Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At the beginning of the reborn world, Mari pointed to Shinji’s DSS choker and said, “I can take that off, you know.”

          He did not answer her right away, staring off into the rolling waves of the blue ocean, the white noise of their crashing filling his quiet mind. The static silence was like the space between tracks on an old cassette tape. Something clicked. He touched the cool metal of the choker and said, “No. I want to remember.” 

          He had forgotten too much. He did not want to forget anymore. He would carry the burden of all he had done over his lives and never take the new life he’d achieved for granted. It was a life given to him by the sacrifices of others, and even if he’d saved them in return, he felt he had not yet paid but a fraction of his debt to them. 

          Mari shrugged, “Whatever makes you happy, pup.” She clapped him on the back and smiled. “You let me know if you change your mind.”

          “Thanks.”

The new world seemed to have started as if it had simply continued, as if it had always been the way it was. Filled with the same people, just a little different, lives free of the Evangelion and Angels. Not even a memory of them existed. It was a condition he’d decided, when he created the world. Mari was an outlier. She had brought herself into the world, through her own hands, and so she kept everything. He wasn’t sure he would ever understand what she was, but he accepted who she was— the only other person who knew about the cursed children.

          She asked him, sometimes, if he wanted to remove the choker. It was usually after they’d met for dinner and she had one too many drinks. He came to recognize the face she’d make just before asking, her cat’s grin turning into a frown, brow furrowed, eyes fixed on his neck. “Not ready to let go yet?”

          “No.” 

Shinji lived his life. 

          He finished school, joined the workforce, and made new connections. Each day he woke up and looked into the mirror, finding a man he’d never had the chance to be in any other world. It was strange, but not unpleasant. He could see his growing resemblance to his father, and while he had long forgiven him and moved on, it was not a face he wanted to see looking back at him. He shaved at the slightest hint of stubble. 

          He watched the seasons change and pretended that his mundane life was everything he had ever wanted. He told himself he was content. He ignored the occasional itch under his skin that said something was off, convincing himself it was just lingering insecurities, paranoia from lifetimes of trauma. It would pass. He tried not to think about it.  

          His resolve crumbled in moments of weakness: on anniversaries of dates that meant nothing to anyone besides him, on days he was under the weather, on evenings before tight work deadlines, and on nothing more than the whim of the chemicals in his brain. He spent those lonely nights with his fingers on the choker around his neck, combing through his memories and the regrets that haunted him, the pain he couldn’t undo. He wondered about the people he couldn’t forget, how they were aging, and if they’d found peace in the life he’d wished for them. 

          He could find them, if he wanted to. He knew their names. 

          He hoped they were happy. (What if they weren’t?)

          Shinji was happy. (Was he really?)

          The years passed. 

“Hey, Ikari, we’re going for drinks tonight, you in?”

          If Shinji had the power to go back and re-write the world again, he would get rid of nomikai. He had not known at 14 the misery alcohol would bring him. Drinking with his coworkers rarely ended well and yet custom made it very difficult to decline the offer. He suffered either embarrassment or hangovers once a fortnight, and when he was particularly unlucky, both. 

          “Sure, where are we going?”

          “Izakaya by the station. The new girl Ayumi went ahead to grab seats. She’s cute, isn’t she?” 

          Shinji turned in his chair to look at the man talking to him. “If you think she’s cute, Hiro, then ask her out.” 

          “You know I’m dating Sayuri right now.”

          “I can’t keep up with who you date.”

          Hirotaka and Shinji started working in the ward office at the same time. He was tall enough to be a basketball player, but he had no interest in sports, and while his stature had intimidated Shinji at first, the pathetic comedy of his giant form hunched over a desk covered in paperwork made him approachable. He was funny. The kind of person to laugh in the face of frustration. Shinji enjoyed his company. 

          “This isn't about me. Ayumi was asking about you. She thinks you’re cool.”

          Shinji enjoyed Hirotaka’s company, except when he brought up romance. “No.”

          “What? Why ‘no’?”

          “Dating coworkers is a bad idea.” 

          “You just told me to date her.”

          “Your track record says you don’t care about bad ideas. I do.” 

          “Ugh, fine. I won’t say anything else.” 

          Hirotaka indeed kept his words to himself, but his actions spoke volumes when Shinji arrived at the restaurant and discovered he’d arranged the last available seat at their table to be next to Ayumi. Shinji decided that after he was just drunk enough to make excusable poor choices, he was going to punch him. 

          The small talk was awkward. Ayumi was young, fresh out of college, and clearly had a crush. Shinji did not understand how it happened. He was fairly certain they hadn’t talked beyond self introductions, yet there she was, struggling to make direct eye contact and blushing every time he answered one of her questions. 

          “I was thinking I might try some baking classes since I saw a new cooking studio opened down the road,” she was saying as Shinji broke apart the rolled eggs they’d ordered for the table to share, “do you like sweets, Ikari-san?”

          “Not particularly.”

          “Oh.” She paused, “What about other types of food? Did you have something your mother made that you liked in your lunch growing up?”

          “My mother died when I was very young. I made my own lunch.”

          It was only a partial lie. He suspected his mother was very much alive now, somewhere happily married with his father, but he wouldn’t be able to explain why they didn’t know their own son and retelling the story of a past life was easier. It had the bonus effect of horrifying Ayumi into silence. He accepted a plate of tempura from another coworker and held it under her stunned and guilty face, “Asparagus?” 

          She took one and passed the plate on. It gave her enough time to recover. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

          “It’s fine. I actually enjoy cooking for myself. I wouldn’t want someone else to cook for me.”

          He hoped that was a strong enough hint that he wouldn’t be happy if she were to show up at work with an extra lunch for him. He did not want her to waste her effort. 

          “What’s your favorite thing to cook?”

          There were many things he liked to cook. Trying new recipes had become a hobby of his. He especially liked experimenting with new spices he found at the import store. He told her the most boring thing he could think of, “Soup, I guess.” 

                    Hiro: Congratulations, you completely destroyed Ayumi’s budding affections for you

                    [22:48]

                    Shinji: Thank you. Will you stop trying to set me up on dates now?

                    [22:50]

He watched the dots indicating his friend was writing his response flash and vanish several times. He gave him two minutes before giving up and going to wash his face. After brushing his teeth and changing into pajamas, Shinji checked his messages again. 

                    Hiro: Sorry I keep pushing it. I guess I don’t understand why you don’t like dating as much as I do. I’ll back off. 

                    [23:01]

          Shinji felt something akin to hope that Hirotaka was close to respecting his boundaries. His phone buzzed again with a new message. 

                    Hiro: Wait do you like guys?? It’s ok if you do. I have gay friends! 

                    [23:18]

          Shinji was not having this conversation, especially not with a buzzed coworker via text who was likely still around other buzzed coworkers. He typed back his response (shut up and go to sleep already) and plugged his phone in to charge on his nightstand. With a sigh he fell back onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. 

          It wasn’t that he hated dating. It was merely that he found it pointless. In trying to open himself up to new experiences, he’d accepted Valentine’s chocolates and returned the sentiment on White Day. He’d taken girls out to cafes and done what seemed to be the “done thing,” but eventually, the enjoyment fell flat. It felt more for the other person’s sake than his own. 

          When he’d shared this dilemma with Mari, her conclusion, like Hirotaka’s, had been to try men. She’d downloaded Grindr on his phone and set up his profile with far too much enthusiasm. He’d opened the app up out of curiosity a week later to find several messages, and after deleting most of them, responded to a few men who seemed nice. He tried those dates too. He went on a half dozen of them before he figured out that men online weren’t looking for the same thing he was; honestly, it would’ve been a surprise if they had been, considering he himself didn’t know what he was looking for. He deleted the app and did not try dating again. 

          Shinji turned onto his side, curling in on himself. He brushed his fingertips against the choker with a sigh. The truth was, he knew why dating didn’t work for him, and it wasn’t the fault of the other party.

          Were love given a physical state, say liquid, then what each date offered Shinji was a teacup’s worth of affection. It was a well enough amount. If he kept collecting that love and saved it, eventually he’d have enough to fill a tub, and perhaps by the end of his life, the equivalent of a small pond. 

          The problem was this: Shinji had once (it was infinitely more than once) received love from another person in such abundance that it could be compared to nothing less than the ocean.

          It was no wonder, then, that a teacup felt shallow. 

          Kaworu Nagisa had completely submerged him. 

          Shinji buried his face into his pillow and tried to push down the regret he knew was selfish. Kaworu had deserved a new life, the right to be free without the weight of yet another end hanging over him. The loops had deprived him of simply being . He’d been desperate to make Shinji happy, because to change Shinji’s tragic fate was to change his own. They were mirrors and partners and Kaworu had loved him, loved him across lifetimes, and Shinji had loved him too. It was remembering it all in the riptide of instrumentality that’d ruined him. Their shared consciousness allowed him to understand the role he’d played in Kaworu’s lives and it both deeply moved and alarmed him. He’d reacted by reaching out, to hold him and to show his thanks, and by letting go, because he didn’t want his own happiness to be all there was to the person he loved. 

          Kaworu deserved more than that. 

          (Kaworu deserved to be more than the ocean Shinji could drown in.)

          Still, Shinji missed him and the ache of it was slowly becoming unbearable. He needed someone to tell him he’d made the right choice. He had to know if Kaworu was happy. If he could see him one more time, maybe it would reassure him. Maybe he could move on. 

          He released his grip on the choker and rolled over to reach for his phone. Mari picked up on the second ring, “Do you realize how late it is? I need my beauty sleep, you know.”

          “Sorry, I need your help.”

          “Are you in trouble?”

          “... I think I’m ready to let go.”

          There was silence as she interpreted the meaning of his words. When she next spoke, he could hear the smile in her voice, “Are you free for dinner after work Friday?”

The way she removed the DSS choker was so Mari that laughter chased away any lingering doubts in his mind about the choice. The wind felt strange against his neck as they ran out of the station, darting across the street as the crossing sign turned red. 

          Panting on the other side of the road, Mari pulled her hand out of his and adjusted the bag slung over her shoulder, “Ok, no more running.”

          “You’re the one who missed your train.”

          “It took more time than anticipated getting ready. I had a vision.”

          “For Instagram?”

          “ Of course for Instagram, and my blog. I sent you the link to this place, didn’t I? Photo ops galore.” Mari pulled her phone out to check that they were heading in the right direction. “I’ll tag you as my photographer.”

          “The last time I was your photographer you rejected all the pictures I took and posted a selfie instead.”

          “Hope you’ve improved since then.” 

They were 15 minutes late for their reservation, but thankfully the restaurant had kept their table. Shinji looked at the glossy menu as Mari snapped photos of the art installation closest to their seats. 

          “Do you already know what you want?” he asked.

          “Yeah, I looked at their menu online.”

          He wasn’t surprised. Mari always knew what she wanted. 

          “Was there anything else you wanted to try? It’s my treat today,” he said. 

          Mari lowered her phone, arching one eyebrow. “Are we celebrating a raise here?”

          “No, my salary is still pathetic, but it’s fine. I said I needed help and you came. I want to thank you.”

          “You don’t need to thank me, Shinji.”

          He shook his head. “Let me, please.”

          “All right, if it’ll make you happy.”

          It was a casual enough phrase, but the words struck a chord in him. He set the menu down and met Mari’s eyes. “I want to talk about that.”

          “What?”

          “I’m not happy.”

          Mari frowned, but before she could speak, their waiter interrupted. 

          “Are you ready to order?” asked the young woman. 

          “Yes.” Mari pointed at several things on the menu, added a glass of wine, and asked Shinji if he needed a drink. Her tone suggested she expected him to order one. 

          “Just water for me.”

          “You got it. I’ll be right back.”

          Mari waited until their drinks were on the table and then, very pointedly, put her phone away. She gave Shinji her full attention. “Explain.” 

          He wouldn’t pretend anymore. 

          “I miss Kaworu.”

          Mari nodded and gestured for him to continue. Shinji looked down at his hands clasped in front of him. “I loved him.”

          “I know.”

          “I think I still do.” He chanced a glance up to see her looking at him with sympathy. “Is that wrong of me?”

          “Why would it be wrong?”

          “Because he loved me too and I- I couldn’t be,” he hated admitting it, “I couldn’t be what he needed. I pushed him away for his sake and now I’m here without him and I regret it.”

          He had talked to Mari about it before, back in the beginning when he was trying to make sense of everything, but there were images he could never put to words and feelings that weren’t his to share. Instrumentality had knocked down the walls between his heart and everyone else’s. He had memories that weren’t his own. He understood sadness and longing beyond his personal experiences. It made him a more compassionate person, but it was another reason he’d chosen to let everyone else forget. Because Shinji did not want to be a god, he wanted to be human, and no human was capable of knowing another person’s soul like he did. He hated the feeling of being exposed and assumed everyone else did too. He'd saved them from the discomfort. 

          It was better like this, wasn’t it?

          “He’s here too, Shinji. You don’t have to be without him.”

          If he couldn’t survive without Kaworu, then he was no different than Gendo Ikari. 

          “I don’t want to be like my father.” 

          “Your father destroyed the world to regain your mother. You created the world to let Kaworu go. You’re not the same at all. You looked at all the love he had for you, that you easily could have had, and you gave it up because you believed that was best for him.”

          “It’s hard to believe I did something that selfless when I’m crying about it now.”

          “You’re a better person than you realize, Shinji.” Mari reached across the space between them and laid her hand on top of his. “If you found Kaworu now, and for whatever reason he was completely happy in his own life, you would make the choice to let him go again.”

          “You think so?”

          “Yes.”

          It gave him something to think over as they ate their dinner. Mari moved the topic of conversation onto her work. Since they’d last seen each other, she’d been made the senior buyer of a major department store. It wasn’t a job Shinji had ever really thought about, but it suited her. Mari had a keen eye for details and a knack for knowing what people liked. A jetset life was very much her pace. He wondered if she didn’t so much predict consumer trends as trigger them herself. Shinji lived vicariously through her adventures on social media alongside her 15k followers.

They were onto dessert when Mari brought up Kaworu again. The seasonal parfait between them was an impressive layered display of fruit, ice cream, and granola, topped with whipped cream, ruby chocolate, and edible flower petals. Mari pulled it towards her and began snapping photos as she said, “You should find Kaworu again.”

          “I want to.”

          “Good.” She pushed her phone across the table. “Now take my picture.”

          Shinji took several shots of her smiling with the parfait, digging her spoon in, and offering a bite towards the camera. “I think it’s starting to melt.” 

          “Okay, okay.” Mari took the scoop of gold, petals, and ice cream and held it out for him to taste. He leaned forward, and much to her delight, accepted the mouthful. It was good, but absolutely not worth the 3000yen price tag. Why had he volunteered to pay again? 

They parted ways on the train platform. Mari was going to take the next express back to her place and Shinji was due to depart on the local. Just as his train was pulling up at the station, she reached out, held his face in both hands, and managed to land a kiss on his forehead before he could stop her. 

          “I’m proud of you, Shinji,” she said. “Thank you for calling me. I’m always here if you need any more help.”

          Shinji pushed aside his embarrassment and hugged her. “Thank you, Mari.”

          The train came to a stop, doors sliding open. He stepped back from her and got on board, turning once to wave. Her parting smile gave him hope. 

Chapter Text

Shinji was going to take control of his life. He was going to do the things he had put off doing— starting with washing the dishes piled up in his sink. The rest of the kitchen was next. It took all of Saturday and half of Sunday to deep clean the remainder of his apartment, declutter his wardrobe, and organize his manga-ridden book shelves. 

          He stood in his spotless apartment with the windows thrown open and debated what to do next. A spring breeze swept through the room, billowing his plain white curtains into the air and tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He brought his hand to his throat, fingertips cool against soft, warm skin. It was usually the opposite sensation. Warm touch against cool, hard metal. He wondered how long it would take to get used to the feeling. It wasn’t a bad one. 

“It’s gone.”

          “Hm?” Shinji looked up from his paperwork. 

          “I was trying to figure it out all morning. You looked different.” Hirotaka pointed at him with the pen in his hand, “Your mom’s necklace thing. Did it break? Are you okay?”

          “I’m fine.” Shinji had forgotten the excuse he’d given years ago. He’d told countless people the DSS choker was a keepsake of his mother’s memory, mostly because once you mentioned a dead mother, few people pushed you for more information. It was a bad habit of his. “I was ready to take it off.”

          “That’s… good, right?”

          “Yeah.”

          “Good.” Hirotaka turned in his chair, pen now tapping against his desk. He didn’t look at Shinji as he added, “I’m here if you ever need to talk, ok?”

          “Thanks.” Shinji returned his eyes to his computer. He was midway through inputting a stack of newly registered businesses into the ward’s digital database. He picked up the next form on his pile with a smile. It was nice to have friends who cared about him.  

Shinji’s phone vibrated in his pocket just as he arrived home on Friday. It’d been one week since his dinner with Mari and so he wasn’t surprised to look at his lock screen and see her name. He set down his grocery bags on the kitchen table and opened the message. 

          Mari: How did it go with Kaworu?

          [19:04]

          He responded honestly. 

          Shinji: I didn’t try to find him yet

          [19:08] 

          Mari: You work at the ward office.

          [19:09]

          Shinji did not have access to census records or anything that might tell him Kaworu’s whereabouts. That’s not to say he didn’t think about hopping on someone else’s computer in another department, but he ultimately decided it wasn’t right nor worth the risk of losing his job. It was invasive, unprofessional, and possibly illegal.  

          Shinji: I work in the business department 

          [19:13]

          He put his phone down and went about unpacking his groceries. He didn’t look at it again until his dinner was in the microwave. 

          Mari: You’re deflecting. Are you scared?

          [19:18]

          She knew he was. The limbo of not-knowing had become his comfort zone. Kaworu was happy, or he wasn’t. Shinji was scared of what either reality implied. He didn’t know what he should do. 

          Mari: You said you wanted to see him. Don’t stand in your own way. 

          [19:20]

          The microwave beeped. Shinji took out the supermarket bento and sat down with it. The chair across from him, usually piled with sweatshirts and receipts he couldn’t be bothered throwing away, looked especially empty since his cleaning spree. His phone vibrated. 

