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The news forecasts the end of the world for next Thursday. Obviously they don’t say it like that, but Toji can see it in the newscasters whose smiles don’t quite reach their eyes. He’s in his bed, like he always is these days, flicking through the channels like something will be different from the last time he cycled through them all. His dad moved the television into his room so he wouldn’t get bored, but it’s done nothing of the sort. For once in his life, Toji wishes school wasn’t canceled. He probably wouldn’t go, anyways. Showing up to class would be too embarrassing, even if half the class evacuated already. He’s been watching their planes take off through his window.
Despite it all, though, Kensuke has kept up his near perfect attendance. He’s been bringing Toji the classwork he’s missing, though it barely matters now, and they tell Toji’s dad they're working on it together. In reality, they’re shooting the shit like they always do, albeit confined to 6 tatami mats. Thankfully, Kensuke doesn’t make it weird. He probably knows Toji doesn’t want to talk about it. He pulls a chair up to the bed to show Toji some random footage he recorded on his walk to his apartment and the conversation goes from there. Though sometimes, he brings the Saturn and they play whatever game Kensuke had picked out before he left. It’s nice, Toji thinks.
Toji is pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the front door opening. Kensuke doesn’t even knock anymore. Nobody is here to answer the door, anyways. Sakura and his grandpa have already evacuated. They’re in the “high-risk” category because of their age. Toji doesn’t know why he doesn’t fall into that category, though Kensuke told him their school is adamant on keeping as many students in town as possible.
“It’s me,” Kensuke calls out, accompanied by the shuffling of him toeing his shoes off.
Toji clears his throat before replying. He hasn’t been talking much when Kensuke isn’t here. “I’m in here!”
His bedroom door slides open, revealing Kensuke and a stack of missed schoolwork from the days before class got canceled in his hands. He sets the papers on top of the already precariously tall tower of schoolwork that will probably never get done.
“What’s up?” Kensuke turns around to face Toji, leaning back against the closet door.
Toji rolls his eyes, “You already know man, same old shit as always. Didja bring any games?”
Kensuke scrunches his face up as he responds. “No, well, Y’see, I called Ikari-“
“Shinji? He’s still here?”
“Of course he is, dude, NERV needs him.” His hands nervously wring the strap of his school bag. “Anyways, yeah, I called him, it went to voicemail, but I told him to meet us at school this afternoon,” He explains, “So we can say bye before we have to leave.”
Toji thinks Kensuke expected him to get mad. He feels like he should be. But he isn’t, really. He looks down at his lap. “Yeah, man… That’s a good idea.” He knows Shinji’s gonna throw a fit once he sees how he’s doing and all, but he really does miss him.
“Really?” The surprise is evident on Kensuke’s face. “Well, the trains stopped running a while back, so we’ll wanna leave now if we wanna get back before it’s dark.”
Toji groans, “Man, the trains have stopped? Shit really is fucked, huh?”
Kensuke is already unfolding the shitty wheelchair the hospital left him with. “Dude, tell me about it. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one left in the city.” He rolls the crappy wheelchair on loan from the hospital beside Toji’s bed.
Toji lifts himself up from bed and into the wheelchair, landing in the seat with a clunk. Hopefully this thing doesn’t break on him before he gets a better one. He reaches down to pick up his track jacket, smelling the armpits to make sure it was suitable to wear. After deeming it clean enough, he shoulders it on.
The city is a wreck. Toji hasn’t been out much since it happened, keeping himself to his bedroom out of a mix of shame and exhaustion. Though, seeing how Tokyo-3 looks, he doubts that he would have wanted to go out anyways.
The train lines are empty, and abandoned cars are scattering the streets, covered with graffiti. If Toji was himself, maybe he would be out here tagging buildings too.
“It's freaky, huh?” Kensuke pipes up from beside him, making sure to walk next to Toji and not behind or in front of him. “There’s tons of empty houses and apartments. Pretty much all that's left in town are NERV workers and their families.”
“So, us.”
Kensuke shoots Toji a sarcastic look. “Yeeeep. School is affiliated with NERV or something, that‘s why some kids are staying here.”
“And it’s why they’re shippin’ us out to Germany.”
