Chapter Text
Solitude. Once a thing, he'd spent his entire life avoiding fervently through other people. More specifically, through doing what other people wanted of him, in hopes of them turning their heads towards him and granting him attention. There were times where all he wanted was for the people around him to decide that he was worth their time. But, looking back, that was a long time ago. So long, he had a hard time remembering the last time he had an actual conversation. Though, he wouldn't reach out for some company now. Not, when he knew there was power in spending so many nights alone with himself. There comes a point where your company becomes all too familiar. Until being around anyone else is practically like acclimating to an entirely different world. Being in his own company for almost six years, he didn't need people, not like how he used to. From his vantage point, it seemed that chasing after their kind words or occasional smiles would be such a waste of time. Nowadays, it was other people who were the burden, not him.
And there was freedom in that.
He was free from the times where he was constantly trying to settle himself deep within another person's mind, as if they could ever tell him who he was supposed to be. As if another person knew what he needed and could lay it out all for him with gentle expertise. Chaining him down to their half formed opinions like they were drafts he'd cling to in hopes that he'd drift ashore. But he learned a long time ago, that no one was going to save him from himself. Not when they can leave so easily.
Now solitude is a glass cage, or a lone lighthouse on the edge of the world. Perched upon a clift made of rocks so black they would've settled as dead stars with jagged peaks. In short, being completely alone has become the only thing he had in his life.
Between the sharp angles and uninviting slants of that very cliff, somehow, a tall tower was built with a glass dome crowning the very top. Inside that glass dome was a powerful lamp that overlooked the shore with its searching light. This tower was made of grey bricks that were cracked from the harsh mist of the sea that would claw at the sides of the lighthouse like a starving beast. The ocean was never a gentle thing when a storm hit- and there never was a storm so abandoned of care as the one he was stuck in now.
Shinji Ikari was no ordinary person, not like he used to be in his youth. He was as jagged and hardened as the cliff side, and the only light left in his life was the one he tended to every night. It was his duty now, a sort of substitute for a life's purpose. He doesn't know exactly what put him here, under a flurry of crashing waves and pouring rain dripping down from angry skies. Perhaps it was his cold childhood with a neglectful father, or maybe it was simply the way things were meant to pan out when a young boy doesn't learn how to find solace in others. So he turned to the furthest thing from who he used to be.
No one would say he's a timid boy anymore, and perhaps that was the reason he truly was here. When he would go down to the shops that were on the softer side of the coast where the beaches were, there was no fisherman that would smile at him regardless of how many years he walked down the docks to the fish market. There was only a silent exchange of silver fish and paper cash between them. It didn't help that it was a long, and often uneven trek to the main coast so it wasn't like Shinji had time to loiter around. Not when there was a going to get to, and many chores to keep up back at the lighthouse.
In fact, there really was no one who paid much attention to him when he would go where the people were. Not even the passers-by would acknowledge him with polite courtesy, they only turned a blind eye to him as they passed each other. He felt like a ghost who'd haunt the docks in broad daylight, fazing through people who were full of life and laughter as if he were the only soulless person around.
And every time Shinji would walk through them like a lone boat parting the waters, he'd try to tell himself that it wasn't him who was the problem. That it was the coat, the sunken bags under his eyes, the prejudice of the public, and most importantly his job. It was always because of his job. There was a stigma about how he'd sign his life away to be a wreck among countless shipwrecks that haunted the coastline. They knew he'd seen death, it was obvious by how far gone his gaze was. So, they avoided him like they could smell the storms on his clothes. Almost treating him like it was his fault that so many brave sailors have died against the very rocks he lived above. He had accepted it as much as he could, this was just the price he had to pay to tend to the most dangerous clift sides in all of Japan.
