Chapter Text
Shinji's world had shrunk overnight without explanation.
It was still cruel and stubborn enough to keep moving.
Each step he took felt programmed,like his body was acting without input— simply following a familiar pattern he had repeated over and over again before he stopped paying attention.
But that,too,was only one of the many half-truths he had told in his life.
He knew— in a distant,almost clinical sense of the word— that he was awake.
He also knew that it was Monday.
That he was heading to school.
That he would have English as his first class,or rather— he knew it said so on a schedule that now didn't really mean much of anything. Especially when the people meant to maintain it weren't even around anymore.
His teacher was one of the first people to evacuate for good after the last Angel Attack; he wanted to spend his seniority in a peaceful environment. Of course.
Then it was Toji and his family; said he needed to make sure his sister could get the treatment she needed without any risks. No one could fault him for that.
Then Kensuke followed. Shinji didn't really remember what his parting words were.
And Hikari,too. Or so he'd heard from Asuka,anyway.
And—
And thinking about it made his head hurt. So he decided not to.
He decided to focus on everything else instead. The broken pieces of the sidewalk. The crunch of the leaves under his feet. Irrelevant,mundane things.
He raised his head just enough to check whether or not he had arrived at his destination, or if he'd have to keep drowning into his murky mind for a while longer— but as he looked up, he realized he had reached the school gates— and the sight was enough to make him snap out of his stupor.
Had he really walked that far without even realizing?
Had he meant to come here?
Had he meant to go anywhere?
He once again decided to leave his own questions unanswered and just step inside.
His footsteps echoed in a way they never used to— there were only a handful of students left. Faces he didn’t recognize. What he did notice, though, was the fact there were very few people actually in class. Most were scattered around the school grounds,as though class had already ended.
Must be his imagination, he thought— until
he entered his classroom.
The only person there was Rei,busy gathering her things. No other voices,no other noise— there were no other forms of life there— if Rei even counted as one to begin with. The thought was sharp and unkind, and Shinji recoiled from it as soon as it formed. Before she could notice him, he retreated back into the hallway and headed in the opposite direction.
Searching for any excuse to distract himself, he checked his phone for the first time that day, standing there for a moment longer than necessary while staring down at the dim glow of his phone screen as if it might say something different if he looked hard enough.
4 p.m.
The school day was already over.
Whatever fragile sense of purpose he’d been clinging to had dissolved completely, leaving behind that familiar hollow pressure in his chest—too heavy to ignore, too vague to name. The realization that he had stayed awake until morning and somehow lost the entire day weighed on him just as much, as well as the fact he had walked all this way in the cold for nothing.
He was pathetic.
He slid the phone back into his pocket.
And concluded that he should just go home.
That was the sensible thing to do. The only thing he could do, really. He wasn't needed at school. He wasn't needed at NERV right now, either.
His presence wasn't necessary anywhere, and the evening would pass the same way all the others had recently— quiet, strained, pretending nothing was wrong while dulling his mind with music until it became unbearable and he shut down until sleep overtook him.
His feet didn’t move.
Instead, he became aware of something else.
At first, he thought he was imagining it. That his mind was attempting to fill in for the oppressive silence that permeated the halls, but even as he thought that,the music went on.
A piano.
Soft. Measured. Peaceful./p>
Shinji felt a dull ache bloom in his chest at the paradoxical gentleness of it. Each key reverberated through the air— allowed to linger without any urgency or force put into it,and they flowed into eachother with exceptional ease. Not made to impress, nor to overwhelm— just.. made to be.
Someone was still here.
The thought struck him with an unexpected intensity— not with relief,but with something sharper. The realization that there was someone still going about their day with such peace of mind, completely unlike his own— for some reason, that frightened him.
He stayed where he was, listening.
The melody continued, unbroken by his hesitation. It didn’t seem to be played for any audience. Not to please anyone. It was just the steady presence of sound filling the space it occupied, as though it had every right to be there.
Shinji swallowed as he found himself standing right in front of the door to the music room— it hadn't been fully closed; a narrow gap still separated it from the frame, just wide enough to peek through.
And despite his curiosity, he, as always, hesitated.
He would have to acknowledge whoever was on the other end of it.
He would have to be seen— or at least risk being noticed.