Kensuke’s shoulders sag, clearly worried. “I think it’ll be okay. Germany is cool! I mean, that’s where Soryuu is from,” He grips the strap of his messenger bag, fidgeting with the frayed edges of the canvas, “I’m pretending it’s gonna be like that trip to Okinawa a few months back. That was fun. I really liked flying on the plane.”
Toji doesn’t reply and pushes himself along, eyeing the grass and weeds growing between the cracks in the pavement.
Kensuke was never one for silence, though, so he continues, “I called Shinji the other day, when we had to evacuate.” He doesn’t specify which attack, even if evacuations were no longer few and far between, he hopes Toji gets the point. The nervousness is evident in his voice. “He said he was gonna leave and I got really pissed off. It was right after your–,” He cuts himself off, not wanting to go too far. “Yeah, um, and I just felt really shitty because everything was going to shit, y’know? I think he should’ve manned up and piloted. The city wouldn’t look like this if he had grown a pair.” He gestures to a building with its windows shattered, broken glass scattered around the sidewalk.
Toji bites the inside of his cheek until it burns.
“And- and then he fucking hung up on me!” His voice rises in volume, and his hand breaks away from the strap of his bag to be balled up at his side. “Why the fuck would he do that? Half of me doesn’t even want to see him right now. If I was a pilot I wouldn’t be hiding when everyone was fucking hurting !”
“Kensuke, stop.” Toji breaks his silence. “Can we not do this right now?” He tightens his grip on the handrims of his chair, knuckles going white.
He fell silent. “Yeah, dude.” His hands go back to the strap of his bag, nails digging into the weave of the material. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, I just don’t wanna be talking shit about him. He’s our friend, man.”
Kensuke looks down at his feet, ashamed. He gives a small nod and keeps walking.
The silence hangs heavy in the air as they make their way to the school. Every so often they would see someone else in the city, turning a corner a few blocks down or walking out of a convenience store with bags full of who knows what. It must really suck to be working there, Toji thought. He hopes that everyone will be able to make it to safety soon. Tokyo-3 had become anything but that. He thinks it’s ironic, how his dad had moved to Tokyo-3 for a new job and a promise of safety, only for his wife to end up dead, and his kids broken.
“Without the trains, we gotta cut through some stuff.” Kensuke speaks up, still pulling at the threads of his bag.
Toji nods, not really listening all that much, “Yeah, man, just tell me where to go.”
“No, it's like, up a hill. I know you don’t like this, but I gotta push you, dude”
Toji feels his palms get sweaty against the cool metal of the handrim. Fucking christ, can nothing be easy? Toji knows that situations like this are inevitable, but that doesn’t make it any less humiliating. He shuts his eyes tight until he sees spots dancing across his vision. “Yeah, whatever, let's just do it.”
Kensuke gave a weak reassuring smile as he moved behind Toji to grab the handles of his chair. Toji let go of the wheels, and put his hands in his lap. He feels so useless like this. He keeps his eyes trained on the dead, yellowing grass beneath them. Kensuke pushes him forward, and he hears the grass crunch under his chair. In moments like this, he wants to hate Shinji. He wishes he was back to that moment months ago, throwing punches at the pilot. Part of him wishes he hit a lot harder, until his lights went out, and he hates that he thinks these things. The other part of him wishes he was stronger, that he could get through his physical therapy and walk to Shinji’s place himself and tell him it’s okay. That he’s better now. But no matter how hard he tries, it won’t happen.
“Hey, man, we’re here. You’re good to go.” Kensuke’s voice brings him out of his thoughts.
Toji blinks back to attention, eyes adjusting to the brightness of the sun. “Yeah, uh, thanks dude.” They’re on the other side of the fence that blocks off the basketball court. Toji can see a silhouette against the sun, presumably Shinji’s. He’s hunched over on a bench, with headphones trailing from his ears to his pocket. Kensuke stiffly nods Toji towards the gap in the fencing. He’s not happy to be here, even if he was the one who set all this up.
Toji goes first, diving into the deep end. He makes his way up onto the court, looking around for a stray basketball, mostly so he had something to do with his hands. He heard Kensuke’s footsteps behind him.
