Work Text:
Wakatoshi’s phone buzzes.
He rolls over onto his other side, and wonders if the buzzing could possibly be coming from somewhere else in his room. Or outside. Perhaps a bee is attempting to get into his room, seeking sanctuary from the cool, windy autumn night. But then, no bee would be awake at – Wakatoshi glances at his bedside clock – one-thirteen A.M.
He tries to go back to sleep. He closes his eyes and thinks about peaceful things. Imagines he’s lying on his back in a sunny meadow, the temperature perfectly warm, the grass perfectly soft, after a day of volleyball games all won with his powerful spikes …
It doesn’t work. He knows that the buzzing noise is coming from his phone, most likely from text messages. He also knows that he never puts his phone on vibrate before he goes to sleep, because nobody ever texts him. From a combination of these two pieces of information, Wakatoshi can infer that somebody is texting him, and the message is probably urgent – or, at least, interesting. He’s only had a cell phone of his own for a few months (it was a gift from his mother upon starting high school) and has never before been texted after midnight.
He tries to go to sleep. He probably should go to sleep. He has practice in the morning, practice in the afternoon, a match the next day. Sleep is crucial for maximum performance on the court. But at the same time – the buzzing flipphone on his night table feels like a secret waiting to be heard. Wakatoshi hates secrecy.
He sighs to himself, sits up in bed, and grabs the phone.
Seven new messages from Tendou Satori.
1:09 A.M.
Wakatoshi
ushijima
1:10 A.M.
USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI
are u AWAK E
1:13 A.M.
PLS B AW KE
1:14 A.M.
PLS
ゞ◎Д◎ヾ
Wakatoshi stares at the phone for a long moment, attempting to process the meaning of these new messages. He’s had Tendou Satori’s phone number for some time – the day before the team’s first tournament, the captain collected all of the starters’ and reserves’ numbers and had them put each other’s numbers into their phones, in case of emergency – but has never received texts from him before. Usually, anything Tendou might want Wakatoshi to know, he’ll just tell him in class or at practice. What could be so urgent that Tendou needs to text him at one o’clock in the morning? He isn’t hurt, is he?
Wakatoshi tells himself that if Tendou was somehow hurt, he would likely be the last person to receive late-night texts about it. The thought is somewhat comforting, but doesn’t prevent him from replying:
To: Tendou Satori
1:17 A.M.
I am awake now
Whats going on?
Wakatoshi barely has to wait thirty seconds after sending the second message before his phone rings. Or, well, buzzes – louder and more urgently than before. He picks up on the second buzz.
“Hello?” he says, trying to keep his voice down. (His mother is sleeping in the next room, after all.)
“Wakatoshi! Thank God.” Tendou seems to have no similar concern. In fact, he’s practically shouting, as though they’re at practice and he’s just accidentally sent the ball careening across the court. “I hoped you’d be up.”
“I wasn’t, actually,” Wakatoshi clarifies.
But Tendou doesn’t seem to hear him. “I need your help with something. It’s really important.”
“Yes?” Wakatoshi asks. He sits up more fully in his bed, readjusting his pillows (both covered in Shiratorizawa-purple pillowcases) to make his back more comfortable.
“So, I was watching this anime, right,” Tendou begins. “It’s called Neon Genesis Evangelion, it’s about the end of the world, kinda, and this kid named Shinji has to pilot this giant robot and save everyone, but it turns out the robot isn’t a robot, exactly – sorry, that’s a spoiler – have you seen it?”
Wakatoshi shakes his head, then remembers Tendou can’t see him. “I haven’t.”
“Oh! But that’s okay,” Tendou says. “I don’t need you to have seen it.”
Wakatoshi starts to yawn, then covers it with his hand. He isn’t sure what an anime about the end of the world, kind-of, might have to do with Tendou calling him at one o’clock in the morning – but Tendou is his teammate, and his coach in junior high taught him to always support his teammates. True, they aren’t on the court right now, but – something in Wakatoshi’s chest doesn’t want to let him hang up.
“What do you need me to do?” he asks.
“Well, the anime is twenty-six episodes long, but it starts getting weird about halfway through.” There are some rustling sounds on the other end of the call, as though Tendou is shifting around the blankets on his bed. “Like, really weird. And I’ve been marathoning it since last weekend – haven’t got much studying done, but it’s whatever, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on studying right now anyway – and I just watched the last, like, six episodes last night. And the last two episodes were so weird. I can’t even tell you how weird, because I don’t even know how to describe it. Like, if Washijou started smiling all the time and saying we were his favorite people ever, that would be, like, one hundredth of how weird this was.”
“Very weird,” Wakatoshi agrees.