And he wasn’t sure he had the strength for that, not when it felt easier to let himself be content with just a fragment of this peace.
But—
Just one look couldn't possibly hurt.
...
He regretted that immediately. Because— with his luck— the old hinges of the door creaked in protest.
The sound was small. Barely anything at all.
It might as well have been thunder.
The piano faltered.
Not abruptly— just a fraction of a second where the melody thinned, hesitated, then fell silent altogether. The echo of the last note lingered in the air, unfinished.
Shinji's heart jumped into his throat as he felt his cheeks flush red with embarassment.
“I- uh—"
Whatever he wanted to say ended up caught into his throat before it could leave him, as his mind rushed to the worst possible scenario. He hadn't meant to interrupt— he truly, honestly hadn't meant to do anything— his body had just carried him forward, pushed by an inexplicable, sudden surge of courage which had immediately backfired.
The music room was dim,lit only by the faint light of the soon-to-be setting sun filtering through the window. It almost felt like a place suspended in time.
At the piano sat a boy Shinji had never seen before.
A beautiful boy.
The realization struck Shinji so suddenly that it felt both instinctive and intrusive, as though an unspoken boundary had been crossed, and for a brief— mortifyingly brief second— Shinji forgot how to breathe.
He must have been his age. Perhaps a year older at most. His pale, feminine blonde hair was reminiscent of the light that spilled through the curtains— his skin, pale and almost translucent— contrasted the navy blue of his sailor uniform. Not his school's, he noticed. His fingers— long, curved gently, as though the music hadn't quite let them go just yet.
There was something almost—
... precious about him.
The boy turned his head up towards the door, where Shinji stood, looking frankly quite out of place amidst the general atmosphere of the room.
And yet he didn't seem to think so at all.
His eyes were an unsettling red similar to Rei's, yet completely unlike her's at the same time. They felt..open. Warm, for some reason.
Those eyes met Shinji's own with a calm, unguarded curiosity.
Shinji's heart sharply jolted in his chest as he became painfully self-conscious. Of how awkwardly he was standing. Of how rude he had just been. Somehow, he felt his face growing an even darker red as he looked away abruptly, shoulders curling inward.
"I— I'm sorry," he blurted out, the words tumbling out one right after the other as he just said whatever came to mind to make himself look better in the eyes of this boy. "I didn't mean to..I heard the music and I just— you're really talented,so.."
He quickly became aware that he was now rambling, and also making a fool of himself.
"I— I'll go. I'm sorry."
There was a brief pause.
And when Shinji dared to look up—
The boy was smiling.
Smiling?
At him?
And so warmly, at that?
Shinji blinked once, twice.
It wasn't a polite smile, nor was it a sneering grin. It was a soft one— one that almost felt as though it had been singled out specifically for Shinji and no one else. The expression softened his features even more, if that was even possible— and Shinji felt his throat tighten even more.
"There's no need for you to apologize," the boy said, his voice carrying the same cadence as that of the music he had been playing earlier. Unhurried and mellow.
"You're not bothering me at all."
Shinji froze.
He hadn’t expected an answer. Much less such a kind one.
“Oh,” he managed, stupidly.
A brief pause.
"Do you like music?"
It was a simple question. Almost disarmingly so. No hidden meaning he could latch onto, no expectation he could immediately fail to meet. And yet, it caught him off guard all the same.
“I—” he hesitated, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeves. “I think so.”
The boy’s smile widened just a little, as if that answer alone had pleased him.
“That’s good,” he said. “I do as well.”
The words settled into Shinji’s chest with an unexpected weight. It was really nothing much at all, but the idea of sharing something in common with this boy made a pleasant feeling bubble up in his chest. He swallowed.
“I used to play,” he admitted quietly. “The cello.”
“Oh?” The boy tilted his head, genuinely interested. “Why did you stop?”
Shinji opened his mouth—
And closed it again.
Why had he stopped?
Perhaps because he wasn't particularly talented at it. He'd never really thought about it. One day, he just ..decided to not continue with his lessons.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I just… did.”
The boy seemed to consider this, eyes drifting back to the piano keys. “That happens sometimes,” he said. “People drift away from the things they love without realizing it.”
Shinji felt strangely exposed, like he’d been seen through without meaning to be.