          Mari: I’ll be checking his Instagram stories every day until I see your cute face in them

          [19:24]

          Shinji picked up his phone with wide eyes, hitting the call button immediately. 

          “He—”

          “What are you talking about, what Instagram?”

          “Seriously? That was the first thing I did on the way home last week. How many Kaworu Nagisas do you think there are in the world? Only one account came up.”

          Shinji was not big on social media. He had an Instagram because Mari had begged him to make it. It was a locked account with no posts and he only used it to follow a handful of friends, cooking bloggers, and a very photogenic shiba inu. It had not crossed his mind to use it as a method to search for people. 

          He forced himself to ask, “Does he look happy?”

          “Social media is an incredibly filtered version of reality and you can’t judge the state of a person's life by it,” Mari said. “And in this case, assumptions are completely off the table because it’s a professional account.” 

          “What does that mean?”

          “It means it’s connected to his work. It looks like he’s a freelance stylist and he uses Instagram as a portfolio. There are hardly any pictures of him at all. I had to scroll back months to confirm it was really our guy.” 

          “Are you sure it’s him?”

          “Look for yourself. I’ll send you the link.” Shinji heard what sounded like an overhead announcement, “If you have questions, I’ll try to help later. I gotta go. My flight is boarding.”

          “Where are you going?”

          “Taipei. I’ll be back in a week.”

          “Oh. Right. Have a safe trip.”

          “Thanks, talk to you later!”

          Shinji lowered his phone and stared at the screen. Below the timestamp of their call, a link appeared. He moved his thumb over it and hesitated. What if…?

          He put his phone face down on the table and picked up his chopsticks. He would look at it after dinner. 

He did not look at it after dinner. He procrastinated by playing a mobile game, taking a long hot bath, and watching the evening news. It was nearly midnight when curiosity won out over anxiety. He sat on the edge of his bed and opened the link.

          “Kaworu Nagisa” was written in English beside the handle nagisa_style. The profile picture was an indistinguishable man in a sharp suit, posed as if he were dancing, the upper half of his face obscured by the tilted brim of a fedora. The account had just over 2000 followers. The bio was simple: Hair, make-up, and fashion stylist. Attempting to make life into art. DM for inquiries.

          Beneath that, Instagram told him the account was followed by Illustrious.Mari . Shinji closed out of the app to message her. 

          Shinji: I can’t believe you followed him

          [23:58]

          Mari: I’m in the fashion and design industry. His stuff is good. We could collaborate. 

          [23:59]

          Shinji shoved down the annoyed piece of him that was jealous Mari had an excuse to follow Kaworu’s account and returned to looking at his page. It was filled with models. Tall, slender, beautiful people draped in clothes Shinji couldn’t dream of affording. There wasn’t anything “Kaworu” about the posts except for the occasional in-depth detailing on why he had chosen certain color palettes or backdrops for shoots. Shinji kept scrolling until he found what he was looking for— 

          There he was. Shinji’s chest hurt at the sight of him. Beautiful. He’d always been beautiful, but this Kaworu was different. He looked mature. He looked put-together. He looked healthy. The picture was a reflection within a LED makeup mirror. Kaworu was standing behind the model who was taking the photo, smiling with one hand on her shoulder and the other giving a peace sign. 

          He looked happy. 

          Shinji closed the app and closed his eyes, flopping backwards onto his mattress. He was too tired to deal with whatever his emotions were doing. He flung his phone somewhere he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it and tugged his blankets over his head. He would deal with himself in the morning. 

Morning Shinji was hardly less tired than Midnight Shinji. He squinted at his phone and the unread message hovering on the lock screen.

          Mari: Did you DM him? 

          [01:15]

          His phone was down to 8% battery. He plugged it in and went back to bed for another hour. 

After eating breakfast, Shinji let himself open the link again. He scrolled through a couple year’s worth of posts, searching for more photos of Kaworu himself without much success. Like Mari had said, there was little of his personal life to be found. He opened his messages to respond to her. 

          Shinji: I’m not comfortable sending a DM. 

          [9:30]

          Mari didn’t respond until later in the afternoon. 

          Mari: I hope you’ll change your mind. 

          [14:02]

Shinji did not follow Kaworu’s Instagram, but he did check it enough times that simply clicking into the search bar auto-suggested his account. It turned out that Kaworu was more of a daily Stories user than a serial poster. He shared fleeting photos of products he was using, teasers for upcoming magazine spreads, and cafe lunches. It was comforting to see the updates, like proof to Shinji that Kaworu was really out there in the world, living a life he directed for himself.  

          It was enough. 

          It was enough, until Kaworu uploaded a video. His hair was pulled back into a half ponytail and he was complaining about the length, “I let it get too long. I can’t see anymore with my hair down.” 

          His voice hadn’t changed. Shinji blinked away an unexpected prickling of tears, watching as Kaworu removed his hair tie. Long silver tresses fell into his face as he shook his head. He combed his bangs back with a laugh. 

          “What hairstyle do you dare me to do before I cut it?” he asked.

          Shinji had missed him. Hearing his voice again, watching his face break into a grin, knowing he was right there and Shinji couldn’t talk to him hurt . 

          Why was he doing this to himself? 

          He didn’t want to miss Kaworu anymore. 

Shinji spent the rest of his day wondering how to orchestrate a first meeting between them. He felt weird about it when the thought first came to mind, until he realized Kaworu had done the same for them over multiple lifetimes. Shinji’s heart ached remembering it. The memories of their meetings were seared into his mind’s eye: Kaworu in the golden light of the setting sun, at a train station, at the beach, and on an overcast day, sat in the ruins of an old building, another time, under the open blue sky, calling Shinji with the song of a piano. Those meetings, and many more. 

          Kaworu’s self-introduction never failed to make an impression. When their eyes met, Shinji understood gravity. He was no different than a celestial body drawn towards a star, and for all that it scared him, over time and over lives, it became thrilling. The pull of Kaworu’s gravity fixed Shinji’s position in the chaos of the expanding universe. 

          How could Shinji move Kaworu the way he’d been moved? He sat at his kitchen table with a notepad and pencil and tried to plan. It should be easier for him than it had ever been for Kaworu. He had technology on his side. He just had to wait until Kaworu posted about an event he was attending and then he could… he could do what? Show up and say hi? 

          Planning was not Shinji’s forte. 

          Lacking ideas, he picked up his phone and saw Mari had messaged him.

          Mari: I know you’re taking your sweet time with making a move but PLEASE hurry up because I can’t stand how stupid and cute your boyfriend is 

          [17:03]

          Attached were two screencaps from Kaworu’s Stories. In the first, he’d put his hair into ridiculous twin ponytails. In the second, he’d braided his bangs into a half crown. In both, he looked absolutely pleased with himself. Shinji was smitten. 

          Mari: I want to be his friend. I want to smooch him. 

          [17:05]

          Shinji: Mari... 

          [17:15]

          Mari: Just once, then he’s all yours

          [17:16]

          Shinji: To tell you the truth, I’ve been thinking all afternoon about how I can meet him in person. If you see him post about an event, let me know?

          [17:18]

          Mari: Gasp! A plan?! Wingman Mari at your service.  

          [17:19]

Two days later, Mari messaged him again. 

          Mari: I can’t promise he’ll be there, because he might just be sharing it as a favor to someone, but it looks like maybe Kaworu will go to the opening night of an art gallery this weekend? He tagged the artist and I have the details ready if you want to go together. 

          [10:30]

          Shinji responded on his lunch break. 

          Shinji: Let’s go!

          [12:10]

          Mari: Yes! Shopping tonight? Not to be mean, but if we’re going to an art gallery, you should probably dress like someone who goes to art galleries. 

          [12:12]

          Shinji: I think I’m offended 

          [12:13]

          Mari: I love you and your bad ties, but we’re going for wow, ok? Not sad salaryman sheek. 

          [12:14]

          Shinji: Fine, I’ll try to leave on time today. Where should I meet you?

          [12:16]

Shopping with Mari was exhausting. He was on his twelfth outfit in the changing room before she made a call on the right color for him. “Yes, pink. I like the pink shirt.” She looked him up and down and gave her approval, “The sakura are starting to bloom and you are showing you appreciate seasonal colors. Plus, it makes your eyes pop.”

          “Are we done?”

          “No, you think that shirt goes with those slacks?”

          It was another half hour of dress-up until the final choices were made. Shinji went home with several pieces Mari insisted flattered him and would be great for date nights. He thought she was being rather optimistic to assume he’d have even one date. What if Kaworu was already in a relationship? Mari had been so excited about getting to decide his wardrobe that he didn’t voice his concerns. They settled in the back of his mind with every other doubt and insecurity. 

Friday. One day until the art show. Shinji’s nerves were on edge as he stepped in the door to work. If he could get into the zone with data inputting, he wouldn’t have to think about anything. It was monotonous, almost therapeutic. Him and his files. 

          He had just sat down when his superior came over to him and said, “We’re down Sakurako and Kenji today. Can I get you on the front window?”

          No. Shinji hated working the window. He’d been at the ward office long enough to wiggle his way out of people duty and have quality time with his desk. “I think I took over last time. Isn’t it Hiro’s turn?”

          Hirotaka turned in his chair and joined the conversation. “No, nope, it was my turn last time. It’s your turn now.”

          Their supervisor looked between them. “Just do rock, paper, scissors and someone get on the window. We’re opening the doors in 5 minutes.” 

Shinji lost. He was not entirely convinced that Hirotaka hadn’t cheated. He was going to write down his duty today as proof for the next time they were understaffed that it was not his turn and Hirotaka would have to service the window.

          Ayumi was next to him at the front desk. She’d been training under Sakurako for the last couple weeks and it would be her first day on her own. He could see the tension in her shoulders, recognized the ramrod straight posture of someone who was terrified but eager to prove they could do their job right. 

          “You’ll be fine,” said Shinji. “If there’s anything you don’t know, you can ask me.”

          She looked at him with surprise. It took a moment for his words to filter through her stress, but when they did, she smiled. “Thank you.”

It was a slow morning. Shinji let Ayumi handle most of the people who came to their window, on stand-by to help her if she needed it. She did everything exactly as she’d been taught and he made sure to offer her that reassurance before he sent her off to her lunch break. He could handle the window himself for an hour. 

          He helped a middle aged woman register her dog grooming business and directed an elderly man to a different department for pension related questions. It was almost time for his break. He figured he had enough time to help one more person, two if it was just checking a submission or providing an information package. He hit the button on his desk that called the next number in the queue to his station. He shuffled through a couple of papers to appear busy while he waited. 

          “Good afternoon.”

          Shinji looked up at the voice and froze, thoughts screeching to a halt in his mind. Kaworu. It was Kaworu. Kaworu was standing in front of him. He’d cut his hair since the Instagram video, just enough of a trim to really see his burgundy eyes, bright under the fluorescent lights of the ward office. He was wearing a white collared shirt and a royal blue blazer with three-quarter sleeves. There was an expensive looking watch on the wrist of the hand that was currently being offered to him. He was holding out his ticketed number. 

          What Shinji should have asked was, “How can I help you today?” Instead, his brain, attempting to restart itself, came out with a much too curt, “Why are you here?”

          If Kaworu thought he was rude, he didn’t show it. “I’d like to register my small business and see if it’s eligible for any grants.”

          “What kind of business is it?”

          “A styling and photography studio.”

          “Okay,” said Shinji, trying to remember how to do his job. “Please wait.”

          He stood and went to the nearest filing cabinet, hyper aware that Kaworu was watching him. He pulled open a couple of drawers, searching for the right file. He overlooked it twice. The shock of Kaworu’s sudden appearance was wearing off and the reality of him being in the same room was sinking in. His heart raced, fingers trembling as they brushed over another wrong file. He had to focus. 

          He pulled out the correct form and returned to his seat, pushing it across the desk to Kaworu. “Please fill out this form and come back to the window. I will look through the grants now.”

          “I don’t have a pen.”

          There were plenty of pens on the desk in the waiting room. Shinji could have told him that.

          “Here,” he said and passed Kaworu the pen out of his chest pocket. 

          “Thank you.” 

          Shinji watched Kaworu’s back as he turned and went to find a surface to write on. His shoulders were broad, the blazer a perfect fit against his back. He was tall. Taller than Shinji. He was not the Kaworu Shinji had known, but his hair was the same, silver tufts sticking up at odd defiant angles, feathery to the touch— no, that was a memory, stored just under the surface of his skin. Kaworu’s hair between his fingers, head cradled in his hands, and the ghost of a breath against his lips. 

          “So that’s your type?” asked Ayumi, breaking Shinji from his trance. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

          Shinji stopped staring at the back of Kaworu’s head and looked at her, his face warm. She smiled.

          “I can take over if you want to go on break.”

          “No, it’s okay. I’ll go when I finish this application.” 

          Ayumi nodded and sat down in the neighboring window, pushing the button to call the next person in line. Shinji did not allow himself to look at Kaworu again. He fixed his eyes on the computer screen and opened up a new tab to search for small business grants. 

          By the time Kaworu brought up his completed registration, Shinji had printed two applications for him to fill out. “These are for initial start-up costs. If you’re planning to employ more than 10 people, there are other grants available.” 

          “No, it’s mostly me, and some part-time help,” he said as he took the forms. “Thank you. I’ll fill these out now too.”

          Shinji looked over Kaworu’s business registration while he was writing in his information for the grants. His penmanship was subpar, letter size inconsistent as he’d tried to squish details into their designated boxes. He confirmed the type of business, owner, number of employees, and address. The studio was near the restaurant where he and Mari had eaten lunch the other week. He verified the form with his hanko and put it aside to add into the database after lunch. 

          Kaworu returned to his desk. “Do these look alright?” 

          Shinji took the applications and checked that everything necessary was completed correctly. “Yes. I’ll submit them for you today. It could take up to two weeks to process and you’ll be notified if the grant is approved.” 

          “Fantastic, thank you so much for your help today,” his eyes darted down to the lanyard around Shinji’s neck and back up to his face, “Ikari-san.” 

          “You’re welcome. I’ll cross my fingers you get approved.” 

          “I appreciate it,” he said. “Thank you again.”

          He excused himself with a smile that left Shinji dazed. 

When Shinji checked Kaworu’s Instagram that night, his single Story for the day linked to a new post with the text: “All the paperwork is finally in, so here’s my big announcement!” It was a picture of Kaworu standing in the navy blue doorway of a white storefront, arms held out in show and smiling wide. The large front window was embossed with the name “Studio Nagisa” in curling letters. The caption below the post read:

Introducing Studio Nagisa! It’s been two long years since I first decided to open my own studio, and with everyone’s warm support along the way, I was able to make my dream into reality. Located just 5 minute’s walk from Ube-Shinkawa Station, Studio Nagisa will be a versatile photography and styling studio, rental space, and seminar hall. For upcoming events and bookings, please visit my new website, or follow the studio’s account at @studio_nagisa  

          The comments were full of people congratulating him and looking forward to what he would do with the space. He noticed the post had been liked by Mari. He messaged her.

          Shinji: Kaworu registered his business today 

          [18:30]

          Mari: I know! So proud of him!

          [18:31]

          Shinji: No, I mean, he registered his business at the ward office. With me. I registered his business. 

          [18:33]

          The phone rang in his hand. He answered it with a laugh, “Hello?”

          “What happened? Did you talk to him? Are we still going to the art show?”

          “Nothing happened, I treated him like anyone else who needs help. I don’t really think it was a good time to try flirting.”

          “Anytime is a good time for flirting, Shinji.”

          “Only you think that. And yes. I still want to go to the art show. If he’s there, maybe I can talk to him normally, and if he’s not, I guess I’ll try to talk to him when he comes to sign some other paperwork.” 

          “Look at you with two plans! Wanna get dinner tomorrow before the gallery?”

          “Sure.”

When their call had finished, Shinji went through his nightly routines. He usually laid out his outfit for the next day, too tired in the morning to think about it, but the clothes had already been decided days earlier. He stared at the pink collared shirt and charcoal jeans, light gray waistcoat set aside if he wanted to make the look more formal. He’d gone through all that dressing room nonsense to make a good first impression and yet his first meeting with Kaworu wasn’t the one he'd anticipated. He’d come up with so many scenarios in his head. He hadn’t imagined he’d be wearing his boring old work clothes.

          If he really did rewrite the universe 14 years ago, then the universe itself was resentful, because Shinji’s life rarely went according to plan. 

Chapter Text

The art show was small. Shinji had been led to believe from movies that such an event would be bigger, with more people, champagne, and giant canvases splattered with paint. He’d expected a museum, but they were in an ordinary building, in a medium-sized room with only a few small pieces of art on the wall and a table in the center of the room with several sculptures on display. The artist’s theme was flowers and she had used resin-coated petals in all of her creations. Shinji stared at a miniature ballerina figure, her leotard and tutu made from sakura.

          “Are you enjoying the gallery?” 

          Shinji turned to see who had spoken. It was a woman around his age. She was wearing a delicate flower crown. Mari reached out her hand from beside him and said, “You wouldn’t happen to be the lovely Ms. Leona, would you?”

          The woman blushed as she shook Mari’s hand. “I’m happy you know who I am. It’s always awkward to introduce myself. I’m trying to get better at it. You are?”

          “Mari Makinami Illustrious.” Mari pulled out a business card from her phone case and passed it to her. “Just ‘Mari’ is fine. I love your work.”

          “Thank you so much,” said Leona with a smile. She carefully put Mari’s card into her wristlet and held out one of her own. Shinji was surprised when a second one was offered to him.

          He accepted it and said, “I like your work too.”

          “Thank you. I appreciate your support.” 

          At the front of the gallery, a group of three people arrived. 

          “Please take your time and enjoy the gallery,” Leona said and went to greet the new visitors.          

          Mari leaned in close to Shinji’s ear. “She smells like flowers.”

          “I can’t imagine why.” 

          Shinji and Mari slowly made their way from art piece to art piece, glancing occasionally to the door when the bell above it rang to welcome other patrons. Their conversations over the paintings and sculptures were drawn out as a means of procrastination. It wouldn’t take more than 30 minutes to look at everything and the gallery was still open for another 3 hours. There was no way to know when or if Kaworu would show up. They had finished their second lap of the gallery when Shinji started to feel he was ready to give up on their plan. 

