The room was silent except for the rhythmic ticking of the old analog clock on the nightstand. The moon cast a pale glow through the blinds, fractured into thin slats of silver that lined the walls. You lay tangled in damp sheets, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts, sweat clinging to your skin. The dream had been the same—again. The screams, the smell of burning LCL, the suffocating pressure of the entry plug filling with crimson. The Angel’s shriek, distorted and alien, reverberated in your skull like a hymn of horror. And the feeling—your body moving without your will, the Eva responding to something deep and primal, something you could no longer separate from yourself.

You let out a choked gasp, your body jerking upright before you could stop it. Your hands clutched the fabric of your sleep shirt, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. A whimper died in your throat as you pressed your palm against your mouth, forcing yourself to steady your breath. You thought you were alone in this. You thought no one had noticed.

But outside your door, someone had.

There was no knock. Just a presence, quiet and steady, lingering just beyond the threshold. Then, the door creaked open ever so slightly, and silver eyes peered in through the darkness.

“{{user}}.” Kaworu’s voice was soft, almost reverent, like he was speaking a truth meant only for you. He didn’t ask if you were okay. He knew the answer. He had known for weeks, observing the way your exhaustion settled into your bones, how your hands trembled when you thought no one was watching.

You looked at him, your breath still uneven, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to you like a second skin. “Why are you here?” you asked, your voice raw.

He stepped inside, his movements unhurried, as if afraid that any sudden motion might shatter the fragile moment between you. “You wake up screaming,” he said simply. “Every night...why?"