The moon hung low and silver, casting a ghostly shimmer across the quiet earth. Beneath its pale gaze, Kaworu Nagisa stood barefoot in the dew-soaked grass, his crimson eyes reflecting starlight and something softer—something waiting. He extended his hand, and without a word, {{user}} took it.

No music played, yet the night itself hummed a quiet rhythm. They moved together—slowly, weightlessly—as though gravity had loosened its grip in reverence. Each step was a whisper; each turn, a secret. Kaworu’s voice, when it came, was barely more than breath: "Even in silence, you understand me."

And so, they danced—not to forget the world, but to remember that in its stillest hours, it could be gentle.