          “Ok, which piece is your favorite? We can go look at it again,” said Mari. 

          “Leona-san will think we want to buy it.”

          “I’m planning to buy a piece anyway.”

          “Then let’s go look at the one you like best.”

          They meandered again to the back of the room. Mari explained to him in detail what it was she liked about her favorite piece. Shinji heard the bell above the front door jingle and did not turn around. Disappointment was exhausting. 

          Mari did not have the same reserve. She peaked behind them and then yanked Shinji by the elbow to draw him in and whisper, “Prince Charming at six 'o'clock.” 

          He dared a look over his shoulder. He saw Kaworu, dressed impeccably, holding the door open for another man. The stranger was almost as tall as Kaworu, blonde haired and blue eyed. He looked like a foreign model. “Do you think that’s his boyfriend?” he asked. 

          “Why would you think that?”

          “They came here together.”

          “ We came here together.”

          “I can’t do this.”

          “Shinji Ikari, we have been looking at flower petals for 45 minutes. If you run away now, I will not forgive you.” 

          He looked at her in despair. “I don’t know what to do.”

          Mari sighed, releasing her hold on his arm to pinch his cheek. “Even though you’re all grown-up, when you make that face, I still see my pup. I’ll help, ok? You just go stand by a piece you like and wait for Kaworu. I’ll go flirt with the not-boyfriend and exchange business cards.” 

          “What should I say?”

          “Just be you, Shinji. That’s enough.” 

          He watched Mari cross the room, a skip in her step, to stand in front of a piece nearby Kaworu and his companion. How did she come up with plans so fast? Shinji shook his head and looked around the room. His eyes scanned the colorful canvases, finally coming to rest on one that had most grabbed his attention. It was the ocean, made blue with oil paint, the crests of waves the drooping heads of bluebells. He walked to stand in front of it. He stared at it and tried to listen to the conversations around him, hoping to catch a part of Mari’s conversation. He didn’t move. Was it weird he wasn’t moving? Should he move? He was ready to go seek out Mari again when he heard Kaworu’s voice come from just behind him.  

          “The colors in this one are very soothing, aren’t they?”

          Shinji stepped out of the way, trying to make room in front of the artwork. Kaworu came to stand next to him. Shinji glanced his way and saw he was by himself; he was the one Kaworu was talking to. 

          “Yeah, I like it.”

          Kaworu tilted his head to the side, looking slightly puzzled. “Where have we met before?”

          A hundred different places and times. He chose the most recent to respond with, “Yesterday, at the ward office.” 

          “Oh! You were the one who helped me at the front desk. Ikari-san, right?” Kaworu smiled, “I liked your name. I think I’m partial to things connected to the ocean.”

          “That must be why you like this piece too.”

          “Must be.” 

          Shinji looked back at the artwork, trying to think of something else to say. He was glad his name had made an impression even if the rest of him hadn’t. Names. He could say something about Kaworu’s name. 

          “The name on your form was Nagisa. The shore. That’s connected to the ocean too.”

          “Maybe I’m a bit narcissistic.” 

          "T-that’s not what I meant!” He looked at Kaworu to find him laughing. 

          “I know, I’m joking. I think,” he teased. “To tell you the truth, I prefer my first name, Kaworu. It’s nice to meet you again, Ikari-san.”

          “Shinji.”

          “Hm?”

          “I don’t like my family name much either. You can call me Shinji.” 

          “Shinji. I like that too.”

          Shinji tried to hide his blush by turning to look at the next painting and changed the subject. “Leona-san’s work is pretty, isn’t it?”

          “Yes. Even in college, she was always trying to explore the delicate and the destructive power of nature through art. Today’s spring-inspired gallery is lovely, but I think I preferred her ice gallery over the winter.”

          Shinji had been worried about Kaworu having a boyfriend. The concern over a girlfriend firmly fixed itself in his mind when he heard those words of praise. He asked, “Is she a friend of yours?”

          “We’re friendly in the way old classmates are, but I think I’m more of a fan now.”

          “I see…” 

          “How do you know Leona’s work?”

          “A friend invited me today.” 

          As if summoned by the mere suggestion of her existence, Mari came to slide seamlessly between them and flung her arms over their shoulders. She leaned her face close to Kaworu’s, took a deep breath in through her nose and said, “Valentino V? Great choice.”

          “You have quite the nose.”

          “I have good taste too, but it doesn’t always work out for me,” said Mari. “Your handsome friend is already in a relationship. What about you, princey?”

          “You are beautiful, Ms Illustrious, but I am not interested in women.”

          “What a coincidence!” Mari squeezed Shinji tight against her. “I have a cute, single friend right here who is also not interested in women.”

          The blush that had faded away came back with vengeance. “ Mari !” 

          “Just throwing it out there.” She released them both and stepped back. “I’m about done with the gallery now. I’m going to fill out the order form for the piece I’m buying and then I’m ready to go. Did you want anything, Shinji?”

          He shook his head and stared at the floor as she bounced away. He hadn’t felt this embarrassed in ages. He didn’t know what to say. 

          “She’s right, you know. You are cute.” 

          Shinji snapped his head up to look at Kaworu with wide eyes. 

          “It’s okay if you’re not interested though.” 

          If Kaworu could only know how wrong he was. “I’m interested,” he said with a sudden rush of determination. 

          Kaworu looked pleasantly surprised. “In that case,” he took out his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out his business card, “I don’t have a landline for my business yet. The one on here is my personal number. You can add me on Line messenger or call me sometime.”

          “I will,” said Shinji as he accepted the card. 

          “I’ll be waiting.” Kaworu said, half turning to return to his friend. “Have a good night, Shinji.”

          “You too.”

          Shinji looked down at the card in his hands. Blue and white, like the storefront. It had Kaworu’s name, profession, social media handle, email, and phone number. It had all been given to him freely, like a ticket of admission into Kaworu’s life. Fearful of losing it, he took a picture on his phone and then put the card into his pocket. 

          He met Mari at the exit of the gallery. She looked smug. “Have you got a date?”

          Shinji’s heart felt light. “It seems possible?”

          “Good.”

After being tempted out to celebratory drinks and ice cream with Mari, Shinji returned home with a feeling of satisfaction. He put his phone and Kaworu’s business card on his nightstand, then changed and got ready for bed. He decided to add Kaworu’s number on Line before going to sleep. He typed the digits into the search box and saw the owner of the account pop up. The picture was different from Instagram. He clicked it to enlarge the image and smiled. Kaworu was standing in a field of sunflowers. He sent a friend request and laid down on his pillow. 

          Maybe it wouldn’t work out. Maybe they wouldn’t be more than friends. Maybe Kaworu didn’t need Shinji in his life. 

          But, if nothing else, at least Shinji would know. 

          When he slept, he dreamed about oceans of bluebells. 

                    Kaworu: Good morning! Thank you for adding me on Line. 

                    [7:04]

It was the first thing Shinji saw when he woke up and checked his phone. 

                    Shinji: Good morning! You were up early for a Sunday. 

                    [9:16]

                  Kaworu: Lots to do. I wanted to finish painting the walls of my photo studio today. 

                    [9:18]

                  Shinji: What color are you painting it?

                  [9:19]

                  Kaworu: White. It’s the most reflective  

                  [9:20]

          Shinji got out of bed and started to make breakfast. He watched his egg fry in the pan and tried to remember questions he’d wanted to ask Kaworu all the times he’d looked at his Instagram. 

                    Shinji: It seems like you do a lot of different things for your work. Is photography your favorite?

                    [9:28]

                    Kaworu: I don’t do much of my own photography, but I want to learn more about it. Usually there’s a professional hired for the shoots I style.

                    [9:30]

                    Shinji: So what do you do?

                    [9:30]

                    Kaworu: A lot of things! I can explain it in detail if you’re interested, but I really need to get back to work now. 

                    [9:32]

          Texting and painting were not tasks that paired well together. 

                    Shinji: I’d like to hear more when you have time. 

                    [9:35]

          He wondered if Kaworu was working alone. 

                   Shinji: Are you doing the painting by yourself?

                   [9:36]

                   Kaworu: Yep! A friend helped with the pre-coat yesterday though, so it’s not so bad. 

                   [9:37]

          He took a risk. 

                   Shinji: I’m not doing anything today if you need an extra hand

                   [9:39]

          The message stayed unread long enough for Shinji to finish eating his breakfast. It was 10 minutes after his text was displayed as read that he worried he came off too eager. Who volunteers to help someone they just met paint their walls? Shinji wished for an undo button in real life. 

                   Kaworu: I’d love help, but it’s not exactly fun. You can’t get more boring than watching paint dry, plus it’s tiring on the arms.

                    You probably have better things to do with your Sunday. 

                   [9:55]

          It wasn’t a rejection. 

                  Shinji: Not really. I’d be happy to help. We can talk while we paint. 

                   [9:57]

                  Kaworu: Please don’t feel obligated. I won’t be offended if you change your mind and choose to relax instead. 

                   [9:59]

He sent an address. Shinji leapt out of his chair to get ready. Teeth brushed, face washed, hair combed, and clothes—  what clothes should he wear? If he was painting, something old would be best, but he still wanted to look nice. He dug through his closet until he found a pair of jeans and a plain blue t-shirt. He threw on a striped cardigan and checked directions on his phone. 

                   Shinji: Heading out now!

                   [10:15]

Shinji found the studio easily. It looked as picturesque in person as it did online, although it was bigger than he’d guessed. The front door was propped open, faint music and the smell of fresh paint coming from within. He knocked on the door frame and called out, “Hello?”

          There was no answer. Shinji stepped inside and debated removing his shoes. It wasn’t a house, but it wasn’t exactly a store either. He took them off just in case. The studio was open concept and L-shaped, with the room on his right opening into a much larger one on his left. The music was coming from the bigger room. Shinji followed the sound, turning the corner to find Kaworu at the back wall, crouched over a paint tray on the tarp-covered floor. He was wearing a baggy shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and overalls with the cuffs rolled to mid calf. When he stood and began rolling the paint onto the wall, Shinji noticed he had his shoes on. They were white high-tops. 

          “Kaworu,” he called out instinctively. 

          Kaworu jumped, drops of white paint flying off the roller. He spun around, shoulders relaxing when he saw Shinji, “Hi.”

          “Hi.”

          “Thanks for coming all the way out here.” 

          “It wasn’t far,” Shinji said. “How can I help?”

          Kaworu explained his attack plan for the rest of the room, setting up a second tray of paint and a brush for the trimming. Shinji went to get his shoes, set his cardigan out of way, and got to work. Well, he tried to get to work. He’d never actually painted a room before. He swirled his brush into the paint and brought it to the wall, accidentally dropping gloops of white across the tarp on his way. He glanced over to see if Kaworu had noticed. He was busy skipping through songs on his iphone. There were flecks of paint down the front of his denim clothing. He looked casual, comfortable in a way Shinji hadn’t seen before. He liked it. 

          “Your overalls are cute,” he said. 

          Kaworu looked up from his phone to say, “Thank you.” He set the device down on an unopened can of paint. “I like the color of your shirt. It brings out your eyes. They’re a lovely shade of blue.”

          Like the ocean was left unspoken, but Shinji imagined Kaworu was thinking it. He smiled and said his own thanks. Returning his brush to the tray, he scraped off the extra paint he didn’t need and brought it back to the wall. He listened as Kaworu began humming along to the pop song he’d chosen and wondered if his taste in music had changed or simply expanded over the years. It wasn’t a question he could ask. He chose another one. 

          “So, you can tell me about your job now?”

          “I can!” responded Kaworu cheerfully, “I’m what you’d call a fashion stylist. Clients come to me with new clothing lines or accessories they wish to sell and I come up with the visuals to sell them, usually for magazines, but more often it’s for online sales now.”

          “How did you decide that’s what you wanted to do?”

          “It just sort of happened,” he said. “I was scouted for modeling back in college and it was a decent source of income while I was debating what I wanted to pursue. I didn’t really care for being in front of the camera, but what was happening behind it always interested me. The transformation from real life to the page, how one person’s imagination could completely change a piece of cloth into something majestic by using another person as their canvas. It inspired me.”

          Shinji stopped painting to stare at Kaworu. He was smiling as he worked, clearly excited to be talking about something he was passionate about. 

          “I started with hair and makeup, and kept learning from there. I’d love to try styling for commercials or independent films one day too, which is another reason I started this studio. It can get tiring jumping from freelance job to freelance job. My hope is to bring clients to me and my team instead.” Kaworu glanced in Shinji’s direction, “What about you?”

          “Me?”

          “What made you choose your job?”

          Shinji regretted he had nothing half so interesting to say. 

          “I get anxious easily,” he admitted, “so I wanted a job that was predictable and didn’t change much day-to-day. Fewer things are more stable than the ward office.” 

          “That makes sense. Government owned, no need to worry about going under or competing with other businesses.” 

          “Yeah.” Shinji dipped his paintbrush again, deflecting from his boring life. “Tell me more about your business. What’s this room going to be used for?”

          “It’s multi-purpose! Right now I’m thinking about photoshoots. I have backdrops and lighting arriving later in the week. It can be converted into a gallery too, like the one we were at the other day…”

          Kaworu went on describing his plans, eventually discarding his paint roller to invite Shinji to see the rest of the building. The ground floor was composed of the two rooms Shinji had observed, a powder room, and a small storage space. The second floor, accessible from a staircase located between the two main rooms, looked more like a studio apartment. Its pea green carpet was tattered, buckling in several places with age. The furniture was not much better for wear, coffee table and sofa sagging under the weight of a dozen cardboard boxes.  

          “I know it’s a mess, but it has potential. I’m thinking of making a changing area and a break room,” Kaworu said as he walked over into the dated kitchen and opened the door to a small refrigerator. “Drink? I have some green tea, tomato juice, or bottled water.”

          “I’ll take a water.”

The last coat of paint was on the wall by 3pm. 

          “I’m going to take a video for Instagram. Do you mind if you’re in it?” asked Kaworu. 

          “I don’t mind.”

          He started with his camera aimed at the speckled tarp and paint trays, then lifted it to film Shinji, “My helper today!” 

          Shinji waved his paintbrush at their theoretical audience— what would Mari say when she saw him there?— and listened to Kaworu narrate their progress as he panned over to the white walls. When he finished posting, he pocketed his phone and stepped over to Shinji with a bright smile. 

          “That was much faster with two people,” he said. 

          They were standing close enough for Shinji to see there was paint in his hair. He reached up and took the coated strands between his fingertips, rubbing until the dried paint broke off into pieces. With a jolt, he realized he’d touched Kaworu without asking. His eyes flickered to check his expression. He was staring back at Shinji, cheeks dusted pink. Shinji let his arm drop and took a step back, flustered.

          “Oh, um, sorry. There was some paint,” he explained. 

          “Thanks.”

          He tried to hide his own blush by inspecting his shoes. The laces were tied. There was no paint he could see on them. “I guess we’re all finished,” he said to the floor.  

          “Do you want to get coffee?”

          Shinji looked back up. “What?” 

          “As thanks, for helping me today. If you have time, we can go get some coffee. There’s a cute cafe just down the road. They have good scones.” 

          His stomach rumbled. 

          “Or sandwiches. They have good sandwiches too.”

“I recommend the tempeh, lettuce, and tomato sandwich,” Kaworu said as Shinji looked over the macrobiotic cafe’s menu. “Usually organic doesn’t make a big difference in flavor, but I swear it does with tomatoes. I can’t get enough of the ones they use here. They’re locally grown too.”

          Shinji recognized the cafe from Kaworu’s Instagram. He often shared photos of his lunch from there in his Stories. It was the same wooden plates, piled high with colorful vegetables and brown rice, and the same succulents used as centerpieces on every table. It was weird to look at them in person and not from the other side of a screen. 

          “If you’d rather something sweet, the crescent scones are great. A little dry, but they go great with chai.” 

          Shinji set the menu down. “I’ll try both,” he said. 

The food was everything Kaworu had promised it to be, the tomatoes in particular some of the sweetest Shinji had eaten. They talked as they enjoyed their lunch, Shinji trying not to feel self-conscious when Kaworu asked him about his life. Their experiences were worlds apart from what they used to be. Shinji couldn’t think of anything he was passionate about to share and he didn’t have any big dreams he was aspiring to make true either. His life was simple. He liked simple. He hoped Kaworu didn’t mind it. 

          The sun was setting when they finally left the cafe. 

          “I’ll walk you to the station.”

          He didn’t have to. Shinji knew the way. He let Kaworu guide him anyway. 

          They reached the staircase that would bring him to the platform and came to a stop.  

          “Thank you for helping me today, Shinji.”

          It was time to say goodbye. Shinji’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He turned his eyes from the green steps to Kaworu. His hair was haloed with gold in the setting sun, red eyes warm. His smile was gentle. Why was he always so gentle? He was waiting for Shinji to say something. 

          Shinji swallowed, trying to make the words form. “You’re welcome,” he said weakly. 

          He didn’t want to leave, and with something like dread, he recognized that he had felt this way before. It was the desire to stretch time beyond its limits, to postpone farewells and good nights. From Can I stay with you? to Can we watch the stars together? and other spells that would keep them side-by-side a bit longer. 

          Shinji had considered Kaworu’s gravity something he aspired to imitate. He had wanted to bring Kaworu closer to him like he had always been pulled in— but, that was exactly it. He was being pulled in again. He’d forgotten his own weakness, how quickly he could fall into the other man’s orbit. He struggled against the feelings weighing down on him.  

          The crossing signal clanged loudly into the early evening. 

          “Sounds like the train is coming,” said Kaworu, looking in either direction to check the tracks for which line was arriving. 

          Shinji nodded. “I should go.”

          “Be safe getting home.”

          “Thanks.”

          His legs were heavy as he climbed the stairs. He could feel Kaworu’s eyes on his back, probably waiting to wave one last time. Shinji forced himself forward, climbing faster, hoping it looked as though he was rushing for the train. He worried about what he would do if he looked back. 

                    Mari: omg, you r in his story, im crying

                    [8:40]

                    Mari: uou spent so long dragging your feet and now your movin fast, you go bb

                    [8:41]

Shinji frowned at his phone in the dark of his room. 

                    Shinji: Are you drunk?

