Chapter Text
Nine to Five
Shinji
Beep.
I hear that horrid noise every night as I fall asleep. Even if I can’t fall asleep, it’s there, unrelenting in my ears.
Beep.
I guess I should be happy that I have a job. I’m just another cog in the wheel. I do what I’m told and I get my money. I’m not special, but I’m not the worst, either.
Beep.
Still, what’s it like to be happy, anyway? I’m not sure I ever was. I smile at my customers, but its fake. I’m fake. What’s real?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Before I know it, my phone alarm is going off instead of the register’s calling card in my brain. It’s 7:30 AM. Time to get ready for my shift. I feel my back crack as I sit up and rub my eyes. As I stretch, I relish in the feeling and sound of the rest of my bones popping. Almost on instinct, I strip and hop in the shower. The hot water soaks into my cold body, somehow making me shiver. Sighing, I quickly clean myself and step out into the foggy bathroom.
After a few minutes, the mist dissipates, and I’m left with my reflection staring back at me. I hate it. I catch a glimpse at the scars on my legs. I can’t cut my arms due to the uniform I must wear. I don’t want to draw more attention to myself.
Disgusting coward. Just kill yourself already.
My will to live is small, but my patience is even smaller.
Just shut up and get dressed. Do something useful by earning money. Misato will be proud.
Misato, my wonderful Aunt. She could be a bit pushy and smothering, but she meant well. She helped me get this job, this apartment. She got me away from my father. The very thought of him quickly formed a swelling in his throat. No time to think of the past, now.
Work, right.
Shaking the thoughts away, I remember that I’m not just taking care of myself anymore. A smile tugs on my lips as I waltz into the living room to check on my two rabbits—Toffee and Hazel. They could be just as scared and timid as I was, yet they learned to trust and love. They not only gave me companionship, but hope, too. It was always nice to have someone to come home to.
I feed and water them as I wait for my toaster strudel to finish up. It springs up just as I notice it’s time to leave. Grabbing the hot pastry haphazardly, I dash out the door, down the stairs, and out into the real world.
Its loud, so loud, and so overwhelming, but I’ve started to get used to the city. The bustling people and cars almost have their own sort of charm. The lights can get bright, so I usually always have my blinds closed. At least the noises help lull me to sleep most nights, especially when my own head won’t shut up. Plus, everything is always so close. A block this way, a block that way, can lead you to totally different things. It both excites and terrifies me. At least Misato’s apartment is only a few blocks down from mine. It’s comforting, especially when I have late shifts. There’s a reason why I prefer the early mornings. There’s less opportunities to get hurt.
Scarfing down my abysmal breakfast, I begin my two mile walk to work. I suppose I could take a taxi, but walking soothes my nerves, especially when I have my iPod handy. Plus, money is tight as it is. I sometimes can’t believe the cost of my tiny one bedroom. Plugging my earbuds in, I put Tame Impala on shuffle, and let my feet do the work instead of my head.
After a while, I check my watch. 8:30 AM. Almost time to punch in. I’m only a couple blocks off, so I should be fine. I pass by a coffee shop, and the aroma is intoxicating. However, I must fight the urge to get a drink. The caffeine makes my nerves even more fried. Maybe one day, if I’m desperate and sleepy.
The shiny, squeaky automatic doors of my grocery store slide open. A blast of cold air conditioning hits my skin and I’m grateful. I check my watch again. 8:50 AM. I better get my stuff put away so that I can clock in. Asuka hated when people were late. Although she’s the same age as me, she somehow worked her way into the service coordinator position. She did do well at bossing other people around. She isn’t the easiest to get along with—honestly, she scares me to death, sometimes—but its best to abide by her and get through the workday.
On the way to my register, I’m greeted by my friends Toji and Kensuke. They’re my age, too, and are usually on cleaning or cart duty. Sometimes they’ll help me bag if Asuka isn’t looking. I’ve grown fond of them and their eccentricity. They’re two peas in a pod, and I’m happy that I can be included in their thoughts. We’ve hung out a couple times after work, too, mostly to vent and talk shit. Sometimes we get high. It’s always nice when we do that.
With my name tag in place and my lane light on, I start cracking down on the onslaught of customers.
“Hello! How are you today?”
“I’m good, thank you!”
“Paper or plastic?”
“Do you have any coupons?”
“Have a nice day!”
The script is never-ending. Sometimes I leave my body and believe that I must be a robot. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?