“I know! But the anime doesn’t actually end with the last two episodes, is the thing. At the end of the second season, the studio had really run out of money, so they couldn’t animate the end of the series the way they wanted to. So a few years later, they made this movie that’s, like, the actual ending. And I want to watch it, because I want to know how it ends, but I’m also kinda … Kinda scared,” Tendou admits, his voice quieter than before. There’s a brief pause, then he asks, “So, will you watch it with me?”
“Watch it with you?” Wakatoshi repeats, confused.
“Yeah!” Tendou says. “Just, like. Stay on the phone with me. So that if it’s scary, I can talk to you, and it’ll be less scary.”
Wakatoshi isn’t one for scary movies, or weird movies, or anime about the end of the world, kind-of, or staying up past his bedtime (ten P.M.) But he hears this lilt in Tendou’s voice – it’s pitched higher than usual, and his words are running together. Wakatoshi isn’t very good at reading people, but he thinks Tendou might be more scared than he’s letting on.
“Okay,” he says.
“Awesome! Great! Thank you so much!” Tendou exclaims. “I’ll start the movie right away – I think it’s loaded enough by now …”
Wakatoshi hears some clicking, then the sounds of various production company intros, then Tendou’s voice saying, “Here we goooooo!”
He turns on his bedside lamp, grabs the nearest book – a biography of the captain of the Japanese women’s volleyball team that won gold in the 1964 Olympics – and starts to flip through the pages.
The movie starts, from what Wakatoshi can tell, with the sound of waves, followed by the sound of a boy crying. Crying, or maybe whining – it isn’t clear, from over the phone. Tendou mumbles something like, “That’s not going to wake her up, idiot.”
Wakatoshi stops reading for a moment, curious – but all he hears is silence. Then, all of a sudden, Tendou practically shouts, “What the fuck!”
“What?” Wakatoshi asks. “What happened?”
“Why did he do that?” Tendou continues, clearly still angry about something. “He doesn’t even like her that way! Why would they start the movie like that? Why would they …”
As his rant continues, Wakatoshi realizes two things: first, he probably won’t get an explanation unless, at some point, he watches this movie himself (something he has no plans to do). And second, Tendou was right – the movie is clearly weird beyond explanation.
Those two insights only continue to be proven true throughout the next half hour or so, as Wakatoshi reads his book in disjointed segments, occasionally interrupted by outbursts from the other end of the phone line. He doesn’t reply to any of them, but he does wonder at the answers to Tendou’s questions – what really happened during the second impact? (What was the second impact?) What is Rei doing? (Who is Rei?) Is Shinji really running away again? (What is Shinji running from?) Is Asuka okay? (What’s wrong with Asuka?)
But then, after he hears Tendou say in a confused whisper, “So her mother … was in the robot … Her mother was the robot …” he stops trying to understand and just lets whatever’s happening on the other end happen. It’s a good thing his book is fascinating.
For a while, Tendou’s comments devolve into variations on, “Oh, God. Oh, my God.” Then, Wakatoshi hears some strange music, with a voice singing in a language he doesn’t recognize.
“Is it over?” he asks Tendou. According to his clock, it’s only been forty-five minutes, which seems a bit short for a movie, but he doesn’t exactly watch movies often.
“It’s … Halfway through,” Tendou says. He sounds shaken.
“How is it, so far?”
“It’s a lot,” Tendou replies. There’s a pause, then he adds, “A lot is happening. A lot of people dying.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Wakatoshi isn’t sure how to answer that, so he doesn’t say anything. He and Tendou listen to the music in silence for a minute or two, until it dies down.
Very quickly into what must be the second part, Wakatoshi hears a shriek: “She just started falling apart!”
Wakatoshi goes back to his book.
During the second half, Tendou is mostly quieter than he was during the first, except for the occasional whispered, “Oh, my God.” or, “what the fuck.” Wakatoshi can’t hear much of the movie itself beyond some screaming and shouting, and snippets of background music – most of which is upbeat and jazzy, which is odd, considering how distressed Tendou seems to be. Wakatoshi keeps thinking that this scream, or this burst of music, or this bout of muttering from Tendou must be the end, but the movie appears to only keep going. It’s like one of Washijou-sensei’s hard workouts, he thinks – every time you think it’s over, it just gets worse.
But then, at two fifty-two A.M., Wakatoshi hears a quiet voice say, “Wakatoshi, do you think you could do it?”
“Do what?” he asks, closing his book and putting it on the night table.
“Save the world. The whole world, by yourself. By fighting in a huge robot, and not giving up, even when all of the odds seem to be against you.”
Wakatoshi turns his lamp off, then lies down on his back, staring up at the dark expanse of his ceiling. “I don’t know,” he says. “I think that I would be strong enough, but it’s impossible to know unless it really happens.”