It's not like there was anything else for him to do. He had taken the job position after the previous lighthouse keeper had gone missing from this post almost six years ago. Back then, that man had always been the lighthouse keeper, even through grey hair and greyed skin. This place was where he'd always been. It seems that because Shinji had taken his place, it meant he had taken up that old man's life too. By filling up his position meant Shinji assumed the bitterness that came with living alone for years. He'd walked right into the laid out legacy of being desolate and tempered with. Like father, like son.
He followed the schedule that plagued his senior for years. His feet were walking down the same paths he'd walk, eat the same food, and oil the same lamp. It was easy to do, and easier to not think about as he wrote and documented the stormy weather in the various journals left around the lighthouse's interior.
It was good that Shinji had spent so much time in his old life learning rules and becoming a good follower of them. For it made getting used to the routine much easier than he had originally anticipated. He wakes up everyday at the same time before the sun even comes up over the ocean's horizon, where the sky meets buoyant waves. He'd often forgo eating, pull on his thick dark blue leather coat, and start his daily tasks of tying the old, fraying ropes together into nets. Then he'd spend a good few hours of his day, waxing the metals of the large, old oil lamp with a prestigious amount of care. Making sure it would shine so brightly that the lighthouse beams would reach miles and miles out into the open sea.
Then the rest of his scheduled day would fall into place, as long as he didn't need to attend to shipwrecks in the midst of horrid weather. It did help that he always did his very best to maintain the light and never let it go out when the days seemed as gloomy as the nights were. It was hard work and it showed on his face every morning in the small, cracked bathroom mirror. There were even days where he'd cut himself shaving and wouldn't even notice. It's not like anyone could tell him that there was dried blood beside his ear. Sometimes he'd go weeks without even looking in the mirror because he had forgotten anyone could see him when he went down to the fishery and market place.
It's not like the people there acted like he was a person anyways. The children often looked at him with wide, fearful eyes as if they didn't know what a keeper was, and thought he was some type of cruel pirate. The older folks would turn to each other and gossip about the urban legends of the haunted shorelines. And when he went to the same fisherman who had worked a deal with the previous lighthouse keeper, he was never given a smile or polite greetings. Only a bucket of freshly caughts to last him a week in his small, dingy freezer.
Only small grunts were uttered from the old man who had a face cut down and firmly wrinkled from the tampering sea climates. Even though there were many times where Shinji personally had saved his life during storms, he was never given thanks. It seemed this old man treated him like he did the now deceased keeper. Shinji had merely fallen into the empty spot, and was assumed to have the same grim personality as the man who worked the light before him. He had inherited the bloodline legacy of that particular lighthouse, and with that came the honour of being seen as gravelly as the cliffs were.
To other people, he was the lighthouse keeper who lived alone and rarely spoke, and therefore he never had to be Shinji. For Shinji didn't exist; there was only the similar caricature of a solitary man with no sociability or status under his name.
Although there were some rare times where the distance he felt between himself and all the trained sailors that frequented the docks was called respect. Maybe this was a new world, where they were all men. Men who were stoic under crashing waves, rocking boats, and harsh weather. Maybe here on the shorelines men didn't need to be kind or caring; and a lighthouse keeper didn't need to be anything else but quiet.
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The salty air cut through his thoughts, as Shinji made his stumbling way up the narrow stairs towards the oil lamp's light. There was little rest of a job so demanding, only a few minutes ago did it seem that Shinji had looked away to write in his logs book in the downstairs study, but now the wind had picked up dramatically without warning. Calling out to him with its feral howls to go back to check on the oil lamp. So he picked himself up and made his way up the dusty stairwell. Making his way to the room with the glass panels that shook horribly from the fractiousness of the wind. The rain continued as it racked against the fragile glass that trembled horribly with a hollow chatting sound. Shinji saw that his light was at the beginning of dimming.
