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“God, Kaworu, I’m in the middle of someth-”
“Mm, don’t care,” Kaworu slurs, scooting to where Shinji is sitting in front of the chunky old TV. He curls his arms around Shinji’s waist and rests his head on his shoulder, feeling like it’s made for him to be there. Shinji smells like Kaworu’s shampoo, a fragrantly floral one that Kaworu had chosen so Shinji could smell like it when he stayed over.
Shinji had arrived at Kaworu’s place a couple of hours prior, making grudging conversation and loading up one of the games lying around. Kaworu, as per usual, didn’t understand why Shinji shied away from his touch and conversation. The video game was clearly an evasive maneuver, which was a disappointment - Kaworu had been excited for Shinji to stay the night, despite his inability to understand Shinji’s reserved manner - whether it was physical touch or being emotionally vulnerable. The silence soon became stifling, and if Kaworu had anything to do with it, he would initiate a rebuttal of his own.
“I’m in the middle of a boss fight,” Shinji complains, though he moves his arms so they wrap around Kaworu with his hands on the controller. He sits with Kaworu draped over him, focused on the screen. When Kaworu tilts his head to peek up at him, his tongue is poked out in concentration. Kaworu’s heart constricts, an afflicted noise leaving him.
“What?” Shinji asks idly, aggressively mashing the controller buttons.
“You’re just so… cute,” Kaworu says, wrapping his arms around Shinji tightly. “And you smell nice,” Kaworu adds. He doesn’t miss the sound of Shinji’s fingers faltering on the controller and the familiar death sound cue from the screen.
“What the hell,” Shinji huffs, sounding frustrated, “You’re so weird. Get your hands off of me,” he says, though with the way he continues to mash buttons on the controller, Kaworu assumes he’s gone back to focusing on the game.
“Can’t I just be glad to have you here with me?” Kaworu hums, hands pressing against Shinji’s back underneath the edge of his shirt.
“N-No - move any further and you’re a dead man, Nagisa,” Shinji mutters, some of the malice he intended absorbed in concentration, though he gives a half-hearted attempt to shrug Kaworu off.
“Wouldn’t mind it if it were with you,” Kaworu whispers - and he decides he really doesn’t mind, because he moves further anyways. His warm hands brush up Shinji’s spine. Kaworu observes a red flush that creeps up Shinji’s neck and face, gratified knowing he could bring such a reaction upon Shinji.
“N-Nagisa,” Shinji jolts in Kaworu’s embrace. “Stop. I’m trying to focus. Can’t you be normal and like, read a book or something?” Kaworu disregards him and presses a soft kiss to his neck. A scandalized noise escapes Shinji.
“Nagisa,” He complains. Kaworu gently worries his skin between kisses. “Stop, get off, I’m trying to win - jeez - what’s wrong with you?” He protests, an affected whine leaving him as he squirms at Kaworu’s touch.
“Mm, nothing,” Kaworu responds hazily, lifting his head to bite at Shinji’s earlobe. This time, Shinji aborts his video game, dropping the controller to push at Kaworu’s shoulders.
“Seriously, what are you doing!” Shinji exclaims. Kaworu merely looks at him through his roseate gaze. Instead of answering, he vies for a question he thinks is much more deserving of acknowledgment, asking, “If you came to love me, I wonder how that would feel?”
“Guys don’t love other guys,” Shinji responds acridly with an amorphous answer, scooting back, “and you smell like weed. Get off of me. It’s late, and I’m tired.” He peeks behind Kaworu to look at the time on the TV. The AM tacked onto the end of it seems to mock him.
“Sorry,” Kaworu sighs, resolving to hold Shinji in his arms again. Shinji yelps, unbalanced, as he thumps onto the floor with Kaworu’s weight.
“Kaworu, you do such strange things - get off, I’m tired,”
“Indulge me, Shinji. You wanted to come to my place but you’ve been playing video games this whole time. You dodge my conversation. You dodge me. Why do you hate me so much?”
“I never said I hated you,” Shinji mutters. “If I had known you’d cling onto me, I wouldn’t have come.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
A sullen silence. “Fine. This once,” Shinji relents, stiff-limbed but not avoidant.
Shinji’s touch is something Kaworu luxuriates in when he gets the chance. He basks in how perfectly their bodies seem to slot together, melting into the touch. Everywhere his skin makes contact with Shinji’s seems to resonate with an undying affection. It’s like relearning what touch is for the first time, and at that moment, Kaworu knows what it means to be human.
“If you’re gonna just lay on me, can we move to the bed? I don’t wanna stay on the floor,” Shinji mumbles.
“In a second,” Kaworu responds, fondness pumping through his veins. Shinji’s touch is familiar. It makes Kaworu want to learn everything about him - to commit his voice, his body, and his mind to memory - so he’ll never forget. He’ll never forget how right it feels to associate Shinji with the words ‘I love you’. He’ll never forget how it lifts his whole being and pulls him towards Shinji, desperate to get the message across.
Kaworu’s life is written to fit into Shinji’s script. Every action of his is done in a hopeful attempt to keep him. Most of all, Kaworu yearns for Shinji to love him back - fickle human love, no matter how capricious, is a gift Kaworu has the privilege of experiencing. If Shinji won’t reciprocate in the form of profession, then touch will have to be enough for Kaworu.
He takes refuge in knowing the touch Shinji surrenders to him is something that only he knows - not Ayanami nor Asuka. Though Kaworu pretends not to notice when Shinji becomes flustered at Asuka’s presence or when he laments over Ayanami, he takes comfort in knowing that Shinji’s rare acquiescence is his alone.
How love can be such an inconstant thing among humans, with its multitude of iterations - infatuation, obsession, intimacy - Kaworu doesn’t know. Expression of love spans a vast range of possibilities: touch, profession, words of poetry and song, time spent together, and more - all borne of affection, to create the phenomenon of love. So prevalent and yet so abstruse.
Love is something so unique to the human experience, Kaworu now recognizes, along with judgment, spirituality, and creation. So definitively human. It brings around the question if Kaworu can even recognize something like love, with the soul of an angel. But in his mortal vessel, he cannot doubt for a second that he knows love, for it is sprawled out right in front of him in the form of Shinji Ikari.
“Shinji,” Kaworu whispers. He expects to be faced with Shinji’s peeved expression, but instead, he faces a dozing one. Kaworu could spend the whole night poring over his love for the boy, but it would all be fruitless if Shinji were to wake up on an uncomfortable floor. Nonetheless, Kaworu lets himself settle back down next to Shinji. Here, he could contentedly admire Shinji’s tranquil expression and revel in the mortal rise and fall of his breathing.
Though a distant notion in the back of his mind prods him to wake Shinji for comfort’s sake, Kaworu can’t bring himself to. Partly because he doesn’t want to wake him, and partly because - how often does Kaworu get the opportunity to devote his undivided attention to Shinji without the intervention of others? In this way, Kaworu harbors jealousy and selfishness, like a human. But he can accept it, even if Shinji wakes up complaining about stiffness in his joints.
Shinji can be mad at him in the morning.
For now, Kaworu knows who he’s here for, and that’s all that matters to him.