Phone Calls
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
It was a warm and fuzzy afternoon, and the spring air of Tokyo-3 made it impossible to not smile. That is, unless one just happened to be
Shinji Ikari.
"Damn it," he grimaced, "she couldn't be possibly interested."
Yet, for some strange reason, he felt compelled to at least give it a try. Perhaps whatever deities up there were finally feeling kind enough to
give our reluctant hero some backbone.
Click, the phone line came to life. Shinji just stared at his rarely used cell phone. Serenaded by the live line tone, he briefly contemplated on
what he was about to do: he was going to ask someone out to tea.
Would it be a date? He asked himself, or would it be one of those platonic meeting between two classmates, or even coworkers? Were
they even considered friends?
And just like all the other little suggestions that his mind made, Shinji's insecurities slowly but surely shot them down. He wanted to try, he
honestly did. But he just couldn't. What if she says no? What if she's busy? Or what if, just like he has seen so many times on pre-impact
TV, she had to wash her hair? The possibilities of rejection were just too many and too real.
And so, that little "try" became a "maybe", a "maybe later", a "maybe not", and eventually just simpe "never mind."
Ah yes, the blissful life of a biomechanical war-machine pilot.
Shinji glanced at the traffic signal in front of him. "Maybe," he thought, "maybe when I die, she'll get invited to my funeral." He had a
manical smile plastered on his face. Spring air indeed, Shinji Ikari smiled. "Yes, if I die, Misato might call her and invite her to…"
A meaty thud caught the attention of all pedestrians, that and a spray of crimson.
A boy less than a hundred pounds was no match for a speeding delivery van, ironically owned by the Tokyo-3 Cemetery.
AN: I don't know what the hell happened, it made no sense I know. The last few paragraphs I pulled out of my ass in less than a minute. I had this on my comp for a little more than two years now.