                    [8:43]

                    Mari: yes, 

                    [8:43]

                    Mari: but dont worry, im with a friend and she will not let me drive the train

                    [8:44]

          Shinji reread her message, the word “fast” lodging itself into his psyche. Mari said he was moving fast. Was it too fast? 

          He and Kaworu had always met each other when the world was crashing down around them. The rapid progression of their friendship into something more was, consciously or unconsciously, spurred on by an awareness that their time together was limited. Their love existed in a liminal space between catastrophic events.

          The world wasn’t ending now. 

          Fast. 

          Too fast. 

          He had to slow down. 

          Shinji didn’t know how to slow down, so he decided he could try to do it by creating space. 

          He did not message Kaworu for the rest of the week. 

On the following Tuesday, Shinji received a stack of grant approvals. Getting to call people and tell them the good financial news was a task he actively enjoyed doing. He spoke to several small business owners, left voicemails, and sent an email to one company whose number wouldn’t connect. He pulled the next form from the pile and read: Studio Nagisa. 

          He had to call Kaworu next. Shinji picked up the office phone and keyed in his number. It rang three times, and just as Shinji was sure the voicemail would start, he answered, “Hello?”

          Shinji continued on autopilot, “Hello, this is Shinji Ikari from the ward office. I’m calling to let you know your grants have been approved. You will need to sign for them within the next two days and then the money will be wired to your account.” 

          Kaworu was silent for a long moment. “Can I come sign for them today?”

          “Yes. The ward office is open until 5pm.” 

          “Okay, thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

          Shinji ended the call politely, hung up the phone, and dropped his forehead against his desk. The thud drew Hirotaka’s attention. 

          “You okay over there?”

          “I don’t know.”

Ayumi came to get him around an hour later, striding up to his desk and leaning conspiratorially into his space to whisper, “That good looking guy from the other day is asking for you at the front desk.”

          “He needs to sign this,” said Shinji, picking up Kaworu’s grants and holding them out to her. 

          “You bring it to him.”

          “What, why?”

          “He asked for Shinji Ikari.”

          Shinji closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could face Kaworu like a normal person. 

          “Fine.”

          He ignored Ayumi’s grin, stood, and made his way to the front window. Kaworu was leaning against the counter, looking over at another customer with a baby strapped to her back. Shinji watched him duck down out of view and reemerged with a pacifier in his hand. He offered it to the woman. He could hear her exclaiming her thanks as he neared. 

          The smile on Shinji’s face was genuine when he arrived at the window and greeted him. “Congratulations on your grant approval!”

          Kaworu turned to him, his own ever-easy smile in place. “Thank you for making it possible.”

          Shinji removed his pen from his chest pocket and passed it to Kaworu along with the forms, pointing out where he needed to sign. Kaworu did as instructed. He was on the last line when he spoke again.  

          “I’m relieved you don’t seem mad at me.”

          Shinji’s brow furrowed. “Why would I be mad at you?”

          “We spent the day together and you didn’t message me again. I thought maybe I annoyed you talking too much about business.”

          “I wasn’t annoyed.” Shinji said, wanting it to be clear. “Kind of the opposite, really. You’re amazing and I’m n—  I’m sorry. I just got nervous, I guess.”

          “I think you’re amazing too.”

          Shinji gaped at him in disbelief. 

          Kaworu went on to explain himself, “I mean it. You help people start their dream businesses, you appreciate fine art, and you took time out of your weekend to help a near stranger paint all day. That was kind of you. Oh, and you’re handsome too.”

          Shinji prayed no one was listening to their conversation. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

          “If you’re not mad at me, why don’t we go on a date? I want to get to know you more.”

          “Okay.”

          “Really?”

          “Yeah.”

          “Great,” said Kaworu, sliding the signed papers back over to him. “I’ll message you later.”

          He left with a wink and Shinji’s knees almost gave out from under him. 

          Powerless. He was absolutely powerless against Kaworu’s charm. His worry took a backseat to the joy he felt at Kaworu asking him out. He turned to begin processing Studio Nagisa’s paperwork with a smile on his face. That smile promptly fell when he realized several people from the office were staring at him, peeking around the filing cabinets like curious children. His face lit up with embarrassment. 

          Ayumi gave him two thumbs up. Hirotaka passed her a 1000yen note. 

          “You win the bet,” he said. 

          Shinji spluttered. “What bet?!”

Chapter Text

“So,” Mari said to Shinji on the phone, “You two are adorable.”

          “What are you talking about?”

          “Those pictures from today!”

          It was then that he remembered Kaworu had posted multiple photos of their weekend endeavor. The two of them had ripped up the hideous green carpet on the second floor of his studio, and with some added help from Sasha (the blonde-haired, blue-eyed friend from the art show, who, it turned out, was indeed foriegn and a model, but not gay) sanded, buffed, and stained the wooden boards beneath it. Sasha had been the one to take the photo of Shinji and Kaworu lying exhausted on the finished floor. 

          Shinji suspected his muscles were going to be sore for days. 

          “It looked perfectly domestic, like you’re getting your house move-in ready,” said Mari. 

          “No one is moving in there. It’s for work.”

          “I know that, I’m just saying it’s cute. You’re too sweet to help him with all that.”

          Shinji did not think he was sweet; he thought he was rather desperate. While he and Kaworu had gone on a handful of dates, the couple of hours they spent together over dinners were too short. He wanted more time. But Kaworu was a busy person. He was accepting reservations for Studio Nagisa from the summer and there was a lot to prepare before its proper opening.  

          Shinji figured he could wait and pine while Kaworu worked, or he could help him. He chose to help when he could. 

          “I just like spending time with him,” he confessed. 

          “That’s good. He seems to feel the same!”

          “I thought you couldn’t judge someone’s life based on social media?”

          “Yes, generally,” she said, “but I’m using the power of observation. You are the only non-model on that Instagram —not that you couldn’t be one, you’re very cute— but I think that means something.” 

          He considered her point, but decided it was just a coincidence. Kaworu was starting to post about his studio. He was helping Kaworu with the studio. It was logical, then, that he might sometimes appear in a photo. 

          “You know what I think?” he asked. 

          “What?”

          “I think you spend too much time on Instagram.”

                    Kaworu: It looks like the cherry blossoms will be in full bloom this weekend! Picnic? 

                    [14:05]

                    Shinji: Where should we go? I’ll pack lunch for us. 

                    [17:33]

The park they agreed to meet at was only accessible by bus. When Shinji arrived, Kaworu was already at the entrance, pacing back and forth, phone to his ear. As he approached, Shinji noticed a frown on his face, could hear the annoyance in his voice. 

          “They shouldn’t have been taking orders if they’re that backed up. Six weeks, fine, but I’m not waiting six months.”

          He stopped just a few steps away from him. There was something novel about an irritated Kaworu.

          “No,” he said. “Not worth the discount. Can you cancel the order? I’ll find another manufacturer.” 

          The next time Kaworu turned, he paused, eyes sliding up from the ground and Shinji’s shoes to his expectant face. Kaworu’s pinched expression eased. He held up a finger. 

          “Yeah, no. I’m sure. Thank you so much, Mina. I really appreciate it. I’ll talk to you later.” 

          Mina was Studio Nagisa’s part-time accountant and secretary. Shinji had met her briefly on one of his visits. When Kaworu ended his call, he asked, “Is everything okay?”

          “Minor setback. Not going to let it ruin my day,” said Kaworu, his usual smile returning to his face as he offered Shinji his arm, “Shall we?”

          They found a tree in full bloom and set up beneath its branches. Shinji removed a picnic blanket from his backpack and they unfolded it onto the sparse grass, weighing down the edges with their shoes. Kaworu stretched out onto the fabric like a cat basking in the sun and rolled onto his back. Shinji laid down beside him and they watched the sky through gaps between white cherry blossoms. 

          “It really feels like spring, doesn’t it?” mused Kaworu. 

          “It’s starting to,” agreed Shinji. He didn’t need more than a light sweater that day. The earth was waking, ground warming, air sweet with the scent of flowers. “I’m looking forward to the tulips,” he said.

          “Do you have a favorite color?” 

          “I like them all.”

          “I like the broken ones,” said Kaworu. 

          Shinji turned his head, glancing at Kaworu’s profile, his silver hair fanned out against the blanket, and looked back up at the sky. 

          “Broken?” he asked. 

          “That’s what they call the two-colored ones,” explained Kaworu. “Humans loved them so much that they tried for years to trigger their blooming, but they couldn’t crack the code. It turned out not to be genetics at all. It was a virus that attacked the bulb, one that weakened the plant and created the unusual, striking color of its petals.” 

          If Shinji closed his eyes, he could imagine Kaworu just as he used to be, sharing his wisdom as the two of them lay together beneath the stars of another world. His voice, soft and near, was an eternal comfort. 

          “Some people consider it a curse. Beauty in exchange for an untimely death. They don’t last as long as the solid colored tulips, but I think that’s why I like them. It makes them more precious.”

          Shinji felt the solid earth beneath him, heard the chirping of birds and the distant sound of traffic. He tried to stay present; not in a memory, not in a conjured vision born from fear, but there, in the park, alive. They were alive, and he didn’t want to think about death. 

          “I didn’t know that, about the tulips,” he confessed. “It makes me a little sad.”

          “Don’t be. It’s part of the life cycle.” Kaworu sat up again and pulled Shinji’s backpack towards him, “What did you bring for lunch?”

          Shinji knew that it wasn’t fair of him to see Kaworu as the person he used to be; similarities aside, there were traits Kaworu had now that he hadn’t had in any lifetime. One of them was a great love of mealtimes. Shinji turned onto his side and propped his head up. “Why don’t you open the bento boxes and see?”

          Kaworu eagerly followed the suggestion, a smile lighting up his face when he saw the food Shinji had prepared. Shinji’s heart felt close to overflowing with affection. Precious. Kaworu was precious, more than any flower, more than anyone he had ever known. 

The sky grew overcast as the afternoon wore on. Kaworu checked his phone for the weather. 

          “It looks like it might rain,” he said with a sigh, a bit of his earlier annoyance slipping through, “It didn’t say anything about rain in the forecast today.”

          “The joys of spring,” responded Shinji, “sakura and showers.”

          Kaworu continued looking at his screen, tapping away into another app. 

          “There’s a bus in 10 minutes back to town. Think we can make it?”

          Shinji tried to ignore the disappointment he felt at their picnic coming to an abrupt end, but he understood not wanting to be caught out in the rain. Neither one of them had an umbrella and they were a good 30 minutes from the nearest train station. 

          “I think so. I’ll pack up the leftovers,” he said, moving to close the lids of the lunch boxes. Kaworu helped, and within a couple minutes, they were fighting to fold the picnic blanket against the wind of the incoming storm. Shinji gave up quickly, yanking the fabric out of Kaworu’s hands and shoving it into his backpack.

          “It’s going to wrinkle,” warned Kaworu.

          “I have an iron.”

          Thunder rumbled above. They hurried along to the path leading back to the park’s exit. Once they were on it, the rain started, heavy and fierce. Kaworu burst into an unexpected run and Shinji tried to follow. A strong gust of wind forced him to stop, to close his eyes tightly against the barrage of raindrops and sakura petals. When he opened them again, Kaworu was significantly ahead of him. He wasn’t looking back. Irrational panic seized Shinji. He wanted to cry out. (Don’t leave! Don’t leave me.)

          The words didn’t come, but still, Kaworu seemed to hear them. He turned around in the rain and looked at the space between them. 

          “Come on!” he called. 

          Shinji couldn’t move, and perhaps Kaworu saw something in his expression, because he ran back. He grabbed Shinji’s hand and pulled him forward, “The bus will be here soon.” 

          Kaworu’s hand was warm, his grip secure. Shinji tried to focus on it as they rushed towards the street. Kaworu was there. He wasn’t leaving. He was with Shinji. It was fine. He was fine. He was wet, but he was fine. He didn’t realize they’d stopped until Kaworu let go of his hand and the rain was no longer falling on his face. He blinked, lifting his eyes to find Kaworu was holding his blazer over both of their heads. They were at the bus stop. 

          “I probably should’ve done this from the start,” he said. 

          Designer brand or not, the fabric could only hold so much water. 

          “We can use the picnic blanket,” offered Shinji. 

          “That’s not nearly as romantic.” 

          There was another crack of thunder and Kaworu stepped in closer, looking distraught. “I’m sorry it rained,” he said.  

          “It’s not your fault.”

          Their faces were close. Shinji could see the water clinging to Kaworu’s hair, like dewdrops on morning grass, and the curl of his eyelashes, the depth of sanguine color in his irises. His gaze dropped to his lips, pale pink and slightly parted, and flickered back up. He tried to soothe Kaworu’s guilt. 

          “If I had to get stuck in the rain, I’m glad it’s with you,” he said. 

          “Me too,” responded Kaworu, leaning in closer. 

          Shinji held his breath, Kaworu’s nose brushing against his as the space narrowed between them— the bus pulled up, drenching their pants with a spray of water as it skidded through newly formed puddles. Shinji yelped and Kaworu jerked away. The doors opened, stairs dropping with a hiss. 

          Kaworu recovered from his shock first. “After you,” he said, gesturing for Shinji to board.  

Shinji counted out his coins on the bus and felt, really, it was the bus driver who owed him. He’d cost Shinji the remaining comfort of dry socks and a kiss he had very much wanted. (That had almost happened, right? A kiss?) He glanced over at Kaworu, bangs plastered to his face, holding his sopping wet blazer in his lap. He looked pathetic enough to make Shinji snort. He hoped they didn’t catch colds. 

          So much for romantic. 

Shinji laid in his bed that night and stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep, mind buzzing with anxious thoughts. He felt guilty, wondering if he was superimposing the image of the Kaworu he used to know onto the Kaworu of this world. He was frustrated that the line between the two was blurred. He was nervous, because that worry aside, he was still in love with him, and what’s worse, he didn’t think he could survive losing him again.

          Maybe he should have felt embarrassed about his moment of panic in the afternoon; he didn’t. Instead, it made him sad, reminded him of his own shortcomings, of all the growing he had not yet done. He wanted to talk to Kaworu about his feelings, but that wasn’t an option. 

          There was only Mari. Would she get tired of listening to him? But she always knew what to say, how to pull him out of his spirals. 

          He reached for his phone. It was midnight on the dot. He sent a message. 

                    Shinji: Are you awake?

                    [00:00]

                    Mari: Yep!

                    [00:01]

                    Shinji: Can I call you?

                    [00:01]

          The phone vibrated in his hand. He accepted the call gratefully. 

          “Thank you,” he said. 

          “Anytime,” responded Mari. “Boy trouble?”

          She was teasing. He smiled despite his inner turmoil. 

          “Man trouble,” he corrected. 

          “Oh dear, don’t know how much I can help with that.”

          “I don’t need help. I just,” he sighed. “I need someone to listen.” 

          “I’m listening.”

          Shinji closed his eyes and spoke, “You said I’d be strong enough to let him go, but I don’t think I am. I don’t think I can lose him again.”

          “Why are you worried? Did something happen?”

          “No, not yet.” That was the root of his fear. “It’s been wonderful, but I never got to have him like this, not this long. I loved him but never got to love him. Does that make sense?” 

          “Oh, Shinji...” 

          There was a long pass of silence. He broke it to say, “I’m scared.”

          “I know,” said Mari, her voice gentle. “It is scary. Your experience with love has only ever come with the pain of loss and it’s difficult to accept it could be anything else. You’re expecting the worst to happen, but you can’t let that take away your agency. This is your life. You’re in control now and maybe that scares you too. What do you choose to do?”

          “What should I do?”

          “I can’t tell you that.”

          It was up to him to decide, and Mari was right, that was terrifying.  

          “You know, you actually inspired me.”

          Shinji’s eyes opened with surprise, “Me?” 

          “You and your prince. You made me think maybe I should go and find my princess, so I did. I didn’t tell you about it, because I didn’t know if you’d want to meet her again, but I don’t regret my choice.” 

          “By princess, you mean…?”

          “Asuka.”

          Shinji didn’t know how to feel. Mari took his lack of response to mean he was upset. 

          “It’s okay if you don’t want to meet her.”

          “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

          “Okay, good,” said Mari. “I’m relieved we can have our fairytale ending without any awkwardness.” 

          He frowned as she laughed. “Real life isn’t a fairytale, Mari.”

          “Says who? You can have another tragedy if you want, Shinji, but I think you’ve had enough of that kind of story. I have too.” She was serious again. “I know we can’t control everything, but surely we can control some things. I believe we have a choice in who we give love to, and you can choose to love, or you can choose to shut yourself off from everyone.” 

          He was glad their conversation was on the phone. He could not have handled her eyes boring into him. It was uncomfortable enough to have her call him out with her voice. He did not want to be seen; he wanted to confront himself alone. 

          “Do you trust me?” she asked. 

          “Yes.”

          “Then trust yourself.”

Shinji chose to love Kaworu. 

          While the fear of loss was ingrained in him, he tried to push it aside and treasure the days he had. He attempted a balance of push-and-pull, accepting invitations and extendings offers, collecting new memories with Kaworu in the hopes that their freshness would put old ones to rest, stacking them up like a barricade against the thoughts that threatened his timid happiness. He was letting go of the past, wasn’t he? In the daylight, he did not think about what he would do if it all came tumbling down. 

          Kaworu sent flowers to the ward office. An assorted bouquet of vibrant, solid-colored tulips. His coworkers begged him to keep it at work and not bring it home. 

          “They’re so beautiful!” 

          “They make me happy just looking at them.”

          “We should really get some plants in here.”

          At lunch, he took a picture of the flowers and sent it to Kaworu. 

                    Shinji: Thank you, my desk is very popular today 

                    [12:32]

                    Kaworu: I hope you like them!

                    [12:33]

                    Shinji: Very much

                    [12:33]

                    Kaworu: Are you free tomorrow night? Want to come over for dinner?

