I think it's actually kind of fun to write the Three Children as people instead of metaphors. I don't think Shinji would appreciate being thought of as a symbol, though Rei probably wouldn't object.

Can anybody think of a decent onomatopoeia for water running? I had to cop out with a revealing memory.

The frog is what you grip on a cello's bow. It's a small outcropping of wood.

As Him0nky has noted, my chapters need a bit of work, mostly in the form of betas. I have betas for my Mai-HiME and Marimite fandom works, but none for this one. Any volunteers?

Finally, if you're in the market for any Welcome to the NHK fanfiction, check out the link on my profile (now fixed, so it works).

Chapter three

"What?"

At first, Shinji's mind flatly rejected what he saw. What it took him three tries to see: The polished, lacquered, beautiful wooden instrument that Rei stood next to, blocking out some of the window's meager light. It couldn't be a cello. It had to be a trick of the light. He could barely keep his eyes on it; it was like if he looked away, he might lose sight of it altogether. And yet, if he inhaled deeply, he could smell the lacquer, still fresh on it; he was certain that if Rei were to pluck one of the strings, he would be able hear it. And…he could feel it; feel its presence. He was equally certain that if he were struck blind the next instant and the
nothing
cello were to be placed, silently, directly in his path, he would be able to avoid it. A strange thing, really—all of a sudden, he felt his heart rate drop, felt his face relax, felt his shoulders unwind themselves for the first time in weeks.

Oh, there it is.

All at once, he saw it. Whatever effect it had which had caused his eyes to simply slide over it faded, and he smiled. Really, genuinely smiled. It almost hurt his face, he smiled so wide—his insides hadn't even reacted yet; he felt mostly like he always did. But his face seemed to be doing that work for him—all of a sudden, he felt as though he would break his cheeks open to widen his grin. Grinning to shoot the moon.

He looked at Asuka, who had even cracked a little grin—a rare, welcome sight. She had a pretty smile, Shinji thought, and this time he did not bother to cut himself off there. Such a pretty smile, and a pretty face. Just like Rei, who had not smiled. (Though Shinji felt as though he could see a hint of something in her eyes). Another pretty girl. Pretty in the face and the
straddling her pale skin is shining like its moonlight
face. There he cut himself off, difficult though it was. (He could not remember the last time he had masturbated, and suddenly it seemed to him an agonizingly, impossibly long period.)

"Just…wow."

He looked back at Asuka. "How did you…how did you get this?" He looked to Rei, who simply stared back at him, and then at Asuka again. "I mean…these things are…" I don't even know how expensive these are. When was the last time I touched one of these? He could not remember—the only thing he came up with was too long.

It was Rei who spoke. "Happy birthday, Shinji."

Shinji blinked, turned to look at Rei, as impassive as she had been a moment ago. "It's my…birthday?" No it isn't. Is it? The answer evaded him—a rogue thought that he could pin down given a few minutes and some quiet, but at the moment could not quite get the hang of.

From Asuka, "Probably. We've been here for almost a year. That means you have to have had a birthday at some point, right?" She did not mention, though Shinji did consider, that this meant that the same was true for each of the other two. (He silently resolved to find them something this weekend, even if he had to steal it—he had to try, even though nothing could match what they had gotten him).

"But…this?"

Asuka's grin became a fairly sly thing, but she said nothing.

"Do you have any idea how much these cost?"

"Considerably less than you might think," Asuka said, clearly enjoying watching Shinji, who, in spite of his almost artificial calm, felt a twinge of nervousness. She didn't steal this, did she? If this thing is stolen, and we…she wouldn't, would she?

Would she?

"But Asuka," Shinji said, "we don't have any—"

"If you like, I can bring it back to where I got it," Asuka snapped, but stopped before she said anything harsh—it seemed to take her some effort.

"Perhaps we should tell him," Rei said calmly. Asuka shook her head.

"No way, Wonder Girl."

Where did she dig that name up? I don't think I've heard it before today.

Rei said nothing in response. Only nodded silently.

"But…I don't think I can even play this anymore." One last, desperate attempt to deny any sort of change in his life, Shinji would later decide. Change was a scary thing; one would think that being at rock bottom, any change would be welcome. In reality, it only became more frightening, because in spite of what people think, rock bottom is not the lowest point in your life—Rei used to say that to him sometimes when their finances started to decline; he was not comforted. He wasn't sure she had meant it as a comfort.

"You'd best remember how, then, huh?" Asuka said with a set face. "I don't think we lugged this thing all the way up here just so it could block what sunlight we have left." It was strange—Asuka seemed to be enjoying herself. This seemed almost counterintuitive to Shinji, who was used to roommates who typically neither enjoyed themselves nor detested…anything, really.