“I’m Kaworu,” the boy added suddenly, turning back toward him. “Kaworu Nagisa.”
The name sounded unreal in Shinji’s mouth when he repeated it.
“I’m...my name's Shinji Ikari.”
“I know.”
The words slipped out so easily that Shinji barely registered them at first—until he did.
“…You do?”
Kaworu’s eyes softened, something unreadable flickering behind them before smoothing over again.
“I’ve heard of you,” he said simply. His smile turned a bit more playful, somehow making him seem even more youthful. "You're quite popular, you know."
“Oh,” he said again, because it seemed to be the only word he could manage around this boy.
Silence settled between them—not awkward, exactly, but dense. Shinji became acutely aware of himself again. Of the way he was standing half-hidden behind the doorframe. Of how long he’d stayed. Of how strange this must look.
Heat rushed to his face again, and before he could stop himself, he bowed slightly—too stiff, too low—and blurted out, “I’m sorry for interrupting,” for what felt like the hundredth time.
Then he turned and fled,just as the boy was about to speak again.
The hallway felt colder than before, emptier somehow, the echo of his footsteps chasing him as he hurried away. His heart didn’t slow until he’d reached the stairwell, where he finally stopped, bracing himself against the railing as he tried to breathe.
What was that?
He pressed a hand to his chest, frowning faintly at the unfamiliar sensation pooling there—soft and frightening all at once.
Behind him, somewhere down the hall, the piano began to play again.
The mysterious boy named Kaworu remained quiet for a bit,before chuckling to himself as he stared at the shut door.
"Ikari Shinji..." He said his name with a soft nuance,testing the sound of it. "The Third Child."
The song took on a more playful tone.
"I'll be seeing you again soon."
__________
The melody rested in his mind longer than it should have.
Even hours later, as the automatic doors of NERV slid shut behind him, he found himself unconsciously counting the rhythm of it in his head—slow, unhurried, refusing to resolve.
As he walked through the halls, he couldn't help but feel a bit nervous at the idea of meeting a new pilot, especially one supposed to "temporarily" take Asuka's place. He hadn't seen her at home or at school these days, for she was spending almost all her time overworking herself in training simulations— and was honestly quite worried.
Clearly not worried enough to seek her out, he thought to himself bitterly as he finally reached the meeting room.
Asuka and Rei were already there. He had to double check for Asuka— her presence felt unsettilingly subdued as she sat on a chair off to the side with a disgruntled expression. Rei was as quiet as always.
Shinji awkwardly looked down and scratched his hand, not bothering to greet either of them.
The suffocating tension in the room was broken by the sound of the door opening, followed by Misato's voice.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, breezing in with her usual forced cheer.
No one responded.
Misato glanced between the three of them, her smile faltering just a bit before clapping her hands together. “Well—since you’re all here already, we might as well get started.”
She stepped aside, gesturing toward the doorway behind her.
“There’s been a… slight change of plans,” Misato continued, focusing her sight briefly toward Asuka before looking back at them all. “Until Asuka’s condition improves, NERV has approved a temporary replacement.”
Asuka scoffed under her breath, turning her face away. She already knew it was coming. She just didn't expect it to be so quick.
Misato shifted her weight, then gestured toward the door behind her. “You can come in now.”
Shinji finally raised his head.
His breath hitched.
“…Ah—”
No way.
What were the chances?
It was the same boy from the music room— Kaworu Nagisa,looking around the room with that familiar curiosity he seemed to display towards everything.
And then Kaworu’s eyes met his.
Shinji flinched.
Not subtly, either.
His shoulders jerked— scrambling to stand up quickly as though he had been unexpectedly called upon, accidentally hitting his knee against the table in the process— his grip tightened on the edge of the chair, and the sound that left his throat was something embarrassingly close to a strangled squeak more than a word.
"N-nagisa— !?"
The word came out louder than Shinji intended—cracking awkwardly at the end as he immediately realized every single pair of eyes in the room had turned toward him.
Kaworu blinked once—then, he smiled.
It was gentle, unguarded, and just a little amused— his head tilting just slightly as his eyes lingered on Shinji with an attentiveness that felt far too focused to be appropriate for a room full of people.
"Hello again, Ikari Shinji-kun."
"I was truly hoping we'd meet again."