                    [12:35]

Shinji stared at Kaworu’s front door, gathering the courage to knock. He’d been invited over, but it was the first time they were meeting at his apartment, not at the studio or a restaurant. He was going to see where Kaworu lived; not the barren walls of a NERV facility, but an actual home, full of things that made him comfortable. Shinji was equal parts excited and nervous. He wanted to be let inside. He lifted his fist to knock—

          The door swung open and his hand stopped in mid-air. Red eyes blinked back at him with surprise, and then a smile he had never seen, open and beautiful in a way that felt like a punch to the gut, came to the woman’s face. She turned her head, pale blue curls bouncing, and called out, “Your boyfriend is here!”

          Ayanami Rei was standing in the entrance of Kaworu’s apartment. She opened the door wider.

          “I was just leaving,” she explained. “Don’t worry, I’m not intruding on your date night.”

          She adjusted the duffle bag slung over her shoulder and maneuvered around his stunned form into the hallway. Kaworu took over the door holding, “Good evening, boyfriend.” He looked to Rei, “Thanks for coming over. See you Tuesday?”

          “I’ll be there.”

          Kaworu waited until Rei had boarded the evelavor down the hall and waved before stepping out of the way to let Shinji enter his apartment.

          “Welcome to my place,” he said, turning a pair of slippers around in the genkan for Shinji to wear. There were small cartoon bunnies on them. 

          “Thank you for having me.” Shinji unlaced his shoes and aimed for nonchalance as he asked, “Who was that?” 

          “My friend Rei,” answered Kaworu. “We used to model together. She doesn’t do it professionally anymore, but I have this one shoot coming up I thought she would be perfect for, so I asked her to come by for the pitch and some concept looks.”

          He led Shinji into the apartment and to the kitchen and pulled out a stool at the island for him to sit down. 

           “Did she agree?” 

          “She’ll do it, but I owe her a favor.” 

          He wanted to know more about her, a version of Rei who smiled easily and teased her friends, who seemed confident in her own personhood. It was a curiosity attached to longing. 

          “What’s her job now?”

          “She volunteers at the local animal shelter. She made me agree to take fancy portraits of the cats and dogs up for adoption.”

          “I want to see that.”

Kaworu began cooking. Shinji had planned to be a silent and appreciative observer, but there were some things he could not ignore. 

          “Why are you putting the garlic in first?” he asked. 

          “What?”

          “It’s easy to overcook if you do that. You don’t want it to turn bitter. It’s better to put the onions in first.” 

          Kaworu lowered the cutting board, cheeks pink. “I learned something new today.”

          Shinji had embarrassed him. He should feel bad he’d embarrassed him, but he loved his blush too much to regret speaking up. “Sorry,” he said. 

          “No, it’s okay. I should have known you liked cooking since you made us lunch that time.”

          “I do.” He watched Kaworu push the garlic into a bowl and put the onion onto the chopping block. He picked up the knife, cutting uneven chunks with the blade too close to his fingertips. “Kaworu, stop. You’re going to cut yourself.”

          “I won’t.”

          “You’re not holding the knife properly. Can I show you how to do it?”

          Kaworu reluctantly passed the knife and board over to him. Shinji cubed the onion into smaller pieces, demonstrating how to protect his fingertips from the blade with his knuckles. “Doing it this way gives you better grip,” he explained. “You should also cut vegetables relatively the same size to cook evenly.”

          Kaworu sniffled.

          “Are you crying?”

          “No! It’s the onions!” Kaworu went to wipe his eyes. 

          “Don’t touch your face—”

          Too late. 

Shinji finished cutting the rest of the vegetables and stirred them with tomato sauce in the pan. Kaworu, still blinking furiously after washing onion juice out of his eyes, stared at the pot of water on the stove and waited for it to boil.

          “Does it still hurt?”

          “Not much.”

          “I can’t believe you did that.”

          “Let’s forget it happened.”

          Shinji would stop talking about it, but he was not going to forget it. He stirred the sauce and watched Kaworu open a package of spaghetti. He removed about half from the bag and went to put it into the boiling pot. “They’ll be easier to eat if you break them in half,” he said. 

          Kaworu took the long noodles in both hands and snapped them down the middle. Small pieces of dry spaghetti flew onto the stove top, counter, and floor. 

          “Not so many at once next time.” 

          Kaworu carefully deposited the remaining pasta into the pot and went to get a broom.

They washed up the dishes together after dinner, and when Kaworu invited him to stay for a movie, he agreed. “Can I use the restroom first?”

          “Yeah, it’s the second door down the hall.”

          When he returned, Kaworu was on the living room sofa, television on, scrolling through new releases. “What genre are you in the mood for?”

          “I’m fine with anything,” Shinji responded. “Maybe not horror though.”

          “I think I horrified you enough tonight with my cooking skills.”

          Shinji laughed, “Don’t worry. I’ve seen worse.” He looked around the room. It was cozy, lights slightly dimmed, with the windows open. He could smell something sweet. Shinji walked in a slow circle, taking in a collection of potted plants, a bookshelf, and an electronic keyboard leaning against the wall. He wandered closer to the bookshelf, curious what sort of things Kaworu read. The shelves were filled with novels and other miscellaneous belongings: sea shells, loose keys, a nearly empty aroma diffuser, and, on the top shelf, a photo frame. His eyes widened. It couldn’t be…

          He reached out and took the frame into his hands, looking down at faces he hadn’t seen in years. It was Misato standing with one hand on Kaworu’s shoulder, the other on Ryouji’s. Kaji was beside her, an arm around her waist. They were all smiling. 

          “Shinji?”

          Kaworu’s voice startled him and he clutched the frame to his pounding heart. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be snooping around at your things without asking.”

          “I don’t mind.” 

          Shinji looked down at the photo again.

          “That’s my family,” said Kaworu. 

          “Your family?”

          “Yeah, my mom, dad, and little brother. I think that was taken on my college graduation day.”

          A hundred questions came to mind, but he couldn’t ask a single one. He gingerly put the photo back on the shelf. “They seem nice.”

          “They’re great.”

          “Who taught you how to cook?”

          “My mom.”

          That explained everything. Shinji’s gaze fell on the keyboard next, “You play piano?”

          “Not very well,” Kaworu said. “I took lessons when I was small, but I don’t usually use sheet music anymore. I just play what feels good.”

          “Like your own music?”

          “Yep.”

          “I’d love to hear it.”

          “Do you play?”

          “Yes, cello and piano.”

          “Then I am definitely not playing for you.”

          “What? Why not?” Shinji stopped his exploration of the living room and headed for the sofa. 

          “My ego is still recovering from you pointing out everything I did wrong with cooking, I don’t think I could survive the embarrassment of you critiquing my music.” 

          “I promise not to say anything bad. Please?”

          “Another time.”

          Shinji accepted defeat and sat down next to Kaworu. He was scrolling through musical titles and didn’t look at Shinji when he said, “I wanted to kiss you tonight, but now I’m worried about that too.”

          Shinji was thrilled at the confession. Kaworu wanted to kiss him! 

          “Why are you worried about that?” he asked. 

          “What if you think I’m a terrible kisser?”

          It was hard to tell if Kaworu was teasing him or genuinely nervous. Face heating up, Shinji looked down at his lap. “I wouldn’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t have much experience with kissing. Maybe you’ll be the one who judges me.”

          “I wouldn't judge you.” Shinji looked up to see Kaworu smiling at him like he thought their conversation was entertaining. “Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s something we could practice and get better at.” 

          Kaworu wanted to kiss him more than once! Shinji didn’t know what to do with himself. His palms were getting sweaty. He tried to subtly wipe them on his pants and breathe normally. He expected Kaworu to do something, to touch him, or lean into him, but he just turned back to the television screen. 

          Shinji was confused. “What are you doing?”

          “Finding a movie,” he answered calmly. 

          “I thought you wanted to kiss me.”

          Kaworu looked at him, “Didn’t you want to watch a movie?”

          “No. I only agreed to watch a movie to spend more time with you, and just now, you said you wanted to kiss me.”

          “Yes, but what do you want?”

          He was being deliberately obtuse. Shinji took the remote out of his hand, put it on the coffee table, and slid his arms over Kaworu’s shoulders. “I want you to kiss me,” he said. 

It turned out that Kaworu was a fantastic kisser. 

The trees lost their flower petals, branches blooming green as spring edged into early summer. One sunny day, on a whim of Kaworu’s, they found themselves at the beach. The shoreline was different from the ones that existed in many of Shinji’s memories. Where there had once been debris of a destroyed city, there were now tide pools. Shinji stared into one, watching the killifish make their loops as they waited for high tide to come in and release them back to the ocean. Small crabs stalked their way along the bottom and sea anemone clung to the sides of the pool, as if nature had put them there to decorate her shallows.

          Kaworu moved onto the next pocket in the rocks and shouted, “There’s a starfish in here!”

          Shinji did not usually go to the beach to explore. He went there to think and find reassurement in the blue of the water. Kaworu, it seemed, went there to play. They spent the entire afternoon searching for treasure. 

          When the sun began to set, they found a sandy patch of shore and sat down. Shinji hugged his knees into his chest and took a deep breath of salty air. 

          “I love sunsets,” said Kaworu. He looked relaxed, legs stretched out in front of him, arms to either side. 

          Shinji hummed a noncommittal response. Sunsets were beautiful, but he did not particularly enjoy them. The day was dying, bleeding out its last light into the sky. The waves caught the red of the horizon and the ocean grew dark. It made him feel deeply lonely. 

          Kaworu didn’t remember the sea of LCL. He didn’t remember Shinji. No one did. 

          How had Kaworu done this, every lifetime? To meet Shinji and start anew as if they had never known each other. It must have hurt him. He looked at Kaworu, his face blissful in the warmth of the setting sun, and wished they could talk about all they had gone through. The unspoken words swelled like a storm in his heart, and in the center, there was a boat of gratitude: Kaworu wasn’t suffering this time. Shinji held onto that one truth. He could shoulder the burden of all of their lives, so long as Kaworu was happy. 

          He looked at him and he wondered: had Kaworu, across their lives, ever considered telling him the truth? He must’ve known Shinji would think him insane. He didn’t want to scare Kaworu away with a confession that would sound like nonsense. Hello, I’ve known you before. I’ve always known you. I think you might be my soulmate. 

          If Kaworu had been content with every version of Shinji that had lived, then Shinji would learn to be content with this version of Kaworu. It should be enough to simply be at his side. (Why couldn’t he let go of his guilt? What was this lingering regret?) He sighed, dropping his gaze, and toed at a pebble in the sand. 

          “Are you okay?” asked Kaworu. 

          He was the same as he’d always been, too observant and kinder than Shinji felt he deserved. He didn’t look at him as he answered, “Do you ever feel like you’re missing something?”

          “Yeah,” said Kaworu, “I think I’d like to get a dog someday.”

          It made Shinji laugh.

          Kaworu moved closer to him, an arm coming to slip around Shinji’s lower back, head resting on his shoulder. It was only then that he realized he was shivering. The wind off the sea was chilly in the fading light. Kaworu’s hair tickled his cheek.  

          “If you feel like you’re missing something,” Kaworu continued, “you probably are. I think everyone feels like that, at one point or another. You have to trust the universe to give you what you need.” 

          “How do you know it works that way?”

          “The universe gave me you.” 

          Shinji let go of his legs to turn and wrap his arms around Kaworu’s torso, burying his face into the crook of his neck. Kaworu returned the embrace fully. His warmth was grounding. Shinji loved him so much that it hurt— it always hurt, hurt enough to steal his breath and cripple him with despair— to think about letting go. He knew, in the very makeup of his being, down to the singing of his atoms, that Kaworu and he were meant to know one another.

          “Maybe I was born to meet you,” he whispered against Kaworu’s skin.  

          He assumed the words were lost to the whistling of the air around them, as Kaworu did not react. He continued to hold Shinji, to let himself be held, for long enough that Shinji started to feel a cramp in his side from the awkward twist he’d put himself into. Just as he was about to move, Kaworu gave him a tight squeeze and let go, pulling away with his ever-gentle smile on his face. 

          “It’s getting cold,” he said. “Should we head back into town? We can get dinner.”

          “I’d like that.”

                    Shinji: Are you coming tomorrow?

                    [23:02]

                    Mari: I wouldn’t miss it for the world! Would you be ok if I brought princess along too?

                    [23:05]

                    Shinji: Yeah, it’s ok

                    [23:10]

The date for Studio Nagisa’s grand opening arrived. Shinji showed up early to help with preparations, pulling open the front door to receive a face full of streamers. 

          “Wait, wait!” 

          He froze as the thin colorful paper was removed from his eyes. He turned his head to see Mina up on a stepstool and Rei beside her with a tape dispenser in hand. They were both dressed in the studio’s logo colors, their makeup and hair flattering their respective features. 

          “You two look beautiful,” he complimented. 

          “Thank you.” 

          The smile Rei gave him with her words made him smile too. 

          Mina inspected the piece he’d walked into. “Phew, it didn’t rip,” she announced. 

          “Sorry. Do you two need any help?”

          Rei shook her head. “No, we’re good. Kaworu’s upstairs if you want to ask him.”

          Shinji climbed the stairs and found Kaworu hunched over a small collection of cardboard boxes. “Good morning,” he greeted. “Are you ready for the big day?”

          Kaworu looked up. “Good morning, Shinji. Thanks for coming early.” He resumed opening and closing the lids of the boxes. “I’m trying to find the box with my pamphlets in them.” 

          “I thought you kept them downstairs in the side room.”

          Kaworu paused and the concerned crease in his brow vanished. “You’re right.” He stood up with a different box he’d pushed to the side. “Can you help me set up the front table?”

Shinji helped to lay out the studio’s promotional goods and stack the information booklets into neat piles. As they prepared, there were several flower deliveries with congratulations from friends attached to them. They lined them up in front of the shop. The last to arrive was the catering. Shinji and Rei removed the sandwiches, miniature cupcakes, and cookies from their boxes, setting them out on trays. Kaworu put out the plates, utensils, and napkins, and a large bowl of fruit he’d been keeping in the refrigerator. He stared down at everything. 

          “I hope that’s enough.”

          “If we need more, I can run to the supermarket later,” offered Rei. 

People began to arrive just as the doors opened at 2PM. Shinji hovered by the entryway with Rei, helping to greet guests, pass out promotional materials, and invite them to look around and enjoy the food. Kaworu busied himself giving tours and explaining how the space could be used. 

          Among all the strangers, a few familiar faces turned up. Mari was first, with Asuka at her side. Even with the warning, it was strange to see her, stranger still to have her say hello to him with a big smile and extend her hand, “Mari’s told me so much about you. Nice to meet you.”

          “You too.”

          Mari pulled Asuka away before he could overthink her presence. “Let’s find Kaworu!”

          Next, it was Misato and Kaji with Ryouji. He saw them talking with Kaworu and felt his feet move towards them before he could process what he was doing. He wanted to be closer, to see how they looked, to hear how they sounded. Kaworu noticed and held out his hand, pulling Shinji to stand beside him. 

          "This is Shinji,” said Kaworu.

          “Ah, the famous boyfriend,” said Kaji. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

          “Thank you for looking after Kaworu,” Misato said with a gentle smile. “I know opening the studio was a lot of work. When things settle down, you two should come over for dinner.”

          “Thank you.” 

          “We will.”

          Kaworu invited his parents to see the upstairs space. “It’s not finished yet so I’m not showing it to anyone but you.”

          “I feel special,” Kaji said with a laugh. 

          Misato put her hand on Kaworu’s arm. “Lead the way.”

          Shinji watched them climb the stairs and noticed Ryouji hadn’t followed. He turned to find the younger man staring at him, “You’re not going?”

          “I will, I just wanted to say my own thank you without my brother hearing.”

          “Kaworu did everything himself, really—”

          “It’s not about the studio. I mean in general. Kaworu is kind and so others are naturally drawn to him, but it’s difficult for him to open up to people. I saw him surrounded by friends growing up but there was always something lonely about him.”

          Shinji didn’t know what to say. The picture of Kaworu in Ryouji’s mind was so different from the one he had. It seemed effortless for Kaworu to connect with other people, but maybe he hadn’t really understood him. 

          “I noticed that changed when he started dating you. I’m less worried now. So, thank you. I’m glad you’re in his life, Shinji.” 

          Ryouji patted him on the shoulder and then walked away, leaving Shinji alone to stare at the wall and process how he felt about those words. He’d been so scared, at the beginning, that Kaworu’s life was perfect, and that Shinji entering into it could only make things worse. He had only recently, despite his fears, come to accept his presence in Kaworu’s life could be neutral. He did no damage. He did not see himself as adding anything extra, either. 

          If what Ryouji said was true, then he’d been wrong, and he’d somehow managed to help make Kaworu’s life better. 

          He didn’t know how long he stood there, with people and conversations circling around behind him. It was a little difficult to breathe under the weight of his emotions. He heard Mari’s loud laugh and turned to look instinctively at the source of her cackling. She was next to the food table and bent over a cupcake on the floor, with Asuka knelt laughing beside her, hands covered in blue icing. Rei was there too, passing them napkins to help them clean up. Misato and Kaji were at the other end of the table picking out sandwiches, and Ryouji was holding out paper cups as Kaworu poured them drinks. 

          They were the people he cared most about in the world and he’d pushed them away convinced they would be better off without him.

          He’d been wrong. 

          A wave of love and gratitude with undercurrents of guilt washed over his tender heart. His vision blurred with rising tears. Not wanting anyone to see him become a mess, he slipped swiftly out the front door and began walking, not stopping until he came to a park a couple of blocks away from the studio. He sat down on a bench and let himself cry. 

          The summer breeze was cool against his hot face. He took deep breaths and tried to ground himself. He closed his eyes and listened to the cicadas, to the nearby sound of the train signal. He felt the sun against his skin, at first soothing, and quickly becoming too much, too harsh. As he came to himself, he realized how humid it was outside. He was starting to sweat. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it. 

                    Kaworu: Where are you?

                    [15:01]

          There were people waiting for him. He came up with an excuse for his absence. 

                    Shinji: Sorry, I ran out to get some more drinks. Is there anything else running low? I’m at the store now. 

                    [15:03]

                    Kaworu: We’re almost out of cookies. 

                    [15:05]

                    Shinji: Ok! Be back soon. 

                    [15:05]

It was nearly dark by the time everyone left and Kaworu flipped the sign on the door to “closed.” Rei lingered the longest, helping to tidy for a little while before she looked at the time and said, “I really need to head home now. My pets are probably looking for dinner.” 

