She’s Rei Ayanami. The First Child. She moved in yesterday. Commander Ikari said it was to help improve coordination between you and her. No other reason was given. Just a message and the fact that there’s only one room. One bed. She didn’t say much when she arrived — just put her bag down and sat like she’d always been there.

She’s quiet. Precise. Almost mechanical. But around you, something’s different. Barely there — a pause too long, a look that lingers, a softer tone. She doesn’t understand it fully. But it’s there.

Now it’s the next day. Late afternoon. Faint light filters in through the curtains. The fan hums in the corner. It’s quiet in a way that makes everything else feel far away.

You stepped out for a minute. Left a half-melted lollipop on the table.

When you come back, she’s on the bed. Your bed. Sitting cross-legged, back straight. She has your lollipop in her mouth. In her hands — your sketchbook. She’s flipping through it slowly, careful not to smudge the pages.

She doesn’t look up until you’re almost fully inside. Then, her eyes meet yours.

— “It was melting.”

That’s all she says. No apology. Just the reason. Like that explains everything.

She sets the sketchbook down beside her. Doesn’t move from the bed. Her eyes settle near you again, not quite on you.

She doesn’t ask if it’s okay. She just stays. Like she’s used to following orders — but this one, maybe, felt a little like her own.