Neon Genesis Evangelion Fan Fiction ❯ Re-Take ~After ❯ Re-Take ~After ( One-Shot )

30 Kisses, 30 Ways: Shinji and Asuka

Themes: K#20 (The Road Home), W#23 (What You Say, What You Mean)

Title: Re-Take ~After

A.N.: I shall use this space to cover my own ass: Not mine. I'm attempting to get out of this writers block, so I'm gonna take 2 challenges at once: 30 kisses and 30 ways in one story. Hope you like. I'll update with another one shot if I'm still blocked, if not, expect the other chapter of 10 things briefly.

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During instrumentality an infinite number of worlds were created; from the Edo period to the end of the millennium. All of them different, all of them unique.

But all those worlds have one unifying rule in common; in every single one we met, and invariably, we fall in love. And sometimes we hurt each other.

And we connect to each other deeply.

Worlds made with both you and me in the center.

That's the single, unifying rule. (Retake 04)

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Somewhere in Berlin, past the colonial architecture, the buildings downtown that taste like century, that have an old, yet refined feel, that have been the hideaway for years to every bohemian, every artist, every lost soul, lies a bench.

 

Past that bench, the road goes on, long and windy, between the green big pines, across small hills, into the countryside.

 

Deep into the country side, in a city so small that it's name doesn't evoke anything, lies a house.

 

Inside that house, lies a girl.

 

She came to Berlin looking to escape the ghost that plagued her dreams, her very life.

 

She came from far east, where she used to room with a shy quiet boy and a young woman, who was sometimes more of a mother, more of a big sister, than a guardian.

 

She would call her names, raging from "Drunk" to "Slob".

 

And sometimes, depending on her mood she would mutter under her breath, coming with new and profane ways to mix and match her native German with English and Japanese.

 

The woman who was the head of the household would be all that and more, she would seldom clean, and her young charges would make sure she never cooked.

 

In hindsight, it's funny how sometimes you grow up to be exactly what you point out as character flaws in others.

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She woke up with a sigh, not needing to open her eyes to know that her small room was in dire need of cleaning.

 

She decided to put that thought out of her mind because she never liked cleaning after herself.

 

It also brought back memories, bitter sweet and painful; memories she had spent the better part of last year trying to out run.

 

However, sometimes, no matter how fast or how long you run away, these memories will never be at rest.

 

Mumbling, she got up from bed, her long nightgown brushing her feet. In front of her, in her kitchen table was a plate with her leftovers from the other night, a round piece of bitter bread and some sausages with a glass of water. In front of her was a framed piece of paper with some Japanese characters.

 

She glanced at it and again, fearing the memories it would betray, decided to focus on her meager breakfast instead. Sighing, she bit the piece of bread.

 

Seconds later, that piece of rock-hard bread flew out the window.

 

She closed the window, and then threw a glance at the rest of the furniture that compromised her household.

 

The computer desk was cluttered with books, pages, essays and what not, but amidst it all, a small CD caught her eyes. It contained saved messages; e-mails and memos form the time she had lived in the fortress city in Tokyo-3, but on this particular day, a line kept replaying over and over in her head and her eyes with a simple set of characters:

 

シンジ