          “What about your dinner? I was hoping to take you and Shinji out as thanks for your help today.”

          “It’s okay, I have leftovers at home. You can take me out another day.” She looked at Shinji. “Maybe we can do something all together soon?”

          “I’d like that.” 

          They stood in the doorway and saw Rei off, waving until she’d turned the corner towards the train station. Together, they finished cleaning the rest of the studio, put out the trash, vacuumed, and brought the flowers inside for the night. In the end, going to a restaurant felt like too much effort, and they ordered food to them. They sat in the semi-completed staff room and talked about the day as they ate out of delivery containers. 

          Shinji didn’t want it to be over, but he knew the time had come to leave when Kaworu began yawning. 

          “It was a long day. I think it’s time for you to go home and get some sleep.”

          “I think you’re right.” Kaworu stood from the sofa and stretched his arms up with another yawn. “We can walk to the station together.” 

          “Yeah.”

          Kaworu held his hand out to Shinji, pulling him up from the sofa and into a hug. “Thank you for helping me.”

          “I didn’t really do much.”

          “You did.” Kaworu loosened his arms, forehead coming to rest against Shinji’s as he said, “I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

          Shinji closed his eyes, heart full. “Me too,” he agreed, and with a slight tilt of his head, brought their lips softly together. 

                    Kaworu: Leona is going to have her summer art show next week. Would you like to go with me?

                    [15:37]

                    Shinji: Sure!

                    [16:03]

Spring’s theme had been flowers. Summer was the beach. Leona’s pieces were made up of sand, driftwood, and sea shells. Shinji’s favorite artwork was a framed collection of sea glass, color gradients acting as ripples in their imitation of water. Kaworu was more drawn to the miniature sand castles. 

          “How did you get them to stay this shape?” he asked Leona when she came to check on them.

          “I mixed the sand with glue and a bit of cornstarch.”

          “Wow,” said Kaworu, bending down to look at the castle details at table height, “I love them.”

          Shinji made a mental note to bring buckets and shovels the next time they went to the beach. He imagined Kaworu’s delight at building their own fortress, complete with a mote that filled with water as the tide came in. 

          “They’re in the photobook,” chimed Leona. 

          “Don’t worry, I’m buying the photobook,” said Kaworu. “I’ve been looking forward to it since last autumn.”

“I know I said Winter was my favorite gallery, but I really liked Autumn too, and today’s was great. I think I like them all. I’m really glad Leona decided to publish this book.”

          Kaworu set the photobook between them. They were sitting side-by-side in a cafe at the window counter. The late afternoon sun was warm on their faces, the air conditioning cool against their backs. Shinji drank his iced tea as Kaworu flipped through the glossy pages, looking for his favorite pieces. 

          “Here, look at this one. We don’t get many icicles around here, so she had to make them in her freezer. Isn’t that cool?”

          Shinji suspected it was a rhetorical question, as Kaworu was already onto the next page. 

          “Oh, I forgot about this one. It was something about light refraction,” he squinted down at the small text beneath the photo, “Did you know ice crystals form with hexagonal symmetry?”

          “I did not.”

          “Neither did I.”

          As lovely as Leona’s art was, Shinji enjoyed watching Kaworu’s reactions to her work more than the work itself. Enjoyment. Shinji loved to see Kaworu enjoying life, that he could be privileged to it, that he had, in some way, helped to make it possible. This freedom and this simple pleasure. It had taken them so long to arrive here. 

          Shinji was ready to let go of the past; it didn’t mean letting go of people. He wanted to hold onto them. He wanted to live with them. He wanted to keep loving them, just as he always had, and loving them as they were now too. 

          “I can’t get over these sand castles,” said Kaworu, pouring over the two page spread of sculptures he had literally spent 30 minutes staring at in person earlier that afternoon. 

          Shinji snorted, unable to keep a smile off his face. “You’re such a dork,” he teased. 

          “What’s that supposed to mean?”

          “It means I love you.”

Lunch turned into an early dinner, and when it was time to end the day, Shinji was as content with life as Kaworu seemed to be with his new photobook. They took their time walking back to the train station, hands clasped and swinging comfortably between them. 

          “It looks like something is happening at the station,” said Kaworu as they approached it. 

          “Hm?”

          “I didn’t think they let people do busking here.” 

          Curiously, they joined the crowd gathered in front of the station. The center of everyone’s attention was a baby grand piano. A middle school student was playing a cover of a recent radio hit and her friend was recording the performance on her phone. When she finished, several people clapped. She hopped off the bench and her friend grabbed her, giggling. No one else stepped forward to play. 

          “It’s a street piano,” said Kaworu abruptly. 

          Shinji blinked. “A what?”

          “It says right there on the sign. Street piano. It’s a performance art installation. Anyone can use it.”

          “Oh.” Shinji glanced around, “I guess no one wants to use it right now.” 

          Without a musician, the crowd was beginning to thin. It would’ve been fun to watch, but he was getting tired, and he didn’t want to stand around waiting. He looked at the station gates. Kaworu let go of his hand. 

          “I’m going to do it,” he declared. 

          “I thought you were too shy to play in front of people,” said Shinji with amusement. 

          “I’m not shy,” responded Kaworu, taking a seat on the adjustable bench. “I was just too self-conscious to mess up in front of you, but now,” he ran his fingers along the keys, notes ringing out low to high, “I’m ready.” 

          He played. 

          It wasn’t a piece Shinji knew. He wasn’t sure it was a piece at all. It was simply Kaworu, playing the sounds he wanted to hear. He smiled as he listened. When Kaworu finished, there was a smattering of applause from around them. The next wave of spectators had arrived. Shinji expected Kaworu to take a bow; he didn’t. Instead, he moved over on the bench and patted the available space with his hand, “Sit with me?”

          “I’m not playing.”

          “You don’t have to play.” 

          He patted the bench more earnestly. Shinji sat down with an exaggerated sigh. 

          Kaworu looked over at him with a smile. “There’s another song,” he explained, “that I wrote with someone once. I want you to hear it.”

          He began to play again. 

          This time, Shinji knew the song. It wasn’t just a melody he’d heard before. He knew it. His fingers twitched with muscle memory. He could almost feel the music sheets in his hands, see Kaworu’s scribbles in the margins, the title “Quatre Mains” in looping letters on the top of the page. It was made for four hands. Two people. 

          Kaworu could only play half. It was an invitation, an initiation of a conversation, and Shinji responded by lifting trembling fingers to the keys. He pressed down on them and began to play his part.

          Vivid memories rode on the music. Shinji felt transported through time, exhilarated, filled with hope and dread. The world was ending, it ended — it didn’t, it was new, and everything was possible, and losing everything was possible. His heart hammered in his chest, a drum accompaniment to the piano, and he couldn’t hear anything else. He raced to the finish, adrenaline making his head spin. He felt detached from his body, suspended in the air like the final note of their song. 

          When the chords quieted, the blood rushing in his ears sounded like the ocean. Shinji didn’t know where he was. Reality had titled onto its side.

          “You remember,” came Kaworu’s soft voice from beside him.

          Shinji turned and met the other's pained gaze, saw his sad smile. He couldn’t say anything, throat tight. He nodded. Tears pooled in Kaworu's crimson eyes.  

          “You’ve never remembered before.” 

Chapter Text

          You can erase it. 

          Kaworu blinked in the white light surrounding him. No matter how many times the loops began again, it was always blinding. 

          You can let it go. 

          Let go of what? 

          Everything you’re carrying. 

          He felt it then, in his hands, a not-quite-solid shape caught between reality and the imaginary. A book. He looked down at it and felt its weight. Pages began to fall out, scattering into the void around him. Thinner and thinner it became, until its shape changed entirely, no longer a tome, but a roll of papyrus, frail and curling at the edges, crumbling away to nothing in his grasp. 

          He almost let it. 

          “No!”

          With one word, the book was back, fully intact.  

Kaworu woke up. He stared at the dark ceiling above him, breath too quick, the lingering panic from his dream making his heart race. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears in the silence of the night. He’d almost lost it. He’d almost lost— what? He sat up, disoriented. Where was he? He was in bed. His bed. In his room. He knew this, and yet it was not a room he had ever seen before. Suggestions of memories tickled at his subconscious as he took it all in. 

          A book shelf (you built that last week with your brother), a desk (you have to clean it off before the new school year begins), a window (you love the view of the garden from here), and a piano keyboard (you like to write your own songs, but you haven’t let anyone listen to them yet). 

          Was this the world Shinji had wished for? 

          Kaworu slipped out of bed and wandered through the house, stumbling in the darkness. If he tried to remember particulars about anything, they slipped away, the memories blurring around the edges. His body felt weak, legs heavy. He held the banister of the stairs tightly as he descended to the first floor.

          The kitchen tiles were cool under his bare feet. Kaworu took a glass from the drying rack beside the sink and filled it with water. 

          “Midnight snack for you too?”

          He froze. He knew that voice. Confused and somewhat cautious, he turned and winced as the lights were turned on. The man in the doorway smiled at him and he stared back. 

          “Ryo-chan…?”

          “You okay there, bud? What happened to ‘dad’?”

          Oh, that’s right, he was human now, and Ryoji Kaji was his father. 

Kaworu had lived through several loops with Kaji watching over him; however, this loop was the first time they were together with Misato. His memories (they weren’t his memories, were they?) told him that the couple had adopted him after failing to conceive a child. He’d been 3 years old when they’d miraculously given birth to their own son, Ryouji. He had a brother. He’d never had a brother before. 

          It was unsettling, in the beginning. After having the world reborn in such different circumstances than usual, he’d expected everyone else would remember their previous lives. They didn’t, or if they did, they were exceptional actors. He watched Kaji and Misato closely. He hovered just outside doorways and listened to their conversations. There was nothing that indicated their new lives were new at all. It was everything Kaworu imagined the two had always longed for, a domestic life together, words free, hearts open. 

          Once he overcame his apprehension, Kaworu was happy for them and came to accept his position within their family. He helped Kaji weed the garden, went grocery shopping with Misato, and played soccer with his younger brother and his friends in the park. It was a spring break unlike any he’d ever experienced, peaceful and stretching into a wide open future. He went strawberry picking with his family and enjoyed the sweetness of the fruit, the burst of flavor on his tongue, the stickiness of the juice on his fingers. He ate from his small basket with Ryouji in the grass next to their parked car and listened to the buzz of bumble bees dancing through the flowers around them. It was a perfect day. He wanted for nothing— except, that wasn’t entirely true. 

          His not-quite-memories did not contain Shinji Ikari. They had not yet met. He anticipated they would meet soon. Shinji had promised him, hadn’t he? With his hand in Kaworu’s and with his words, he’d led him to believe they would be together again soon. 

          He waited.

“You look so handsome in your new uniform,” said Misato, brushing lint off Kaworu’s shoulder. His blazer was garnet red, slacks gray. The necktie he wore was striped, his collared shirt white.

          “Don’t break too many hearts on your first day,” added Kaji, holding out his bag. Inside were his school supplies, indoor shoes, and train pass. He took it with a smile. 

          “I’m going to school to learn, not flirt.” 

          “You are allowed to have fun, you know.”

          “Stop teasing him,” said Ryouji, putting on his shoes in the genkan alcove by the front door. “We’re going to be late.”

As they walked to the station, Ryouji looked over to him and asked, “Are you nervous?”

          “A little.”

          He couldn’t tell his brother the reason why. He knew all about his new school, the classes offered, the clubs he had an interest in joining. The only thing he didn’t know was the makeup of the student body. He was anxious to see if Shinji was among his classmates. 

          “Dad was joking, but it’s true you attract a lot of attention. If you need to shake a girl off after school, just tell her you have to go pick up your little brother. She doesn’t need to know how old I am.”

          Kaworu laughed at his suggestion. “Thank you.” 

          They’d be taking the train in opposite directions now that they were going to different schools. Ryouji gave him a fist bump at the ticket gate. 

          “Good luck, nii-chan.” 

          Kaworu climbed to his platform alone. 

There was no Shinji Ikari in his homeroom. Kaworu kept looking for him in the hallway and on the campus grounds, expecting him to show up in another class. He hovered by the music room and watched the students auditioning for the school band. After a week, he went to the admissions office and asked if there was a boy named Shinji Ikari enrolled at all. 

          “We took the entrance exam together,” he lied. “I wanted to reconnect with him.”

          “I’m sorry, dear. It seems like he didn’t get in or chose a different school. I don’t have any students registered with that name.” 

          “I see. Thank you for checking.” 

          Disappointment weighed down on him. He tried not to think about it, pushing the feeling aside to focus on his classes. If Shinji wasn’t at his school, it didn’t have to mean he was far away. Maybe they’d meet at an event or on their daily commutes. He could wait. Waiting was nothing new. 

          One year passed, and another. Kaworu did not meet Shinji. Doubt began to creep into his mind. He worried. Kaji and Misato didn’t remember the past— what made him think that Shinji did? He’d never remembered Kaworu before, so why should this loop be any different?  

          He wanted to believe it was. 

Kaworu decided to study away for college. A small part of him still hoped, maybe, if he spread his horizons, a familiar silhouette would appear. One did. It just wasn’t the person secretly searched for in crowds. He entered the hall for his first lecture, scanned the room for a seat, and met eyes that mirrored his own in color. 

          Rei Ayanami. She blinked and turned her gaze back to the front of the room. Her hair was shoulder-length, the same pale blue as always, half tied back into a pink scrunchie that matched her summer dress. The spot next to her was empty. He walked over and set his bag on the desk. 

          “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked. 

          She looked at him again, a polite smile coming to her lips. “Not at all.”

          Kaworu’s feelings towards Rei were often complicated, but she was someone Shinji had loved, someone he had wished this new life for. Seeing her made him want to do better than he had in the past. She was a person as much as he was. He wanted to be friendly. 

          “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Kaworu Nagisa,” he said. “What’s your name?”

          “Rei Rokubungi,” she answered, opening her notebook to the first page, “it’s nice to meet you too.”

It was several classes before Kaworu exchanged numbers with Rei, and by the end of the semester, he considered her a friend. They were heading to their favorite cafe near campus when a woman stopped them, holding out a business card with the question, “Have either of you considered modeling?” 

          They took her information and looked up the agency over coffee and a shared blueberry muffin. 

          “Should we accept her offer?” asked Kaworu. 

          Rei took a sip from her mug and set it down. “It might be an interesting experience,” she said. “Let’s see what it pays?”

They went to the studio to have their headshots taken, and within a week, received a call from the agency. There was a designer who wanted to hire them both for a shoot. They agreed. 

          It was awkward, at first. Kaworu found himself wearing clothing he would not have normally chosen, colors he did not have in his closet. He learned to pose with guidance, and by his third shoot, knew from the reactions of staff what his best angles were, how to turn his head just so , what kind of expression would get the cameraman to nod and praise him. He could play a glamorous role for a few hours and then return to his usual lifestyle. 

          One of their shoots was in traditional kimono. Kaworu watched the hair stylist arrange Rei’s hair, twisting it into an up-do, curling pieces to frame her face, and tucking a flower behind her right ear. It made her look more like an adult than a teenager. Realizing they were both aging, growing and maturing, moved him. He held out his hand to help her stand from the styling chair. 

          “You’re beautiful,” he told her. 

          She laughed in his face. 

They were in his dorm room studying for finals when Rei put her notes down and rubbed her eyes. It was getting late. 

          “Should we call it a night?” asked Kaworu, stretching. It felt like he’d been hunched over his desk for hours. 

          Rei leaned her back against the frame of his bed, looking up at him from her place on the floor. “I’m done studying, but, if it’s ok, I want to stay here a bit longer.”

          “Of course, you can stay as long as you like.” 

          Kaworu closed his textbook, starting to feel tired. If Rei wasn’t in the mood to go back to her dorm, that was fine, but there was not much happening on campus after 10PM for him to suggest doing. He was reaching over to grab his laptop, thinking of pulling up cute animal videos on youtube — Rei was always sending him links to cute animal videos and he thought it might help her relax — when she spoke again. 

          “Do you remember Shinji Ikari?”

          It felt like being lanced through the chest. He couldn’t move, the words and the pain they brought so unexpected that he struggled to breathe. 

          “Kaworu?” 

          Rei came to stand next to him, leaning over to look into his face. 

          “Oh, no,” her curious expression turned worried, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

          He hadn’t realized he was until she pointed it out. Tears were running freely down his face, dripping onto the desk. He took a shuddering breath and wiped at his cheeks. Rei vanished from view, returning in seconds with the box of tissues from his bathroom. 

          “Why don’t you come sit on the bed?” 

          He stood on shaking legs and moved to the mattress. Rei came and sat beside him, lifting one hand to rub comfortingly up and down his back. In time, he composed himself and stared at his collection of used tissues with a rueful smile. 

          “Shinji Ikari isn’t someone I could ever forget,” he forced out. 

          Rei’s hand stilled. 

          “I know, I feel the same way. He did so much to save us, but,” she paused, likely considering her next words carefully, “I never wanted him to sacrifice himself. I wouldn’t have let him. No one else even remembered his name to grieve him but I did, and oh, Kaworu, you did too. It’s okay now. I needed to ask you just in case you were alone too. We don’t have to grieve anymore. I saw Mari this past weekend, in my hometown.”

          What Rei was saying didn’t make sense. Sacrifice? A chill ran down his spine.

          “Do you think Shinji is...” he couldn’t say it. 

          “Alive! He must be. Mari is here, so he has to be too.”

          “Mari?” 

          He did not understand. 

          “Makinami. It was one of the last things he said to me, not to worry, that Mari was going to get him. I worried she didn’t make it in time. But if she’s here, then Shinji is too.”

          What Rei was trying to tell him clicked, and he realized, while his first couple of years in the new world had been spent moping over the delayed gratification of meeting the person he loved, Rei had spent that time in mourning. Kaworu leaned back onto the bed and covered his face with his arm. He felt sick. 

          “Kaworu?”

          “Why did you think he was dead?”

Rei explained her story. Like Kaworu, she held her old memories and “new” ones. After Instrumentality, she woke up in the home of Gendo and Yui Ikari. She was their daughter, loved and cherished. It was the life Shinji had always wanted— and he was nowhere to be found. When she asked her parents about him, they had no idea what she was talking about. They thought she was looking for a stray animal she’d brought into the house and lost. 