“Hey, Ikari. What's up!” Kensuke greets Shinji in the kind of fake voice Toji has gotten good at spotting. He sits next to Shinji on the bench, trying to be amicable.
Toji ignores them, opting instead to focus on how the basketball feels in his hand. It’s been ages since he’s held one, much less been on a court. In his head, Toji can imagine himself pulling all the stops on the court, even in his chair. But he’s in a flimsy hospital issued chair that would tip with a heavy gust of wind. Maybe once he gets a better chair, or even a prosthetic, he could start playing again. He dribbles the ball, relishing in the sound of the rubber against concrete. Toji’s pretty sure a single game could fix everything, but he won’t be able to play for a while.
Toji looks up towards Shinji and Kensuke, watching them converse awkwardly. Shinji looks up and meets his eyes, before quickly breaking eye contact and pointedly looking at his sneakers. Christ. Time to bite the bullet.
He makes his way over to the bench, basketball in his lap. “Shinji! I’ve missed ya, man.” Unlike Kensuke, Toji didn’t lie to his friends' faces. He really had missed him. He missed being an idiot at school with him, feeling happy even if the impending threat of the apocalypse loomed over their shoulders. Toji gives a genuine smile, hoping that Shinji would pick up on his feelings.
Shinji looked up and, upon seeing the state Toji was in, a guilty not-quite smile crossed his face. “Hi,” he replied, contemptibly.
Kensuke, sensing the tension between the two, jumps into a conversation. “Class Rep and a few others left on this morning's flight.” He motions upwards, to a plane crossing overhead. He pulls out his camera and starts filming the sky.
Shinji stays silent, gazing up at the contrails left in the sky.
“I dunno why, but we’re all headin’ to Germany.” Toji neglects to mention that they were evacuating to NERV Germany. For some reason, he feels like it would upset Shinji. He wheels himself in front of the basket nearest to them and begins dribbling. Playing basketball sitting down was a lot harder than he assumed.
“Yeah– tomorrow,” Kensuke pipes up, still fixated on the planes in the sky.
Toji motions for Shinji to join him on the court, smiling. Even if Shinji seems startled at the invitation, he gets up and follows directions anyway.
“Wanna play with me?”
Shinji looks down at his feet. “I’ve never played basketball. I don’t think I’m that good.”
Toji rolls his eyes good naturedly. “Everyone starts somewhere, yeah? Just bounce the ball!” He passes the ball to Shinji, who fumbles to catch it. “Nice. Now just bounce it. I promise, it’s easy.”
With the planes long gone, Kensuke shifts his attention to film his two friends on the court. He cheers them on from the sidelines.
“I- Toji, I don’t think I can,” Shinji’s nails dig into the rubber of the ball, obviously not strong enough to pop it, but still worryingly so.
Toji gives a sad smile and pushes to get the ball from Shinji. “It’s ok man. Don’t worry about it,” He sighs and looks up at Shinji, “I don’t want you to blame yourself, Shinji.”
Upon hearing this, Shinji is startled out of the staring contest with his shoes. He looks at Toji, searching for any malice in his face, but finds none.
“I don’t blame you, I promise.” It feels good to get these things off his chest. Toji knows Shinji is beating himself up over what happened, and that just makes Toji hurt more. “If we’re gonna be real, I’m gonna thank you! I really loved the time we spent together. You’re a great friend, man.”
Shinji stares back in awe.
“We’re gonna be friends no matter what, okay?” Toji is reassuring both Shinji and himself. He shoots the ball into the basket, watching it roll around the rim before finally falling in. He moves to grab the ball before it gets too far away from him.
“Toji, we should get back before it gets too dark. No trains, remember?”
Toji glances over to Kensuke, who is still filming the other boys. “Yeah, yeah. One sec,” He gives Shinji one last smile before tossing the ball to him.
Shinji doesn’t reach out to catch it.
Toji’s smile falls, and he puts his hands back on the rims of his wheelchair. “I really mean it, Shinji. Thanks.” It hurts to say. Nothings gonna be like it ever was. It’s going to be like this until he dies. The ball rolls to the far side of the court.
“Take care of yourself, Ikari. See you later,” Kensuke lies again.