"But, I—"

"I…" Rei did not speak hesitantly; rather, she waited for the two to give her their attention, which they did fairly quickly, (it was often the case that when the quiet spoke, people listened) and continued, "would like to hear you play as well. It would be…" she paused; this was as close as she got to a nervous habit, something to do while she considered what to say next. After a moment, she finished, "A welcome change. I find the television to be tiring."

"Yeah, Shinji," Asuka said, for once taking a cue from Rei. (Hell has frozen over, Shinji thought.) "We could actually do something for a change. Like, anything at all."

Do something. Do something. Shinji felt like a seventh grader again. Tee hee, she said do something. We could duu something. "Yeah. I suppose so," he said. "I guess we could."

They stared at him expectantly.

"Wait. You mean, right now?"

"Cello's not playing on television," Asuka said curtly. "Now is as good a time as any."

"Well, but…I have to make dinner, and—"

"I will handle that," Rei said, and Shinji didn't say that he was a little afraid of what she might do to the food. "I purchased some food today; I will make it."

With what money? Shinji thought for the umpteenth time that day. "But I haven't even practiced, and…" he sighed, and didn't say what he was thinking: And I'd be no good at it.

Just do as you're told, Shinji. If I wanted to, I could get you to check the door to make sure it's shut. Go play the cello. Go
do it now Shinji before I tear out your fucking
play the cello.
Do as you're told, Shinji.
And then, a single, stray thought: But I don't want to.
Play it.
I need time to practice.
Play it.
I haven't touched one in years. I've got no calluses, like a rank newbie.
Play it.
I DON'T WANT TO.
Play it.
That single, unrelenting voice. Play it. Play it. Play
(me)
it.
"Guys," Shinji said quietly. "You didn't…win the lottery or anything, did you?"

Asuka actually laughed. "Shinji, if I had won the lottery, you would be the first person to know about it. I would have come back here and kissed you square on the mouth." After a moment, she grinned coyly. "You'd have liked that better than the money, wouldn't you?"

Shinji did his best to ignore her. "And you didn't make any deals with the Yakuza or anything?"

"As if I'd need to." She didn't seem to mind, though her eye twitched ever-so-slightly.

Shinji looked at Rei. "Rei. Did you do anything illegal to get the money for this?"

Rei simply stared back at him, as though he had challenged her to a staring contest rather than questioning her about activities which could potentially get them all killed. After a while, Shinji realized he was going to get no further than this. Probably it meant no. Maybe it meant yes, but I'm not talking. Either way, Shinji wouldn't be getting it out of her, which meant that Asuka probably didn't know either—girl-talk, whatever that was, did not seem to exist between these two.

Then, after what seemed a very long time, Rei simply pointed at the cello.

"Play." And then, as though in an afterthought, "Please."

"Yeah," Asuka said. "Come on. We're cooking you dinner. The least you can do is entertain us." Shinji did not say that he cooked them dinner nearly every night while they watched TV.

And still yet, Shinji hesitated. Uncertain in his own abilities, perhaps, or simply rebelling against that voice inside his head, which had somehow lost its irresistible influence on him, (or was perhaps not yet exerting it) something inside of him told him that if he did, he would only make a fool of himself, or worse.

Worse? Worse what? It's a cello. It's not going to cut your head off or anything.

Just…worse.

Play it.

Shinji let out a long sigh, his defeat predetermined. He might have stood there all day, resisting, but that voice would not have let up. Play it. Play it. Play it. He knew this because that voice was him. It was a voice he depended on. The voice that told him, wake up, Shinji. Go to work, Shinji. Make dinner, Shinji.

Do as you must, Shinji.

He had a feeling that this voice had been with him all his life.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. I'll play it."

At this, the little flicker in Rei's eyes actually crossed her lips, if only briefly. Shinji did not stand in awe. He did, however, allow her little grin—actually quite awkward if you took a moment to look at it (which you usually did not have)—to pass onto his own face. "But it won't be any good."

Asuka started for the kitchen-corner, casually backhanding his head as she passed him. "Idiot," she said. "I think we've been over that." Her voice softened marginally at that, and then she said, "Shinji, it'll be nice just to have a change of pace. It's not important that you wow us with your orchestral abilities." He turned to face her, touching the side of his head, which he found stung more than he would have hoped, and she gave him a reassuring smile which came off as mildly awkward (like Rei's, but less like she was speaking an entirely foreign language and more like she was speaking a language which she used to be fluent in but had not used in many years). "Honestly."

This actually soothed Shinji's nerves quite a bit, but not entirely—she had removed what pressure he had any right to feel, but that did not mean that he did not feel pressure as he started towards the big wooden instrument. Did not mean he did not feel fear. He did—and not, he found, only at the prospect of playing for people.

Admit it.