“But would you keep fighting?” Tendou presses. “Would you try to save yourself and your friends, no matter what happened?”
“Yes,” Wakatoshi answers, this time without hesitation.
“Yeah,” Tendou replies. “I would, too.”
Wakatoshi rolls over onto his side. For a moment, all he can hear from the other side is the light rise and fall of Tendou’s breathing, like what he would hear if they were lying next to each other at night during a training camp. Wakatoshi’s bed suddenly feels strangely empty – which doesn’t make sense, because he’s never shared it with anyone.
“Hey, Satori,” he says, voice low in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“Do you want to talk about the movie?”
“Yeah.” Wakatoshi might be imagining it, but he could swear he hears relief in Tendou’s voice.
And so, Tendou talks – explains his ideas on the different characters, and his questions about the ending, and his theories for what it’s all supposed to mean. Wakatoshi has no clue what any of it means, really, but he doesn’t question Tendou. He just lets his friend’s words wash over him until they get slower, and quieter, and finally trail off into low noises of static and light breathing.
The next morning, Wakatoshi won’t be able to say which of them fell asleep first.
“So, Wakatoshi, are you ready?”
Satori plops down on the bed next to Wakatoshi, effectively displacing the pile of blankets Wakatoshi had carefully laid out earlier. But he brings a large bowl of popcorn and his brightest smile, so Wakatoshi can’t be particularly mad at him.
“I’m certainly more ready now than I was two years ago,” he says, holding Satori’s laptop aloft so that its owner can settle himself on the bed. Both of them are leaning against the back wall, legs dangling off the other side of the bed.
“Two years ago?” Satori asks. He takes the laptop and turns it on, then navigates to the movie they’re about to watch.
“You don’t remember?”
Satori’s confused glance tells Wakatoshi that, no, he apparently doesn’t.
“Two years ago, when you first watched this movie, we were on the phone together,” he explains. “You didn’t want to watch it alone.”
“Oh! Oh, my God, I totally forgot about that,” Satori admits. He finds the movie but hits pause, letting it start to load. “Wait.” He turns to Wakatoshi, eyes wide. “I didn’t give you any spoilers, did I?”
Wakatoshi shrugs. “I don’t think so. I mostly heard your reactions to the movie, not the movie itself.”
“Okay,” Satori says, relieved. “And it’s a confusing movie, anyway.”
That, Wakatoshi was already expecting.
Satori starts the movie. They sit through numerous production company intros, but, unfortunately, don’t hear the theme song of the anime (Wakatoshi has grown to like it, over the past few days). And then, the movie opens on a scene that Wakatoshi definitely remembers, if only tangentially.
“Shit, I forgot about this part,” Satori groans, covering his face with his hands.
“Seeing it isn’t any better than hearing it,” Wakatoshi agrees.
Satori quickly emerges from beneath his mask to gape at his partner. “I thought you said you didn’t get any spoilers!”
“I didn’t,” Wakatoshi says. “Well. Except for, perhaps, I have some idea of things that won’t make sense until I see them.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Neither does this movie.”
“Alright,” Satori concedes. “That’s fair.” He leans back against the pillows and grabs a huge handful of popcorn from his bowl.
A few minutes (and a significant amount of popcorn) later, Wakatoshi says, “It is interesting that once the outside threat has been defeated, the base is still under attack, but from other humans.”
Satori glances over at him. “Interesting good or interesting bad?”
Wakatoshi shrugs. “Just … interesting.”
“Well, it’s about to get really bad really soon,” Satori replies, leaning over to rest his head on Wakatoshi’s shoulder. (According to Satori, Wakatoshi has nice shoulders. Comfortable shoulders. Wakatoshi is content to take his word for it.)
“I thought you didn’t want me to get any spoilers?” Wakatoshi asks, resting his head on top of his partner’s.
“That’s not a spoiler. It’s just, like, a warning. See?” Satori points, and, lo and behold, several soldiers get shot in a couple seconds of animation.
“I suppose,” Wakatoshi admits. He settles in to watch the action.
They get through most of the base takeover and Asuka’s revival (Wakatoshi now better understands Satori’s mother comment from last time) before either of them speaks again.
“Why are the robots bleeding?” Wakatoshi asks.
Satori stirs from his place on his partner’s shoulder, glances up at Wakatoshi. “What?”
“The robots,” Wakatoshi clarifies. “When Asuka pulled them apart, that looked like blood. But they’re robots.”
Satori laughs. “I don’t know. It’s symbolic, maybe. Oh, no – here it comes.”
Wakatoshi looks back at the screen. “Here what comes?”
“She’s going to – God, I can’t watch.”