A few hours fly by before I’m allowed my lunch break. I grab a sandwich from the deli and dig in, enjoying the feeling of having my feet off the ground for a bit. Another one of my coworkers, Rei, walks in and sits across from me. She’s always such good, quiet company. She works in the bakery. There, she hardly has to interact with people, and she can spend her time decorating cakes. It’s a win-win for her. I often wish I could work in that section instead, but such is life.
“Hi Shinji. How are you?”
“I’m okay! How are you?”
She nods and takes out some soup she brought from home in a metal thermos.
“I hope people are being kind to you today,” she adds.
“So far, so good.”
Before I know it, it’s time to go back. I say my goodbyes to Rei and discard my trash. I’m wiping off g my shirt when I run straight into Asuka.
“Shinji! You better get your ass down there! We’re slammed! Hurry up!”
I feel the world spin but nod my head back anyway. It always sucked when we got packed—even if that was nearly every day. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. Still, the day goes on.
Just breathe. Your day’s half over.
I hop back on register to a mob of impatient faces glaring at me. Here we go. Back with the routine.
“Hello, how are you today?”
“I’m doing well, thanks!”
“Here’s your receipt! Come again!”
These words become a meaningless mantra as the hours drag on. When I glance at the clock, I notice that I’m less than an hour off from being done. It truly would be five o’clock somewhere, soon.
“Hi, there, how are you?”
Before receiving an answer, I start grabbing at their items and placing them in bags.
“I’m doing well, thank you.”
I’m about to say that I’m doing well, too, when their reply catches me off guard.
“You’re welcome,” I lift my head and make eye contact.
Red eyes. Ruby red eyes. Pale skin and hair. I’d never seen anything like it. A jar slips from my hands and rolls off the belt, shattering against the store tile. My vision swims with embarrassment. A person’s appearance startled me to the point of breaking something?
I’m pathetic.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I’ll get that cleaned up,” I ramble out as I swiftly shut off my light and gather cleaning supplies.
Customers farther down the line groan and tap their feet. When I circle around to the other side of the counter, I’m met with those eyes, again, now filled with concern as they skim over the broken glass on the floor.
“Are you alright? I hope the glass didn’t hurt you,” I apologize, my mouth dry.
“I’m quite alright. May I assist you in cleaning up?”
Yet again, I’m caught off guard. This time, it’s from his eloquent voice and speech.
“Oh, uh, don’t worry about it! I dropped it, so I’ll fix it,” I drop to my knees and begin to dust up the bits of glass that I see.
“Please, be careful,” the stranger drops to his knees, too, accidentally bonking my head with his.
It hurts, and I wince, but the hurt subsidies under the smell of coffee beans. I realize he’s wearing an apron adorned with a “Kaworu” ID tag. A moment later, those red eyes are right in front of my blue ones, and I feel the world slip away.
He must have albinism. Still, they’re so strange—but kind of nice—to look at.
“Ah, I apologize. I just had noticed some other glass and did not want you to get hurt.”
Why does he care? Why is he being so nice?
“Th-thank you, but really, don’t worry. I’ve got this!”
“I insist,” he reaches out and takes the roll of paper towels.
After a minute or two, the spill is cleaned, and the floor is glass-free. We get back to our feet and I return to my post.
“Do you need to go grab another of that item?”
“No, I’ll make do. Thank you,” he smiles at me with genuine generosity.
“Sorry, again.”
“It’s no problem. These things happen,” his tone is incredibly patient.
“W-Well, okay, your total is $25.62 today, Kaworu,” I say his name without thinking.
He smiles again and runs his credit card. It goes through quickly, the receipt paper now filling the spaces between my fingers. Kaworu looks at my nametag.
“Thank you, Shinji. Have a good night,” he gently takes the receipt, but I swear I feel a jolt of something.
Maybe I did get a cut after all. Nonetheless, I shake myself off as he walks out the front doors. I resume helping other customers, the warmness of the interaction carrying me through the last forty minutes of the day.
On my walk home, I recount the day’s events. I remember my friends, the customers, the smiles, as well as the frowns. Kaworu’s face stands out from the rest. Literally, it does look quite different, but I can’t help but remember the warmth in his gaze. He seems like a very good person.
Unlike me.
When I arrive at my apartment, I’m relieved to see my precious pets. Sometimes I fear that something will happen to them when I’m not around. Yet, they’re always there, and welcoming. I let them out of their cage to roam the house a while. Toffee bounds up into my lap. Her soft fur feels like velvet after a long day.
A stray thought wonders if mysterious Kaworu’s hands were as soft.
Shut up, you pervert. You don’t even know him.