He sighed to himself in an unimpressed way as he took to fixing up the oil for the lamp to thrive. Even though there still was barely some daylight pouring in through the surrounding windows, in a storm this sharp, it was mandatory to take the precautions. It was grueling having to always attend to this light, but it was far better than having to watch as a helpless cargo ship getting lost in the fog before crashing into rock. As he worked, Shinji couldn't help but be dismayed at the fact he was supposed to pick up more rope tomorrow. He knew the steepness mixed with the dampness of the stone pathway to the village was going to be a grimy as it always was when a storm hit. It was safe to say that tonight would be a sleepless night.
And he was right to think that, after he spent the entirety of the night tossing and turning in his scratchy bed. Which caused the shaky iron bedframe to groan with each movement he made. He tried to listen to some music, though the wind was cutting through from outside the thick brick walls, and his mind was too filled with crashing thoughts to even pay much attention to what his ears were hearing. When he heard that the storm was finally letting up some, and the sounds were coming to a calm. He decided maybe a walk would do him some good. This was an odd decision on his part, he'd hardly ever walked, especially so late at night.
Though, it was suddenly all he could think about. His muscles tense at the thought that he wasn't moving, and his heart was racing at the thought that he had completed all his duties and had time leftover that he should be doing something productive with. He sighed once again to himself and got up with more force than necessary. His cold demeanour was riddled through the sour looks on his face, his lips almost always down turned even when he was all alone with no one else there. He grabbed his thickest coat off the rack by the door, and headed off into the pouring rain. Pushing the heavy wooded door with a commanding force, and his frame shook gently as the cold, crisp salty air permeated his lungs and nose.
He only took one thing with him, a slick black flashlight to lead his way into the pitch dark night. It wasn't raining too hard, at least, not to his standards after living here for so many years. He trotted through, stomping his black boots into muddied rock, and took a route he knew would be mostly concealed from any overlapping waves from the irritated sea. He knew this was foolish, for he would hate to suffer through a cold during storm seasons, not to mention the very likely risk of a huge wave coming out of no where to sweep him from his feet and dragging him down the sharp rocks all along the side of the cliff. A part of him that was buried deep within his psyche, the very twisted part of his inner self, was sort of hoping that a wave would come and carry him off.
Though, he carried on and kept his pace. He hoped maybe he could walk back to the village and see if any convenience store was open so he could get his hands on some cold beers. He often went through his packs of beer much too quickly than he always said he was going to. No matter how hard he tried to treat alcohol like a treat, it always seemed to become a crutch for his loneliest nights. It was a habit he perhaps took up from the woman he used to live with in his teen years. She always told him to never drink to feel better, and that alcohol was meant to be an enhancer not a supplement. She never took her own advice, and so Shinji figured he didn't need to either. This made them both stupid, but he could live with that.
After pushing through the pouring sheets of rain, he was starting to feel less pricking of sharp rock under his feet, and was slowly starting to get patches of sand scattered through his path. He had made his steady way to the beach, which was now desolate and somewhat depressing under the heavy weather. He made a mental note to stay clear of the shore, and walked as far as he could from it to avoid the waves that reached out to him with desperation. Only failing to do so, as only sea mist and ocean breeze touched Shinji from where he was trekking from between the beach and large black rocks.
His mind was somewhere between peaceful vacancies and mimicking the chaos of the ocean. He felt so broken most of the time, but it was when he was beside the water when he truly felt that disconnect within him. He was good at pushing his inner sense of displacement by filling his head with routes and work. He couldn't think when he was very busy prepping up meals for the week and tending the bay. Now, though there was nothing keeping him from his unhappiness with his unsatisfying and empty life. It was times like these where he needed alcohol to bury his inner wrath. He needed the remedy so badly, even a storm couldn't dismay him.
He was on the verge of giving up though, his mind now filling with thoughts that he deserved to feel this empty. That he was taking the easy way out of his pain, especially when he chose this life because he wanted to be left alone. He wanted to suffer in his own silence and not have to be anyone outside of his obligations. Right when he was about to turn back to the lighthouse in self-deprecating defeat, he heard an odd noise. It was gurgled, but didn't sound like the ocean. He paused mid step, and listened intently to see where it was coming from. He could distinguish it from the whooshing of the howling winds, it sounded eerily similar to a voice. A very hurt voice.