“I don’t understand,” Wakatoshi says. “She’s giving him an inspirational speech. … Oh. Oh. That’s … not a speech. Why is she doing that?”
“According to meta stuff I’ve read online, it’s like, she’s motivating him with physical attraction, or something, since nothing else she tried has worked,” Satori explains. “But I don’t know. I still think it’s kind-of weird.”
“She isn’t … romantically attracted to him, correct?” Wakatoshi asks.
Satori nods. “She isn’t. She sees him more as a little brother, or something.”
“Then why is she kissing him?”
“Who knows,” Satori says, burrowing deeper into his blanket. “The straights are at it again.”
Wakatoshi isn’t sure what that means, but he accepts the kiss as one of the many weird elements of the movie, and keeps watching.
End of Evangelion is, Wakatoshi finds, a difficult movie to just keep watching. He thought it would be less confusing now that he can actually see the action, but in many ways, this second watch is even more baffling than the first.
Several times, he finds himself turning to Satori and asking, “What does that mean?” or “What’s going on, exactly?”
But every time, Satori just sighs and says, “You just have to watch.”
“It’s very confusing,” Wakatoshi replies.
Satori shushes him, and starts rubbing light circles into his back.
After the fourth or fifth time this happens, it occurs to Wakatoshi that maybe Satori is refusing to explain because he doesn’t know, himself. That thought is enough to keep Wakatoshi from asking more questions – at least, for a while.
“So, is this,” he says, sometime near what he hopes is the end, “that the entirety of human race depends upon … Shinji learning to love himself?”
“Something like that,” Satori says. “But it’s hard to explain.”
“Let me guess.” Wakatoshi glances down at his partner, a hint of amusement in his voice despite the confusion on the screen. “I just have to watch?”
Satori burrows closer into Wakatoshi’s shoulder. “Yup.”
And so, they watch. They watch through the blurring of reality, the end of the world, the entrance into states that may or may not be dreams. They watch as the animation gives way to shots of the real world, hundreds of unnamed passersby acting as a literal audience to Ikari Shinji’s inner turmoil.
“I’m still not sure what’s going on in this part,” Satori admits, watching his laptop intently. “Like, I’ve read tons of articles and discussions and stuff on it, and watched it like five times, but I still don’t know.”
Wakatoshi tilts his head, considering. “Is it supposed to be where episodes twenty-five and twenty-six fit in?” he wonders.
Satori sits up straight, gasping. Popcorn kernels go flying. “No,” he says. “Wait. Is it?”
“It would make sense,” Wakatoshi replies. “Shinji is questioning himself and his motivation here. He was questioning himself and his motivation in those two episodes. It fits.”
“And that would explain how Asuka …” Satori looks at his partner, then at his laptop, then back at his partner. “Wakatoshi-kun, you’re a genius!”
Wakatoshi isn’t entirely sure what to make of that statement. “Thank you?” he says.
“You’re welcome.” Satori leans in, kisses his partner’s cheek, then settles back into his earlier position – head on Wakatoshi’s shoulder, their legs tangled together.
They watch the rest of the movie in silence. The world ends and is reborn, but neither boy moves from his position on the bed, both confused and enthralled in equal measure, like little kids first realizing how vast and unexplainable the universe is.
As the end credits finally, finally roll, Wakatoshi turns to Satori and asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“The movie. Last time, you talked to me until both of us fell asleep. I believe the call went on for another three hours.”
“Oh, my God,” Satori says, remembering. “We were adorable.”
“This was at least a year before either of our confessions.” Wakatoshi closes the laptop and places it gently on the floor.
“Still.” Satori grabs his partner’s hand, pulls him back onto the bed so that they’re both lying on their sides. “Adorable.”
Wakatoshi doesn’t argue – he just inches in closer, until Satori is tucked into the curve of his side, Satori’s red hair tickling his nose.
“Do you remember what you asked me the last time we watched this movie?” Wakatoshi asks after a moment, voice a low rumble in the quiet room.
“No.” Satori rolls over so that they’re facing each other. “Tell me.”
“You asked if … if I thought I could do it,” Wakatoshi remembers. “Save the whole world, all by myself. And I said I didn’t know.”
“And what do you think now?” Satori asks.
“I think I could. I could. With the team behind me, I could do anything.” Wakatoshi doesn’t say, with you behind me, I could do anything, but it’s a close thing.
“Yeah,” Satori agrees with a yawn, nestling in closer. “You could save the world in half the time Shinji did. Miracle boy Wakatoshi.”
Wakatoshi smiles. It’s too dark to see anything besides shadows, but he thinks – he thinks Satori is smiling, too.
“We’re going to watch Gurren Lagann next,” Satori whispers, just before drifting off.
