neon genesis evangelion, (kaworu nagisa/shinji ikari)
Title: when the evening is spread out against the sky
Author: Rooney
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kaworu/Shinji
Theme: Attraction
Words: 247
Notes: spoilers for episode twenty four. A big thanks to missing_inc for the extension! Title from T.S Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
His uniform is stiff and smells of cheap soap and Misato’s apartment, and he finds that the sunset only reminds him of the inside of Eva’s cockpit, Ayanami’s eyes, Asuka’s hair and Touji’s blood.
Ayanami is a doll, breakable and hanging limply by the threads wrapped around his father’s fingers, Misato sleeps by the telephone on her desk, he has twisted, snapped and shattered Touji, and he has not seen Asuka for two days.
There is an awkward kind of white noise that hangs at the end of his words, and lingers in his ears in the static between tracks on his tape player. He stands by the shore, white foam inching towards his feet. His fingers clench, (once, twice) in time with his breathing.
He turns, and there is a boy, legs dangling over the water, humming the first lines of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.
The sun sinks, and the pinks turn into oranges, yellows and reds. He thinks the colours look like smudges of paint on a canvas and his fingers unclench.
The boy turns to meet his eyes, and the shadow nearly touches his feet. He speaks, quietly, over the hiss of waves and calls Shinji by his name.
The sky explodes, but he’s not looking at it.
He ducks his head, his cheeks burning pink, and his tongue trips over first names and introductions. This familiarity tastes strange in his mouth, but the boy (Kaworu Nagisa, he says, fifth child) smiles. He smiles back.
Author: Rooney
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kaworu/Shinji
Theme: Attraction
Words: 247
Notes: spoilers for episode twenty four. A big thanks to missing_inc for the extension! Title from T.S Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
His uniform is stiff and smells of cheap soap and Misato’s apartment, and he finds that the sunset only reminds him of the inside of Eva’s cockpit, Ayanami’s eyes, Asuka’s hair and Touji’s blood.
Ayanami is a doll, breakable and hanging limply by the threads wrapped around his father’s fingers, Misato sleeps by the telephone on her desk, he has twisted, snapped and shattered Touji, and he has not seen Asuka for two days.
There is an awkward kind of white noise that hangs at the end of his words, and lingers in his ears in the static between tracks on his tape player. He stands by the shore, white foam inching towards his feet. His fingers clench, (once, twice) in time with his breathing.
He turns, and there is a boy, legs dangling over the water, humming the first lines of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.
The sun sinks, and the pinks turn into oranges, yellows and reds. He thinks the colours look like smudges of paint on a canvas and his fingers unclench.
The boy turns to meet his eyes, and the shadow nearly touches his feet. He speaks, quietly, over the hiss of waves and calls Shinji by his name.
The sky explodes, but he’s not looking at it.
He ducks his head, his cheeks burning pink, and his tongue trips over first names and introductions. This familiarity tastes strange in his mouth, but the boy (Kaworu Nagisa, he says, fifth child) smiles. He smiles back.