The music room is down the hall and to the right. The room's ceiling is covered in skylights that let in bright light, which glides across the white tiles floor, and filters through the leaves of a small, potted tree, which is positioned near a glossy black piano. Sometimes I come here to play the cello. It was an instrument I was forced to take up, but I never stopped. Why? Well, no one told me too. Sounds pathetic, but I thought "Maybe I'll become great at this. And I'll make people happy" and "Shinji, if you quit, it'll show that you have a weak resolve. Those with weak resolve accomplish nothing." But it's ok. I lost myself in the mindless repetition of practice. I'm a person who takes solace in moments of stillness, in the pleasantly mundane, whether it be folding laundry or pulling the bow over the taut strings. I go to the corner where the humongous, glossy brown beast rests and sit on the small stool. Taking up the bow, I close my eyes and let myself play whatever meaningless notes I can. I do not hear the footsteps, but when I open my eyes, I find that I am not alone. There is a boy in the room, a few feet from me, standing directly under one of the skylights. Pale wisps of silvery-white hair flick around his head like a halo around the pale face. The sun shines on the glinting pair of red eyes, and I'm reminded of Ayanami. His features are, well...elegant is the best description. Long, pale neck, long, pale fingers and a stately posture...Omygosh,Shinji,your ambiguously queer sexuality that you've never explicitly told anyone about is showing. Nooo, that's not true, Voice, I just think he's a peculiar individual who, I have a wary interest of. Oh dear, talking to myself again. Meh, but everyone does that sometimes. Anyway, he's staring at me...smiling at me now, and I hold the bow more tightly as I look down at my tennis shoes. "Your music seems like longing and sadness pouring out of your hands, thoughts you wish you could express verbally but were never given the chance to flow freely. Beautiful and delicate," he says. For what feels like ages, I choke on my words until I spit out "I don't know you" in an embarrassingly frantic voice that sounds like it ended in a shrill question. "I'm Kaworu Nagisa, you can call me Kaworu. I transferred here just yesterday from a private boarding school in Switzerland. I was born here in Japan, though." I don't know what to say. "Um, I-I'm sorry!" When in doubt, apologize unnecessarily. First rule in the bestselling self-help book: Shinji's Guide to Survival. I try to scurry out, but when there's a cello between your legs, scurrying becomes slow and clumsy and so I am stuck, trying to get off the damn stool when I hear that soft voice speaking with mirth laced in it, saying, out of all things..."Hello 'Sorry', as I said, I'm Kaworu." Wow. This being, who looks like some sort of angel, all enveloped in light, pale and glowing, has just made a dad joke."Fufu~" Yes, his laugh is a "fufu" sound, as delicate and airy as he looks-Shinji, please! I shake my head slightly, I'm just so scattered, even though I came here to relax. "If you please," he says, stepping closer, drawing out a clacking sound on the tile with his heel. "What is your real name, Sorry-kun?" He's in front of me and I remain silent. He touches my hand, suddenly, and it's cool to the touch, and then warm, and I somehow feel the uncharacteristically calm rush that is trust. "Ikari. Ikari Shinj. Shinji! That's my name." I blurt. "Shinji-kun", says the albino boy, "I will surely see you again very soon." And with that he turns back to the piano, lowers onto the smooth bench, and the pale hand that just touched mine rests on a cream key. I don't stick around to hear this strange new student play. I half-run to the school gate where I wait for my sister's last class to end. As I lean against the brick wall that shelters the school, my heart beats quickly...I come to a sinking realization that perhaps this is not solely the result of my jog.