          Shinji’s complete absence was jarring, and having no other explanation, knowing she had left him behind, trusting that he would follow and seeing that he was gone, Rei came to the conclusion he hadn’t made it into the new world at all. 

          “I still feel guilty about it, that Shinji never got to have this happiness I have with my parents.” Rei told him, hugging her knees and one of his pillows to her chest. “It feels wrong that I should get it after everything and not him.”

          The excitement she’d shared with him about Shinji’s survival had worn off. She looked tired, eyes watering with the weight of all she’d been carrying. He came to join her, leaning his back against the wall, sitting close enough that their sides were pressed together. He placed the tissue box on her knees as he tried to comfort her, “If that’s what he chose, I don’t think you should feel guilty.”

          “I wouldn’t have asked for it though. Not like this. If he’d asked me, I’d have wanted to stay together.” She took one of the tissues and blew her nose. “We could have shared them. We could have been siblings. We could have been family.”

          Kaworu withdrew his hand, flipping it to look at his palm, trying to remember what it felt like when Shinji’s fingers were holding his. They could have been....

          What?

          “I miss him. I think that’s why I wanted to get closer to you, at least in the beginning,” confessed Rei. “I couldn’t bring myself to ask about your memories, because it would hurt too much if even someone like you had forgotten him, but when I saw Mari, I had to find out.”

          Kaworu knew then, that however much she surmised about him from their shared past, Rei did not truly understand what Shinji Ikari’s existence meant to him. If Kaworu had, all those years ago, woken up and thought Shinji was gone, he would not have stayed alive long enough to meet her. 

          He couldn't admit that out loud. 

          “Do you think Shinji remembers?” he asked, hoping and fearing Rei would be able to give him the answer. 

          “I don’t know,” she said. “You do, so I wonder if it was a matter of choice. I wanted to remember.”

          You can erase it. 

          He could hear Shinji’s voice in his mind, like the echo of an old memory, and felt the pull of a suggestion he’d never had the chance to consider. 

          You can let it go. 

          Had Shinji wanted them to forget?

          “I wanted to remember too,” he said. 

Kaworu should have been happy he wasn’t the only one to remember Shinji; Rei certainly was. Once she’d found proof he was alive and could share her relief and joy with someone, she seemed lighter, more free. To Kaworu, it was nothing new. He’d always been alone with his memories, time and time again. He’d known, under the same assumptions from the past, that Shinji was alive.

          What Rei remembering meant was, more likely than not, Shinji had forgotten him. Why else make promises to them both and not keep them? If that was the case, then there was little hope they would meet again. The ties that bonded them through lifetimes had been cut. With no Evangelion, there were no fated children, and no reason for their paths to cross and join together. 

          Rei thrived and Kaworu faltered. He examined his feelings, how much he’d needed Shinji’s promise to sustain him, how much it hurt to know the words were empty. He listened to sad songs on the radio and, prodding at the tender pieces of his heart, realized: oh, it’s broken . 

          Shinji had created a world for himself to be happy.

          That happiness did not depend upon Kaworu.  

          He knew it, had known it all along, but it still stung. Shinji did not need Kaworu. It hurt in the way broken vows did and he tried not to feel betrayed. It wasn’t Shinji’s fault that Kaworu had believed they were meant to be together. It wasn’t Shinji’s fault if he’d forgotten. 

          Shinji had created a world for himself to be happy, but he’d made it a world that Kaworu could find happiness in too. He owed Shinji his life. 

With time, his gratitude would come to outweigh the bitterness, and his hurt would become a quiet sadness that he tucked away in his heart. 

Summer came, its days hot and long. Kaworu filled the break from his school work with modeling gigs and began to wonder what he should do with his life. He admitted he’d been waiting for Shinji, feeling that once Shinji appeared, the road he was meant to take would become clear. He couldn’t rely on dreams like that anymore; he needed to make choices. Modeling, if he took it more seriously, might provide a decent income, but it was limited and he couldn’t see himself doing it long term. 

          He found what he wanted to do by accident: the girls from his dorm were in the shared lounge getting ready to head out to a local matsuri and he overheard someone distressing about her hair. He volunteered to help, and while some girls giggled at him at first, by the time he’d finished styling the first person’s hair (he managed a similar style to the one he’d loved on Rei months earlier and was immensely proud of himself), he had a line of three more girls asking if he wouldn’t mind helping them too. He enjoyed it. 

          Kaworu began to learn while at his photoshoots. He watched hair stylists and makeup artists, and found if he asked, people would share their passion with him. He picked up techniques and tips and practiced them on Rei and anyone else who came to knock on his dorm door. 

          “I have a date and was wondering if…”

          “My aunt is getting married on Saturday…”

          “I’m going to a tea ceremony later…”

          “You should start charging,” said Rei one day. “Properly advertise on the announcement board and name your price.”

          Kaworu, eating freshly baked cookies from a classmate whose hair and makeup he’d done for a cousin’s wedding the week before, already felt he was being paid back for his kindness. 

          Rei went ahead and made a post on his behalf. 

When graduation day came, his family celebrated with a huge dinner. 

          “Do you want to invite Rei?” his mother asked. 

          “I can see if she’s free.”

          His parents had taken a liking to her. Rei was lovely and polite, a wonderful friend to their son who they hoped would become something more. Kaworu thought it was strange that people perceived them as a couple, and on the off occasion, as siblings— was their relationship really so unusual? Could a man and a woman not be simply friends?

          It was true Rei was a good friend, the best he had made in the new world. He loved her, but he wasn’t in love with her. Romance wasn’t something he gave much thought to. Rei, as single as he was, seemed similar. It was this connection that led him to asking, after dinner, sitting out in his parent’s garden at sunset, “Do you want to move in together?”

          Rei gave him an odd look. “What?”

          “We have to be out of the dorms by next week. I’m going to stay here a bit, but I’m thinking of renting my own apartment. Do you want to get a place together?”

          She turned her gaze away from him and returned it to the sky. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

          “Why not?” In his opinion, it seemed very practical. 

          “Because I’m a crutch to you, and if I let you come that close to me, I don’t think you’ll ever have the strength to stand on your own.”

          Her rejection hurt in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He didn’t understand it. “Isn’t that what friends are to each other?” he asked. 

          “Yes, and I will always be here for you,” she said, “but I can tell there are some things you need to do on your own. I can’t explain it, but I know it. There’s something you can’t confront when you’re with me, and if we live together, you’ll never have the space to do that.” After a beat of silence, she added, “I’m also sick of dorm life and I am craving my own space where I don’t have to share a bathroom.”

          He chuckled. Rei had become quite skilled at lightening the mood. 

Life went on, and Kaworu sometimes thought about what Rei said to him that night in the garden, about the things he needed to do on his own. He wasn’t sure what those things were. He continued modeling, and as he worked, he studied. He found beauty in the preparation of a shoot. He put together his own materials and made a portfolio that he sent to as many fashion brands as he could. It took a decade until he had a secure collection of designers who called on him, his own apartment, and a dream of starting his own studio. 

          He’d saved enough. He’d planned enough. He just needed the right space. 

          He found the listing on a Thursday night and scheduled to go look at it the next day. He asked Rei if she was free to join him. She was. 

          The building was perfect for what he had in mind. He signed the lease within a week and got to renovating. His business was only a matter of paperwork. 

“Why are you here?”

          The voice was different and so Kaworu Nagisa did not immediately recognize Shinji Ikari. His face had changed, become thinner and more defined. His hair was shorter. He still wore his white collared shirt, but now it was buttoned up to the neck, secured with a plain dark tie. His eyes, though. Kaworu would know those eyes anywhere. 

          “I’d like to register my small business and see if it’s eligible for any grants,” he said, unable to hold back the smile that came to his lips. 

          He had struggled and doubted and fought to make his own way, wondering if he was doing the right thing, wondering if he had done enough to become his own person. Looking into Shinji’s eyes (cautious, half-guarded, the same as they always were in the beginning), he felt the universe was giving him a sign. 

He called Rei as soon as he left the ward office. She picked up on the third ring. 

          “Hello?”

          “Rei! I just registered my business at the ward office and you’ll never guess who helped me.”

          “Do you want me to guess?”

          “It was Shinji! Shinji works there. He approved my papers. Shinji!”

          Rei was silent for a long moment. Finally, she said, “That’s quite a coincidence.” 

          “It’s fate.” Kaworu was certain of it. 

          “How did he react to you? Did it seem like he remembers?”

          “No, I don’t think so,” he said, but it didn’t damper his spirits. “It’s okay though. It was enough to see him. It feels like,” he looked up to the bright blue afternoon sky, “like I’m finally doing something right.”

In an attempt to heal his own heart and move forward, and to enjoy the life his love had given him, Kaworu had made peace with the idea of not knowing Shinji again in his human lifetime. Encountering him at the ward office, having Shinji’s hanko signature on his business papers, was a blessing. 

          Shinji asking for his number at the art show was a dream come true. 

          Shinji reached out to Kaworu. He invited him into his life. Kaworu fell hard and fast for the adult version of him. He was more self-assured, just the barest hint of old nerves below the surface, and sweet, gentle, with just enough edge to tease Kaworu and keep him humble, to remind him of all he still didn’t know and wanted to learn. 

          It was perfect— that should have been the clue. Perfection is rarely more than an illusion, a choice of perspective. 

          He saw Shinji, throwing himself crying against the wall between them in Unit 13, in his despair and his agony, and he saw Shinji, standing in the park and pelted by rain and wind, looking at Kaworu with those same eyes of abandonment. 

          “Maybe I was born to meet you.”

          Words whispered into his neck, echoing his own from their previous lives. A coincidence? The phrase sat heavy in his heart. 

          Shinji, far too curious about Rei, Shinji, holding the picture frame of his family close to his face, Shinji, crying and slipping out of Studio Nagisa’s opening day festivities when there were too many people he shouldn’t know (who he always knew) standing around him, Shinji, who explained his words, saying, “It means I love you,” to Kaworu who, despite everything the past had taught him, suspected the man he adored most in the world wasn’t telling him something important. 

          He couldn’t ask, not like Rei had. He didn’t know how. (He worried Shinji would lie to him.) When he saw the piano, he knew what to do, pushed forward by curiosity, ready for disappointment (he won’t remember) and pain (because what if he did?). 

          He played.

          And Shinji joined him. 

          Shock ran up and down Kaworu’s spine, fingers numb as he played on. It couldn’t be— it was, he did remember, he remembered, and they had found each other, but why? Why now? Why not then, when he’d needed Shinji most, why not when he was lost and confused, when he was in pain and pining? He had a hundred questions, as many accusations. His joy was equal parts misery. 

          “You remember,” he said, looking over to Shinji, so different from the boy he used to play with. The man’s shoulders shook as he heaved a breath and met Kaworu’s eyes. He nodded. Kaworu’s vision blurred. 

          “You’ve never remembered before.” 

They held hands on the train back to Kaworu’s apartment, but not a word was exchanged between them. Kaworu couldn’t bring himself to look at Shinji’s face, worried he would start crying again if he did, and doing that once in public for the day was enough. Instead, he stared down at their laced fingers, studying the bones of Shinji’s slender wrist, the wrinkles of his knuckles, the state of his cuticles. Fingertips that could play a duet he hadn’t dared to hope they remembered. Maybe he was dreaming.

          He was awake enough to recognize the platform of his station as the train rolled to a stop. He stood and tugged Shinji along with him. The sun was low in the sky, street lights flickering on as they walked the ten minutes to his apartment. 

          He didn’t let go of Shinji until he had to open the front door. The genkan’s light was motion activated. 

          “You can sit on the sofa,” said Kaworu, pushing a pair of slippers towards Shinji before continuing down the dim hallway. He turned on the lights in the living room and then the kitchen. He filled up the electric kettle with water and searched his cabinets for tea. He found a box of chamomile. 

          With two mugs in his hands, he returned to the living room and set them down on the coffee table. He sat next to Shinji and didn’t look away from the tea as he asked, “How much do you remember?” 

          Shinji took a moment to answer. “I think I remember everything.” 

          “Everything?”

          “Not just last time, but every time. We’ve met each other too many times to count.” 

          Kaworu put his face into his hands, tears already welling up again. Shinji remembered. Shinji remembered, and he was still there, right beside him. Shinji remembered, and he knew everything Kaworu had ever tried to do for him, his every failure and his every success. He felt exposed, overwhelmed with an emotion he couldn’t name. It was a desperate kind of gratitude, an awe so brilliant that it was blinding.  

          “Did you know the whole time?” he asked.

          “If by the whole time you mean this life, yes. I did. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. You weren’t supposed to remember.” 

          At that, he had to look, to see Shinji’s face. “What do you mean I wasn’t supposed to remember?” 

          “I didn’t want you to. I wanted you to have a normal life. When I restarted the world, that was what I wished for, for everyone.”

          The revelation added a spark of anger to the turbulence of his heart. “You didn’t have the right to do that, to touch my memories, or Rei’s— do you know, she thought you were dead. For years. Because you thought you could take away something that wasn’t yours to—”

          “Rei remembers?” Shinji interrupted him, eyes wide with surprise. “What about Misato?”

          “I wasn’t finished. Yes, Rei remembers, and that’s why I’m upset. You told her not to worry. You told me we’d stay together, and when I woke up, you weren’t there.” 

          “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought I was doing what was best for you—”

          “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.”

          “I wanted you to be happy!” 

          Shinji could not have chosen better words in his own defense. It made Kaworu stop, his anger snuffed out on the spot. What remained was only sadness, regret, and a twinge of humor, a piece of him that could find the irony in Shinji’s statement. They really were the same. 

          “That’s what I did to you,” he said, finding the blame on his own shoulders, “I always assumed what would make you happy.”

          When you love someone, you want to do what’s best for them. You choose and you act and, sometimes, you make mistakes. Kaworu always wanted to make Shinji happy. He’d made choices time and time again that failed him, that failed them both. He’d never asked Shinji what would make him happy, and so only knowing love in that flawed state, Shinji had mimicked him. He’d made a choice without consulting him, without talking to Rei or anyone else, resetting the world, but not quite. 

          “Misato doesn’t remember,” he admitted. “Kaji and Ryouji don’t either. I think, when you sent us into this new world, it was with our consent, but we had to consent to your conditions. I didn’t. I couldn’t. You’re so much a part of me that it was impossible to let go.”

          “I’m sorry.”

          “No, I’m sorry.” Kaworu reached out and laid his hand on top of Shinji’s, watched as Shinji turned his palm up and laced their fingers, “I’m sorry that I never asked you what you wanted either. That I chose for you. It was selfish of me and I hurt you. Every time. I hurt you, and here you are,” tears fell freely onto their joined hands, “letting me try again. Why? Why are you here?”

          “I missed you,” said Shinji, like it was the simplest thing in the universe. “I missed you enough that I wasn’t happy anymore.”

          Kaworu crumpled into himself, breath hitching with a sob. Shinji pulled his hand away and coaxed Kaworu into his arms, holding him close. Kaworu cried. He cried harder than he knew he was capable of, face wet against the hot skin of Shinji’s neck, sweaty with the exertion of it, his clothes sticky and gross in the humid summer night. As he calmed, he felt the dull ache of a headache forming. He took a shuddering sigh and broke their embrace. He stood and said, “I’m going to put the air conditioner on.”

          He stood in front of the wall unit, the cool air a balm to his burning eyes. 

          “Are you okay?” asked Shinji from across the room. 

          “Yes,” responded Kaworu, finding his words were entirely true. “It’s just a lot to process.”

          “That’s an understatement.” 

          He chuckled, turning to look at the love of his lives. “I believed it was fate that we met again,” he confessed. “But it wasn’t fate at all, was it? It was you. You chose me. You’re choosing me.” 

          Shinji opened his mouth to say something and closed it again, wiping at his eyes. With a small smile that broke open Kaworu’s heart anew he said, “I’m so happy you’re alive to choose.” 

          Kaworu, full of fierce love and every determination to undo past harm, closed the distance between them, took Shinji’s face in his hands, and leaned down to kiss him. “I won’t leave you,” he promised between the brushing of their lips together, “however long you want me, I’ll be here.” 

          “What if I want you forever?”

          “I’m yours.” 

With tender touches they moved to Kaworu’s bedroom, stripping their clothes to lie together under the sheets. They exchanged their love with gentle words and gasps, clinging to one another in the darkness, trying to exist as one, but still, at the end, resting beside one another as two separate souls. At home in their bodies and in each other’s arms. 

          Shinji kissed Kaworu’s chest and laid his head on him, speaking into the night, “I pushed you away because my happiness was all that mattered to you. I wanted you to find happiness on your own. It’s not that easy, is it? Happiness isn’t something you find.”

          “No, it’s not. It’s more abstract than that,” Kaworu responded, fingers combing through Shinji’s hair. “You can’t find happiness, but you can find things that bring you joy and collect them. Maybe the moments we spend with those things we love are what we call happiness, but they’re limited. Happiness can’t be a destination. It’s more like a journey.” Kaworu shifted so they could lay facing one another, “At least, that’s what I’ve come to think. I can be happy without you, Shinji. I’ve found plenty of things that bring me joy and people who make me smile, but when I’m with you, I feel like I’m where I belong. I can be happy without you, but I want to be happy with you. I want us to be together.”

          “I want that too," Shinji said, taking Kaworu's hand and bringing it to his lips. "I love you.”

          Kaworu leaned in and kissed him, “I love you too.”

Shinji fell asleep first. Kaworu watched his chest rise and fall with soft breaths in the beams of moonlight that came through the window. He was beautiful and Kaworu loved him. He always had and he always would. The reasons why no longer mattered. They would spend their lives together, collecting all that brought them joy, creating happy memories. He cuddled closer to Shinji in bed, laid his head over his chest, and listened to his steady heartbeat. 

          He was so happy to be alive. 

Life can be filled with as many triumphs as tragedies. Kaworu celebrated and endured them all with Shinji. They were together when one of his friends unexpectedly passed away and when Ryouji got married. They said goodbye to family members who moved away — Kaji and Misato, finally retiring out to the countryside, ready to grow their own crops and farm— and welcomed new ones into their lives. They had a nephew, Tohru, and later, a niece. They were watching her one afternoon when Shinji asked him, rocking the baby to sleep, “Do you want one of your own?”