Shinji kept walking forward with a brisk pace, his feet rushing with anxiety. He scanned his lone light along the shore hoping to not see anyone washed up. Though as he neared the groans he could better make it out to be a man who was in dire need of help. His light then caught a figure out in the distance. He ran towards it. When he neared it his light shone meekly enough to make out a deathly pale figure. In the complete dark, his skin looked pure white. Like a lone pearl washed up onto wet sand. The way his pale skin reflected and absorbed his flashlight's beam made the unconscious man look ghostly bright.
This wasn't good, Shinji thought as he made out the outline of the man's figure, which looked much too frail. To the point of being almost sickly. It was only when he crouched down to level with the laying body, that he had realised all of the man was exposed, and he wasn't wearing a single thing. Shinji felt his face heating up looking down at the skinny guy. A sort of sickly shame was swarming in Shinji's gut, though he ignored it to try and pick the man up. He needed to get him to safety, and more than that, when his fingers touched freezing cold skin he became worried about getting him to a fireside as soon as possible.
He began to gently lift up the man into his arms being careful not to agitate him, even though the other was knocked out. There were grains of wet sand clinging to his perfect skin, and Shinji found himself intuitively swiping it away with steady hands, before shifting the other's weight in his arms to hold him better, bringing him in closer. When he pressed the other's body onto his own chest he felt something slick and wet. It was too thick to be water, and it registered suddenly to Shinji that this stranger was severely injured in some way. He hesitated a bit on bringing him back to his lighthouse, though he didn't know how far the nearest clinic was. He bit his lip harshly and gave into the idea of having to house and nurse this man. The only signs that this man was even alive given how pale he was, was the way his thin body shook.
Shinji made his way stumbling back to his place. He struggled carrying all the weight up the steep hill, and there were many times where he lost his balance so badly he was certain they were both going to plummet to their shared deaths, though a miracle came by for them right when they needed it, and somehow through all the struggle. Somehow, Shinji kept putting one foot in front of the other even as his thin body was swayed with the crashing waves. He pulled them up the entire way with aching legs and shaking arms. Shinji had managed to push his heavy door open with his elbow. Carrying the unconscious man into his living room. Though, not unscathed, as Shinji was sure he'd have deep cuts and bruises from all the times he crashed onto the rocky mountain side.
Shinji carefully placed the stranger onto his small couch with as much delicacy as he could muster. Then he shrugged off his coat quickly to cover the other like a blanket, before rushing to his small bathroom. He went through his cabinets hurriedly, pushing aside all his things. Anxiously he searched for something to mend the other's cuts with. In the back of his medicine cabinet he found some gauze and antiseptic. Shinji found himself sighing with relief, as he grabbed them along with some warm towels. He rushed back into the open space to care for the other. Sinking to his knees quickly in front of the laying man. He might've stared for a few moments in awe at the other who was in a worsening condition. His shaking hands were hesitant as they belatedly took the coat off of the lying body. Revealing multiple deep cuts all alongside his rib cage. They bleed out onto the thin fabric he was resting on, though Shinji paid that no mind, as he worked quickly to start cleansing the wounds.
He couldn't imagine what would scar up this stranger so badly, perhaps a cliff side. Though, he wasn't sure why anyone would be swimming, let alone anywhere near the water in a storm like tonight's. They were lucky they even made it inside, as the storm had picked up so drastically from when Shinji first left. It was so bad, that Shinji was practically stunned. There were so many times on his way back, that he could've sworn it would've been the end of them. The waves were crashing against his side, and pushing him onto awaiting rocks. He slipped and lost his footing many times, and almost gave up. Partially, he was in some disbelief that they were even really here.