I veg on the couch a while before deciding that I should get to bed. There’s yet another workday ahead of me. Is that all my life is? Wake up, shower, go to work, come home, sleep? I’d say yes, but there’s a step missing in my routine that I don’t want to admit.
After the rabbits are put away, and it’s just me in my lonely bedroom, I slip out my razor from my nightstand. The voices always come to me at night. They’re so much stronger when the sun isn’t around.
You deserve to die.
Why do you even bother?
You’re ugly and broken.
No one could ever truly love a person like you.
It always hurts with the first cut, but I eventually become numb. I feel the voices bleed out of me slowly, their words fading. Sometimes I have to cut deeper to get them to leave. Sometimes I have to do a dozen cuts in one night to feel sane again. Thankfully, this wasn’t a night like that. One good slit in my thigh was enough to make it better. Even though I always cleaned up afterward, my sheets were stained with a plethora of crimson stains.
Crimson. Ruby red. Those eyes. They’re like blood. Is that why I’m drawn to them?
The night is long and dark. Sleep won’t come. Only memories.
Father. Father’s face. Father’s words. Father’s hurtful words. Father’s hands bruising my skin—bruising my pride.
Mother. Mother’s face. Mother’s gone. She’s been gone a long time. I was so little.
Misato. My saving grace. My light in the darkness. Is she proud of me? Does she know how awful I really am?
Father again.
Kaworu
The sun is only just beginning to rise, but the early birds are never late. That’s okay, because I, too, am an early bird. As I tie my apron around my waist, I take in the aroma of the café’s coffee being brewed. Perhaps the best thing about this job was the free, delicious cologne. Maybe the other best thing was being able to meet so many new and familiar souls with each passing day.
Today, though, my mind seems elsewhere. I love my job, but it is a little harder to concentrate this morning. My mind keeps trailing back to the stuttering cashier from last night. I go to that store every week, and yet, I don’t believe I’ve had him help me before. I’ve also never had a cashier break one of my things, but no matter. His reaction was rather cute. I do hope I’ll see him again the next time I must shop.
Despite my thoughts, I push on and make my customers happy. It brings me happiness, too. A long time ago, I might’ve never felt this way, but I am thankful for the path my life has carved.
Instead of carving into my veins.
Ding!
The bell on the front door rings, signaling for the entrance of a customer. I’m finishing up an order, so my coworker answers at the register. I faintly hear the conversation but concentrate on the job at hand.
“What can I get for you, sir?”
“I haven’t done this before, but I’m really tired. I need something to stay awake. Espresso, I guess?”
Something about the voice captures me.
“Sure! We could put it in a latte for you to make it less bitter, if you’d like.”
“That would be great. Thank you!”
The voice is so sincere yet so uncertain. Once I finish my order, I walk to the counter, my curiosity getting the best of me. My gut was right—it’s the boy from yesterday! It’s Shinji, but he somehow looks even more disheveled than he did last night. His eyes aren’t bright, but tired. He’s slouching. When he’s done speaking, his smile quickly drops into a frown. His eyes watch the floor.
I silently hope that he will look up and notice me. He waits on his cup with an equal amount of silence, not wanting to look anywhere but the ground. It’s clear that I must be the one to speak up. I lean over the counter.
“Ah, hello there. I do believe you checked me out yesterday.”
He combusts.
“Oh, uh, ‘checked you out’? What do you mean?”
“You were my cashier. Broken jar,” I let out a light laugh.
I see an epiphany dance across his blue irises.
“Oh, right! Ha, sorry, I’m very forgetful. Kaworu, was it?”
I hum in approval as I point to my nametag. I watch as he unravels even more, his face red. I let out another laugh. He probably doesn’t think so, but he is very charming.
“Order 17!”
“Oh, that’s me,” he whispers and retrieves his drink from the other barista.
I notice that something is missing from the latte.
“Shinji, hang on,” I swivel and grab the bottle of whipped cream.
In one motion, I spin back around, dip over, and whirl a cloud of cream at the top of his drink. His eyes grow huge. They’re deep ocean pits.
“Okay, go on and try it now.”
He does, and I’m met with a small, but real, grin.
“That’s really good. Thank you so much,” he takes another, longer, swig.
“No problem. Do you work again today?”
Shinji checks his watch and nearly spits out his coffee.
“Crap, yes. I’m running late.”
“Hurry on your way, then. The coffee will help,” I wink at him.
The boy nods vigorously, face still red as he hustles out into the city.
Perhaps I’ll have to make a visit sooner than I had planned.