          “Not at all,” responded Kaworu. “I like having Hina for the afternoon, but at home, I just want you.”

          Shinji seemed relieved. 

Kaworu expanded his business. He achieved his goals. Not all of them turned out the way he’d imagined. He didn’t particularly like directing commercials, but indie films were fun. He improved his photography. He captured fashion on film. He took the camera home and photographed his partner regularly: Shinji cooking dinner with his apron on, Shinji blowing out his birthday candles, Shinji snuggled up on the couch with their niece and nephew, Shinji surrounded by their friends on a picnic blanket— Rei’s arm around his shoulder, with Mari and Asuka throwing up peace signs, Mari bringing hers behind Shinji’s head to give him bunny ears. 

          Mari stole the camera from him that day and took what became his favorite candid shot of him and his partner, the two of them facing each other and laughing under a shower of cherry blossoms. He framed it and hung it up on their bedroom wall. 

          Kaworu captured and collected all the moments of joy that he could. 

          Life continued, moving through its seasons. Spring had always been short for them (short and yet repeating, never ending), so summer was a welcome change. Autumn too held its appeal. They aged golden like the leaves of a ginkgo tree. Kaworu found Shinji’s first gray hair before he did. He was staring at the back of his head after waking when he saw it. He reached out his hand, overwhelmed with the urge to pluck it. He did. Shinji rolled over in his sleep. 

          Kaworu stared at the thick gray strand with reverence, the dust motes of their bedroom floating around it in the early morning light. Quietly, he left the bed and found a piece of notepaper he could fold into a makeshift envelope. He put the strand of hair into its pocket and, unable to find where their tape was, sealed it with a stamp. He took the envelope and tucked it in his bedside drawer. 

          He lifted the covers and crawled back into bed, wrapping his arms around Shinji and cradling him close. His breath was warm against Kaworu’s neck. With great affection, he kissed the top of his head, appreciating his dark hair against the white pillow case, wondering what the sight would look like in 20 years. Gray would be lovely too. They could be matching. With a smile on his face, Kaworu closed his eyes and dozed off again, grateful for unhurried weekends and for the man sleeping beside him. 

Shinji was 49 years old when he needed to have surgery. They were laying in bed together the night before he was going to be admitted to the hospital when Shinji touched his cheek and said, “If I die tomorrow, I wanted to tell you it’s okay if you find love after me.”

          “Shinji, you’re not going to die tomorrow. It’s a low risk procedure.”

          “Low risk isn’t zero.”

          Kaworu sighed, turning onto his side to lay his arm over Shinji’s waist. “Are you scared?”

          “Not really. I just,” his eyes were glassy in the dark, “I want to make sure you enjoy this life as much as possible, because I don’t know if there’s a next one.” 

          They hadn’t talked about it, but it was something Kaworu wondered sometimes, if Shinji’s rewriting of the universe had destroyed the loops, or only the Evangelion. “I’ve been living this one as if it were the last since the beginning.”

          “But you have to promise me you’ll still enjoy it, even if I’m gone.”

          “Why are you saying this to me?”

          “Because I know what it’s like to lose you.” 

          Kaworu stared at his partner, watching the tears slide down his cheeks onto the pillow. Shinji sniffled and brushed them away. Kaworu caught his wet hand and brought it to his lips, guilt holding his tongue. He didn’t know what to say. 

          “I don’t want to die, but if I did, I don’t want it to kill you.” He could hear the thought Shinji didn’t voice, a painful and broken admission and reminder: I’ve killed you before . 

          Kaworu pulled Shinji closer, holding him as tightly as he dared. Shinji shuddered in his arms, his free hand clutching at Kaworu’s pajama top. The tears did not stop. He tried to kiss them away, to soothe the sorrow, but still Shinji shook, gasping against everything he couldn’t say until the words came again, ragged and desperate, “Promise me.”  

          “I promise I’ll live,” Kaworu finally said, “but don’t ask me to love anyone else. I love you more than you’ll ever know.” 

The operation went perfectly. They maintained their good health. With family and friends close, they continued to live, to celebrate, and to mourn. Kaji and Misato saw their lives’ winters out on their farm, leaving it in their respective wills to their sons. 

          Shinji retired from the ward office. He spent his time at the studio or helping Rei at the animal shelter. Kaworu suspected she would never leave the animals alone, not until she found someone who cared about them as much as she did. 

          Another set of goodbyes came when Mari and Asuka decided to retire to Germany. They had dinner together the night before they left, making promises to visit each other, aware that those promises might not be kept. They smiled and planned theoretical trips anyway. It helped to hold back the sadness and tears, and pushed “farewell” to another future time. (Asuka and Mari did not return to Japan. Kaworu and Shinji made it to Germany once, taking a break from Japan’s humid summer in the cool Baravarian countryside. It was a peaceful trip that made for good memories, that inspired a deep gratitude for the company of good friends and the goodness of the Earth herself. They didn’t admit it could be the last time they spent together then, either.) 

          Some people have the desire to see the world set in their bones and float on their fancy like dandelion pappus, settling only when there is no more wind to blow them onwards; others grow roots from the start. Shinji and Kaworu decided to grow them literally, moving into Kaji and Misato’s old farmhouse.

          It was a single story house with two bedrooms, two baths, a spacious living room, and a full kitchen. Their favorite feature was a large front porch and its complimentary furniture (a swing, two deck chairs, and a rocking chair) which were built by Kaji over woodworking classes in his retirement. Outside there were several fields, untended for years, where Kaworu’s parents had once grown watermelon and other fruit and vegetables to sell in their small town’s farmers’ market. Ryouji sometimes took his family there over long weekends, but as the kids grew, they were less keen to escape to the country and dig their fingers into the dirt, more eager to spend their afternoons in malls with friends, typing away messages on their phones. 

          They’d want the quiet one day, Kaworu figured, and when that day came, the guest room was always open to them. 

          They began to work on the land. 

          “You can’t buy an electric rototiller. That’s cheating,” said Shinji over Kaworu’s shoulder, looking at the open tab on his laptop screen. 

          “You know nothing about gardening. Also, my back isn’t cut out for this kind of manual labor.” 

          They found one in the shed. In Kaworu’s opinion, it was Kaji’s blessing. 

The one thing Kaworu didn’t love about the farm house (other than the drafty walls in winter and the chickens he couldn’t get to lay him any eggs) was the bathtub. In their old house, it’d been wide enough to comfortably fit the two of them for shared bathing. The new one was deep, narrow, and made of metal. It was old-fashioned and made Kaworu feel more like he was being cooked in a pot than relaxing in the tub. They had to take turns using it. 

          Shinji bathed first and Kaworu went in after. He hummed in the steamy room, but as the minutes ticked by, he grew bored. He finished washing and drained the tub, drying himself off in the small room attached to the bath. He caught his reflection in the mirror. Shinji’s head had grayed. His own hair had become snowy white. There were laugh lines around his mouth, winkles at the corner of his eyes, loose skin on his arms and legs that he dried carefully with his favorite fluffy towel, warm from the heated towel rack. 

          His body served him well and it let him serve the people he loved. 

          With his pajamas on, towel around his shoulders, he entered their bedroom. Shinji wasn’t there. He wandered back into the hallway, to the living room and to the kitchen, bemused when he couldn’t find him anywhere. 

          “Shinji?” he finally called out. 

          The answer came carried on the breeze from the open windows in the living room. “I’m on the porch!”

          Kaworu pushed open the front door and found him standing on the steps, looking up at the sky. 

          “I forgot how beautiful it was,” he said by way of explanation. “You can’t see the stars in the city.”

          Stepping out to join him, Kaworu turned his gaze heavenwards. It struck him that while he hadn’t seen them properly in decades, the constellations hadn’t changed. He recognized them like old friends in the sky. “We could get the picnic blanket out,” he suggested, “watch the stars like we used to.”

          “I’d like that,” said Shinji, breaking his gaze from the sky to look at him. “Your hair is still wet.”

          “It’s fine.”

          “No, it’s getting chilly. You’ll catch a cold.” 

          “I don’t think I’ll—”

          “Inside, now. I’ll dry your hair and then we can come out again.”

Kaworu followed Shinji into the house, back to the bathroom where he sat obediently on the short plastic stool they used for washing. Shinji plugged in the hair dryer and got to work, carding his fingers through Kaworu’s hair, ruffling his bangs with warm air until every strand was dry and moving onto the back of his head. Kaworu closed his eyes and let himself be cared for, shivering under the gentle touch. When Shinji finished, he returned the hair dryer to its drawer and held out his hand to help Kaworu up. His knees cracked as he stood and they both laughed. 

          “We’re getting old, aren’t we?”

          “A bit.”

          It didn’t feel that way, especially when they rolled out the picnic blanket over the front lawn and laid down beneath the stars. In the dark, there were no wrinkles, no gray hairs, no way to tell how much time had passed. Shinji’s hand was warm in his. He marveled at the beauty of the universe.    

They spent peaceful days in their home. Shinji took up cello again and Kaworu played alongside him on the upright piano they’d bought in their 30’s. Kaworu, an early riser, prepared breakfast, and Shinji usually took care of dinner. Lunch was often taken separately, something easy to eat as they went about their days, in whatever natural place they found to break. 

          Kaworu went into the city more often than Shinji, his interest in art and his contacts calling him to visit. He’d stay with Ryouji’s family and then return to the farm, and even after years, after thousands of times saying “I’m home!” — there was a sweetness to treasure about the way Shinji called back, “Welcome home." He sometimes wondered if the only reason he really left was to hear those words, to feel the thrill of Shinji seeking him out at the front door, reaching out to take his hand and bring him inside, to get his kiss, to have Shinji hold him just a little bit tighter that night, to be the little spoon. 

          There was beauty to be found in the perfectly ordinary sunrises, in the blooming of flowers, in the bounty of their first harvest. 

          Hard conversations, when they happened, were done in the dark. It was after a week in the city, with Shinji wrapped around him in bed, that his partner whispered, “I’m worried I won’t remember next time, if there is one.”

          They were in their late 60’s and Kaworu didn’t feel it was time to face their end yet. There was time. He knew it, he felt it. 

          “Don’t worry,” he told Shinji, “I’ll find you again.”

          “Isn’t it lonely?”

          “I’m used to it.” He turned around in Shinji’s arms, finding his eyes in the moonlight. “Besides, this life was so much better than any other. You’ve given us a world without Evangelion. I’d love to live another life, just like this one.”

          Shinji reached out and touched Kaworu’s cheek, “You know, each time I met you, I felt drawn to you. Maybe my soul recognized you.” 

          Kaworu smiled. Shinji’s expression remained serious. 

          “I’ll find you again. I promise.” 

          Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Those were the words Kaworu should have said. Instead, the joy he felt at the sentiment overpowered any doubt. Shinji loved him. 

          “I’ll be waiting.” 

Shinji was 79 years old when his body gave in to age and Kaworu outlived him for the first time. He missed him, but he was comforted that Shinji did not have to become the one who lived without him again, that this time, it was him who shouldered the burden of grief and cried.

          He remembered the promise he made to Shinji about living and knew that if Shinji had made him promise it, then he’d known there was something waiting beyond the mourning. Kaworu sat on his porch and watched the countryside breathe: the tall grass swaying, the birds taking flight above the distant mountain treetops, the occasional car driving down the cobbled roads, rocks popping and skittering out from under the press of tires. One day, a car stopped in front of their house (it was only his house now) and a man stepped out of it. He was tall and dark haired. He shielded his eyes from the brightness of the midday sun and squinted at the porch, waving when he saw Kaworu sitting there. 

          “Uncle Kaworu!”

          It was his nephew, Tohru. The last time he’d seen him was at the funeral two months earlier. He invited himself inside and went about making them both lunch from the scraps of food in the refrigerator. It was tiring for Kaworu to drive to town and buy more groceries. He still had some vegetables to harvest from the garden. The food in the pantry (Shinji always stocked the pantry) was running low. 

          Tohru sat across from him at the kitchen table and said, “I think you should move back to the city.”

          Everyone was worried about him. He knew their concerns were valid. He was existing, barely, but he wasn’t living. He was waiting. He was waiting for Shinji— no, that wasn’t right. Waiting for Shinji he could do. He had done it many times over. He could wait as long as it took, knowing they would meet again. This wasn’t waiting. This was missing. He missed Shinji and the ache of it was physical. It hurt every day to wake up in their bed, his partner’s space vacant and cold. The house was silent. He had forgotten how terrible loneliness felt. 

          “I can’t afford the city,” he said. (He was making excuses to stay. The pain was all he had left to connect him to Shinji.)

          “You don’t need to pay rent. Hina just got her own place. She has a spare room and she’s happy to have you.”

          Tohru had a wife, two small children, and his parents living with him. Hina was single, starting her first job, and too kind for her own good. 

          “I don’t want to bother Hina.”

          “You’re not a bother. Please. Let us take care of you.”

They decided to keep the farmhouse in the family. It made packing slightly easier, knowing he could return. The city was a necessary change of pace. Hina set up his bedroom and made him feel comfortable. She waited a week before leaving fliers on the coffee table about senior bingo and other events. He chuckled. 

          He didn’t want to make new friends, but he could cherish his time with his family. He went out with Ryouji and his grandchildren. He took walks every day, sometimes to places he knew, sometimes to places entirely new. The city had changed a lot over the decade he spent in the countryside. He visited museums, signed up for painting classes, and settled into a new normal. 

          They say, “It gets easier with time” when you lose someone. Kaworu did not think it became easier. It was only that he got used to it. He woke up each day with a hole in his heart and joints that popped when he stood from his bed. 

Hina loved baking. She did it all day at work, filling orders at the bakery she worked at and then at home, trying her own recipes and decorating cakes for her own enjoyment. Kaworu liked watching her create. She reminded him of himself, sometimes. Young and eager to prove herself, to express herself. She fantasized about opening her own bakery.  

          Hina made him a cake the night before his birthday. “Happy Birthday, Uncle Kaworu.”

          “Thank you.”

          He blew out the candles. Hina cut a slice of cake and put it on the plate in front of him. When they were sitting, eating their sweets with tea, she spoke.          

          “I wanted to tell you that ever since I was little, I looked up to you. You were so fun to be around. You played with me and I always felt like you respected me, never laughed when I shared my dreams or asked me to be realistic, even when I wanted to be an astronaut.” 

          He would have supported her no matter what. “You would have made a great astronaut, but you’re a great baker too.” 

          She smiled at him, “You inspire me to be my authentic self.” 

          Her words touched him. 

          “I haven’t told anyone yet, but I think I found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.” 

          Kaworu hadn’t known she was seeing anyone. 

          “I’d like to introduce you to her.”

Kaworu knew when he was close to death. It was a familiar feeling, as strange as it might sound. He had never died of old age, but he knew what it was like to feel close to separation from his physical form. He was starting to feel that way when he asked Hina and her partner to drive him around to some of his favorite places. 

          His old studio had been converted into a coffee shop. They got drinks and scones to go and drove to the beach. Kaworu spent half the day there, admiring the ocean, and asked to see his old house—the first one he and Shinji had lived in together, where they’d spent the most time. 

          There was a family living there, and he didn’t bother them, but he looked at it and closed his eyes and remembered. Swept up in gratitude and love, he felt close to tears. It had been a good life. He told his feelings to Hina and her partner. 

          “When I die, it’s okay to miss me, but don’t be sad. I want you to know I had a life full of love.” 

          Hina wrapped her arms around him and hid her tears. “I love you.”

          “I love you too, Hina-chan.”

          Winter was nearly over. 

When he went to bed that night, he dreamed of his life. He was at Ube-Shinkawa Station, asking Rei what she thought of the studio they’d just looked at. It was a memory, but not quite, because Kaworu realized that Shinji was there too, sitting on a bench across from him on the opposite platform. Had he been there the whole time? 

          A train pulled up and blocked his view. 

          It was time to go. 

It was a hot spring day. Kaworu’s mother lathered him in sunblock and brought him to the beach. He wore his favorite t-shirt and shorts, and a brand new pair of sandals. They matched the color of the ribbon on his straw hat. His mother laid out her blanket on the sand and passed him his canvas bag of sand toys. He dug out his favorite bucket and shovel and scurried to the shoreline.  

          “Don’t go too close to the water!” his mother called. “It’s freezing!”

          “Okay!” 

          He played where the tide had already receded, finding the best sand for scooping and packing into his bucket. Once it was full, he carried it back to his mother and made a turret. More sand, and he had a wall. Another turret. Kaworu was 5 years old and he believed in his ability to create great things. He was aiming to make a whole square. 

          Returning to the water’s edge, he squatted and began shoveling again. The wind stole his hat from his fair head, sending it soaring like a kite down the beach. Kaworu glanced back at his mother. She was reading a book and hadn’t noticed. He wondered how upset she would be if he lost it. He didn’t want her to be sad. She always told him how cute he was in that hat. And it matched his new shoes. 

          He dropped his bucket and went running to catch it. Looking up and not paying attention to the ground under his feet, he tripped over a long piece of driftwood and landed on his knees and elbows in the sand. It stunned him more than it hurt him, but tears sprang to his eyes regardless. He was going to cry when a shadow fell over him and his hat was put clumsily back on his head. He tilted his face up, seeing another boy’s smile beyond the brim. 

          “I caught it for you,” he said, sounding very proud of himself. 

          “Thank you.” 

          The boy was wearing a striped shirt and his eyes were the color of the ocean. He held out his hand to Kaworu, “I’m Shinji.”

          Kaworu took his hand and was helped to his feet. The boy was very nice. Kaworu wanted to be his friend. “I’m Kaworu. Do you want to build a sand castle with me?” he asked, excitement building in his young heart. 

          “Yeah!”

          Kaworu held tight to Shinji’s hand and pulled him forward, “Let’s go!”

          They ran together along the shore, the air filled with squeals and peals of laughter when the waves crashed and the water rushed up to tickle their feet. The clear blue of the sky met the crystal blue of the ocean, perfect mirrors of each other in the early afternoon. The sun shone bright above. 

          It was a beautiful world.