Shinji shook his head of his lingering fears, and went back to carefully drying the cold, cold skin with a warm towel. He could only hope that this person wouldn't get a cold from being out there for who knew how long. Shinji put down the towels and began to wince when he turned his attention back onto the deep cuts that tainted the polished white skin. He began wrapping a bandage of gauges around the white torso. He couldn't believe this was a real person. Not with how their skin looked like porcelain, or perhaps this really was a statue carved out of marble. It wouldn't shock Shinji, seeing how perfectly crafted this man was. Up close he could make out each defining muscle on his stomach, only accentuated with each heavy breath he would take in his sleep. It was only when Shinji blinked slowly that he realised he was staring. He shot up and made his way to his linen closet to gather up as many thick wool blankets as he could to cover the other with. He hoped he had enough to warm up the other, who was still as cold as death. Shinji found it impossibly hard to believe that someone could even be that cold.
He was icy to touch, and it felt unnatural. And when Shinji was finished tucking in the other, he started to realise there was a lot that was unnatural about this person. When his eyes carried up to the resting face, he was taken aback by seeing a head of silver hair. It glossed and glimmered in the low, yellow lighting inside the lighthouse. Looking like something ethereal and almost unreal. Shinji had never seen a person with hair this colour and a face so handsome. He once again felt strangely at odds with himself, as his body warmed up and his face felt lighter than before.
His eyes fell down slowly and made out the long slender neck the other had. He watched as the prominent Adam's apple of the other rose and fell as he breathed in harsh breaths. Shinji traced it with his vision. His eyes landed on a row of scars along the stranger's neck. There were three pink horizontal lines that ran down at a slant starting from where his thick artery was and stopping an inch away from his Adam's apple. It was a very strange scar, it looked too perfectly placed. Each of the three lines being the exact same length and equally spaced from each other. Not only that when Shinji looked to the other side of his neck, there was an identical scar pattern on the exact opposite side. He wondered if this stranger had intentionally cut himself that way. Though, he couldn't think of a reason why, nor could he imagine it being something that naturally occurred as an injury. It was too perfectly aligned.
The longer Shinji stared at this body, the more he couldn't imagine seeing someone so surreal. As his dark blue eyes traced the stranger's face, he saw how impossibly symmetrical it was. He could also make out in the low lighting that his resting, peaceful eyes were framed with pale white eyelashes. The longer Shinji stared, the more drawn he was, as if this artfully crafted face were a tempting siren's call beckoning him in closer and closer. Shinji pulled his eyes away and forced himself to go to his room. He tried his hardest not to think about the stranger as he laid in his rickety bed.
Shinji stared up at his familiar ceiling and thought of nothing for the first time in a very long time. There was no shame, no depreciation of himself, and no voice yelling at him to do better the next day. This was almost as strange as the appearance of the stranger today. Shinji couldn't wrap him mind around it. He could still see his face even now. Shinji was certain that he had stared for so long that it was now etched into his mind. He wasn't able to unsee the other, and he wasn't completely mad at himself for it.
Instead, he was in some way, curious about the other. Too curious. Slowly, Shinji felt an oncoming peace and his eyes started to weight down with heaviness as he started to fall asleep. His last thoughts of the night were of thinking about the stranger and feeling so oddly serene about it. He didn't know why he felt so safe, so suddenly. He didn't even know the other's name, but there was something so strikingly otherworldly about him. Shinji couldn't admit it to himself though, the longer he thought about it. He didn't want to think about how he wanted to get to know the other. That just seeing such a pretty face made him question his own self inflicted isolation.
That's all this life was to him now, isolation of himself. Where he was alienated from everything that made him feel warm, like a punishment he couldn't remember being sentenced to. Trapping himself in a bleak grey oyster for reasons he couldn't even think of. Perhaps he was born with this lifestyle in him. But in reality this was simply seclusion.
He would never admit it to himself but seeing someone so close for the very first time, in however long, was sort of threatening. In what ways, he couldn't possibly imagine yet. Like an oncoming storm, he could sense it from afar. Isolation, that's all this ever was.