Just admit it.

That instrument scares you a little bit.

He took a moment to think about this, and as he did, he stopped walking, but did not notice. Of course it does. I haven't seen one in ages. I'm about to play it in front of—

That's not what scares you.

For the second time in a depressingly short period, Shinji found himself thinking, It's a cello. It's not going to cut my head off or anything.

Rei pulled a chair up for him as he approached, and for a moment, Shinji looked at her and saw something a lot like a lady proper, though it vanished in an instant—probably, he rationalized, it was her generally demure attitude which had for a moment seemed more coy than anything. He brushed it down, clearing off two old scraps of newspaper and a plastic bag. Rei handed him a bow from seemingly out of nowhere, though he probably thought that only because he had not bothered to look for one. As soon as the bow touched his fingers, he lost all sense of place and presence—all of his misgivings vanished and his nerves quieted.

This bow, he thought with a grin as he felt the reed, is good. And then, in what seemed a moment of clarity but was not, It's almost better than the cello.

It's all right, Shinji, the bow whispered to him. Don't even worry about it. Just sit down, play, and have a good time. That is your prerogative for the evening.

He took the cello between his legs like a mother trying to reverse her newborn baby's course, and then fell utterly still for a moment as he put his hand on the neck—just feeling. He felt his way around how he would grip it—it fit his hand perfectly, he found; many cellos were too large for his smallish hands, but this one seemed to have been built just for him (though this could have been nothing more than a coincidence—many cellos of many different sizes had been made over the instrument's history, of course).

After a moment, he took the bow by the frog and quietly played the C-string, finding it to be just off-tune. He tightened the peg the gentlest hair, and then tried again, finding it to be as close to C as he could gather (his ears were rusty, a thought which brought an image to his mind of Asuka grumpily applying oil to one of his earlobes to stop that damned squeaking that kept her up nights). He used the C-string to tune the other three strings, and then tested the bow's tightness, producing a long, exaggerated C-G-E-C chord. He smiled.

It was a good bow, after all.

Rei was standing over him, watching. He looked up at her, and the world came rushing back over him, much like light came rushing back over a man who had been living in a small, dark box for several days. She did not say anything, only looked at him, and once again, Shinji thought he saw that little something in her eyes—that little glimmer of a grin, of happiness.

She did not ask him to play. Perhaps her desire was too strong for her to express it in such a simple way. Certainly, she thought, the simple act of tuning the cello had seemed an unequaled gift, its deep tones a refreshing drink for ears which were certainly parched from too much television, from too many cars and angry drivers, from crude Takeshi at work who seemed to be trying to pick her up. A salve from the pain on her ears and in her heart, caused by
the Many
…life.

That seemed to Rei a terrible cop-out. She looked down at Shinji and did not realize that if he had looked closely—which he did not, because he too found himself getting caught up in this marvelous instrument—he might have seen something like anxiety written on her face.

From the "kitchen," the sound of an electric stove warming up, click-click-click-tap-tap-tap. Asuka, rummaging through a mostly empty cupboard. Clang-crash. Water running. (Running up the bill, the building's super might have said—did say when she'd gone down to see him. You leave the water running the bill up too much, ha-ha.)

And then, from Shinji: A small noise, which Rei's sharp ears picked up as a whisper: "Don't mess up." Asuka did not hear it, but her movements seemed to become forced all of a sudden, as though she began simply rummaging about to make it seem as though she was not doing exactly what she was doing—waiting.

Shinji needn't have worried. His first movements on the bow were hesitant; he seemed to have a song in mind, but he could not quite get the grasp of it. He played a note, then paused. He played it again, and then a chord. Then he played them over again, and after that, he didn't need to remember the song. His fingers did.

When did I learn this song? he thought.

Rei might have told him.

She didn't.

Asuka stopped pretending. Shinji played. They both listened, standing perfectly, utterly still, sometimes even forgetting to breathe.

For five minutes, there was nothing else in the apartment. After that, Shinji played another, and then another after that; he seemed to know in his mind the beginnings of many songs, and his fingers seemed to know the rest of them. He did not see Asuka turn away briefly in the middle of his third piece, wipe at her eyes a little angrily, and then turn back to watch him. He did not see the way Rei's expression slowly crept upwards, from neutral to serene to delighted; he did not see the first smile that Rei had smiled in many months. He did not see Asuka begin to sway rhythmically, her torso moving with the tempo; the girl's first loss of restraint since they had come to this town, and far more positive a thing than she had thought it would be when she lost it.

He did not see anything. His eyes were closed—his fingers found their notes by themselves. What errors he made—and he made errors, of course; he was good but he was rusty, and unsure of himself in several places—the girls in turn did not see.

And so, for the next thirty minutes, there was only peace.