long they stayed like that. He had no idea how long it could have been that Zwei had gone, standing in the doorway unnoticed.

He had no idea how long it could have been that Zwei had gone, standing in the doorway unnoticed. “Izaak,” he said, and it was a while before the young surgeon reacted. He'd been staring down at his work table, a jumble of things before him in pieces, anxious to have the final surgeries out of the way, though he knew he had to leave some kind of grace period for Rinan to recover from the last operation. When he looked up, finally, he was somewhat taken aback to find the condition Zwei seemed to be in, and he moved to stand, but he simply shook his head and Izaak declined. “I found Rinan earlier...” he said, his words foreign and estranged, and Izaak, who was startled, simply stared at him with confusion.

“He was... With Vier,” Zwei managed with some effort. Izaak gave a start, and Zwei continued, shakily. “He was passed out when I got there, and Drei...” It was only when Zwei raised his clenched fist, and held it between himself and Izaak that Izaak dared let himself notice Zwei was holding something. “H-he said that... That Ein told him to. And...” Izaak reached out, and Zwei dropped something small into Izaak's hand, pulling his own away in a motion that made it seem as though it had just stung him. Izaak's fingers wrapped around the fragment of metal that had once served to sustained Vier in his frail condition. It was a long moment before Zwei spoke again, and when he did, it was a thin, breathy whisper. “Izaak, he's...”

“I know...” Izaak replied softly, the small chip still warm in his hand. “I know,” he said again, his words hollow and surreal to his own ears.

“I... I'll go get your things ready, Izaak...” Zwei said softly, eager to leave the room and busy himself, it seemed. “I'll move Rinan to the table and...” he trailed off, waiting for Izaak to reply, but the young doctor only nodded, staring down at his hand. Zwei, for all his eagerness to leave, seemed, now, hesitant to go. “Izaak,” he said tentatively after a moment, but Izaak lifted up his empty hand, and Zwei turned away. “Take your time,” he said softly from over his shoulder, and then he was gone, leaving Izaak with the final, small remnant of what was once his beautiful little dreamer.

et. al.