I draw the bow across the strings; the sound is harsh to my ears. This is the sound of my mind, in turmoil. The notes on the page before me blur, the sounds seem to have no connection, to one another, or to me. They are alone, as I am alone.

There is an ache inside me, an ache that is more painful than anything physical inflicted upon me by Eva or Angel. I feel as hollow as the cello between my knees, empty, as if there is nothing left of me but the fragile shell that everyone sees and believes is me.

"Your heart is delicate, like glass."

I met him only days ago, his silver hair awash with the glow of sunset. He was sitting by the water's edge, Kaworu of the Seashore. And he was humming Beethoven, the melody as clear in my memory as the image of his face as I...

A sour note, the string slips out of tune. I lay my bow across the lip of the stand, and close my fingers around the peg. My hand jerks open, as I remember how I'd held him in my palm...

Not me, not my hand. The Eva. It wasn't me. I didn't...

I force myself to close my fist, and jerk the peg tighter. The string snaps, flicks me across the face. A sharpness, the sting of vinegar in a papercut. I raise my shaking fingers to my cheek. The tips come away smeared with blood.

Blood on my fingers. His blood on my hand. Don't think, don't remember...

Crimson eyes, filled with empathy, as he looked at me like no one had ever looked at me before. As if I was more than something to be used, a tool.

As if I mattered. To him.

"I'm saying, I love you."

I bring my finger to my mouth, slick against my lip. The tang of salt-copper on my tongue. I wonder if his blood would taste the same as mine, the blood of an Angel. The blood I spilt...

The cello slides from between my knees, I watch it as descends, knowing I could reach out to slip a hand around the slender neck and halt its fall, but I don't. It crashes against the ground, with the sound of splitting wood, a discord as the remaining strings are knocked out of tune as well.

His voice was velvet in the darkness. He listened as I spilled my life, and he cared about each word. For a little while, I wasn't alone any more.

"I think I may have been born just to meet you, Shinji Ikari."

Birth. Death. There is no rebirth. He is gone forever, and I am alone again. What happens when you lose half your soul? What happens when you have no choice but to kill...

I reach out to run my finger along the crack in the polished wood. Flawed. Broken. As I am. No use for anything but firewood.

And me? What use is an Eva pilot who mourns the loss of an Angel? What use am I, if there's nothing left of me but this empty shell? This shell that breathes, and slowly picks up the broken instrument, examines it, and sets it back against the wall, as if someone might come to mend it. But nobody will.

This husk isn't me. He took me - all that was good of me - with him. I have nothing left...

I breathe. I reach for my backpack and heft it onto my shoulder. And then I head to the bathroom, to wash the blood from my face and my fingers.

Again.

Wait for me, Kaworu.