Chapter Text
To say that his life before now was undesirable is a complicated statement.
The first issue is the presence of desire in the first place. Desire is a human emotion. The act of wanting is not something that comes naturally to him. Desire is not something that he should feel. Therefore, for something to be undesirable was also against the very concept of what he was. He had been given a holy place, a place higher even than others of divinity. For that, he should be grateful. But instead, he wants.
The next issue is to say that he was a he at all, rather than it or they. He was nothing more than a voice in the choir of the heavens, carrying out that which was requested of him. Wanting to be a man at all, to assign a concept so meaningless as gender, was his next mistake.
The third issue, (and there must be three, for three contains multitudes,) is the greatest mistake of all. Love. He doesn’t understand why it’s such a mistake to love. Love is the reason for it all, isn't it? It is unknowable, untouchable, but so very real. He has fallen in love, and for that, he has been cast from his place in the stars.
Whereas three is the number of the divine, four is the number of man. Now that he has become one, it is only logical that there must be a fourth problem to face.
The problem of being lost. He felt, to put it in simple terms, that something was missing. He was one of many, and now he is only one. When one exists as a voice in the song, the sudden sensation of singing alone is frightening.
That isn’t to say that he sang at all, not at first. He didn’t even speak. At first, he didn’t even stop to think that he could. That, along with simply not knowing what to say.
When he awoke in this unfamiliar body, it was sunrise. He thought it fitting to not even allow him to look to the stars for comfort.
It was very strange, this new body. It knew to do things that he had never done. He was instinctually breathing, without making the effort to do so. He’s grateful for that, at least, because he would have forgotten to try. It knew how to walk, how to see, how to shiver in the cold.
He had woken up alongside the ocean, dressed in plain white. His first thought was to find Shinji, of course it was. The curse of his banishment almost felt like a gift, when he realized that he could find him. He was the reason all of this was happening.
But he can’t, not yet. He doesn't know how to be what Shinji needs. He doesn't know how not to hurt him. Humans are fragile like that. Something as simple as saying the wrong thing can be catastrophic. So no, he wouldn't seek out Shinji. He, as much as he hated knowing it, had to learn how to be human.
Not long before he was dismissed, he heard whispers beneath the song. Whispers of someone who had been exiled, just as he had. Cursed to be human.
He could feel her, even here.
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When the very woman he was looking for opened the door, she was something to take in. She didn’t look as human as he thought she might. Her hair was a shade of blue that he didn’t think naturally occurred in them, and her eyes were deep red.
She didn’t look quite human, and yet she did. She looked so very human. She had rings beneath her eyes, and her teeth were just yellow enough to notice.
“Virtue,” he greets her. His own voice surprises him. Not because it sounded especially strange, but because of the sensation itself. He expected for the sound to be felt more... in his mouth. The sound comes from his throat and resonates in the bridge of his nose. He makes another small sound, quietly. He holds his hand against the base of his throat, and feels it vibrate.
“I am no longer Virtue. I am Rei Ayanami,” she says. She asks no questions, she simply turns, leaving the door open for him to follow.
She walks into the kitchen, turning some dials on a kettle. “You have sand in your hair,” she informs him. He reaches up to his hair, confirming this.
“I suppose I do.” He notes that hair doesn’t feel the way he expected it to. It’s softer than he thought. Well, besides the sand.
“You’ve come straight from the beach, haven’t you?” She asks. He thinks that maybe she had woken up there as well, her first day on earth. He nods. “I will make you tea. You’ll drink it, and then you will have a bath.”
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When he gets to the bathroom, he immediately becomes enamored with the mirror. He had never had a body before, and frankly, was thrilled about it. He found himself sort of beautiful. He found himself hoping that Shinji would think so, too.
He has grey hair, almost white. It was strange, he noted, Hair usually only becomes that color on a human when they grow old. He still had sand in his hair, but he didn't mind.
His eyes were red, like Ayanami’s. He looked quite a bit like her, really. He doesn’t suppose it’s unusual, they were... well, he wasn’t sure what they were. He isn’t sure what constitutes being someone’s family. He makes a note to ask her later.
When he moves his hand, the human in the mirror moves in tandem. He spends a considerable amount of time waving his fingers back and forth, fascinated. When he reaches his hand to touch the hand reflected on the glass, he’s almost surprised. It still feels like glass, even when it doesn't look like it should. He feels a bit silly, once he realizes what he’s been doing.
The bath has gone cold by the time he actually gets in it, (although at the time he hadn't noticed.) In retrospect, he isn’t sure he was using shampoo correctly either. He got the sand out of his hair, at least.
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“Do you have a name?” She asks. It occurs to him that no, he doesn’t. He‘s never needed one, until now.
“It’s my understanding that humans are given names by their parents, but you and I have no parents. How is it that you have a name?” He asks her.
“Sometimes, the names human children are given are not their true names. They choose for themself.” She crosses one leg over the other. He notes that even now, she still looks ethereal. “I chose this name. I implore you to do the same.”
He takes a moment to consider this. He has always found the concept of a name strange, something unique to humankind. He understood that he had a title, once. Seraphim is not his name, though. It was the closest he had ever come to the strange and unnecessary concept of a name.
“I’ll admit, the task is a bit daunting,” he admits. He is choosing something that is entirely his own.
“You may deliberate for as long as you wish,” she rises. “I am needed elsewhere. There is a spare room down the hall, we will make it yours. Tomorrow, we will get you some belongings of your own.” She turns to the door, and he stops her before she can open it.
“Pardon me if it’s a strange question, but I’ve been wondering.” He says, She turns to him, and eyes identical to his own stare back at him. “We are the same, you and I. We are made up of the same things, and we will live in the same home. Does this make us equivalent to a human family?” She pauses, for a moment. There is something behind her eyes that he cannot place.
“Is that what you want? For us to be family?” He's unsure how to respond. To want. His wanting, he thinks, is why he has ended up here at all. So, he thinks that it could be alright. Maybe he shouldn't be ashamed, for seeking that comfort. He nods to her.
“Then it will be so,” she nods back at him, turning. “Don’t burn the house down while I’m away.” She says, and he laughs. He realizes that this is the first time he’s done that, and smiles again as she closes the door.
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He discovers, while Ayanami is gone, that he doesn’t particularly enjoy silence. When he woke up on the beach, the sound of the waves enveloped him. He didn’t realize it, at the time. He didn’t notice the sounds of nature until they were notably absent. The silence overwhelmed him. The buzz of something distant and mechanical seemed much too loud.
His first instinct is to hum. He wonders if this was something divine, like the songs he used to sing when he was among the stars. Or was it the human instinct to create? Either way, it didn’t matter. The sound wouldn’t come when he called it. Was it that he didn’t know how, or that he was afraid?
He opened a window, instead. The birdsong would suffice for now.
He decides that he likes the window left open. The sea swept it’s salt into the air, and he could feel the tide throwing itself against the sand, even from here. He wonders how much of his situation is simply human coincidence. Of course, there is always something great and ineffable, above everyone. That was something he could no longer comprehend, though. So, he watches the sea from his window. Nagisa, the shore. That could be a nice surname, he thinks.