[DDD | 059 | RL w/ Misato and Kaworu] Slice of Life

[redheadcarrier]

Asuka stretched, one arm held high over her head. It was the beginning of the day - time for a shower. She tugged the towel tied around her middle a bit higher and then reached up to pluck out her nerve clips. She set them aside. The apartment was quiet (it usually was in the morning) and she didn't think she'd be disturbed.

Today was going to be a good day. She felt pretty sure of that.

Comments

[eschatologist.livejournal.com]

It was early, yet.

And though he did not know the time, he could mark it by way of shadows. The receding gray along the bedroom walls. (The fainter way, if he listened, he could hear the starting run of trains. The commuter rail. No cars. And sleepy voices. Burbling up. Floors and floors below. Floors and floors down - and birds. Softer and muffled. Perched up on telephone wires. Something he had rarely heard. Just rousing. Just active. Quiet.)

And though he did not know the time, he could mark it by way of the warmth left beside him. The way, if he shifted, he could still feel it. (Normally cool by the time he had woken. The shape of her absent by his own weight and movement. Something he'd noticed, in times he had stirred. Up and about. Toward noon.)

This morning had been different. (Something groggy. Pulled from sleep, unexpectedly. And part of him remembers knowing she had gone. Registering she had gone. Not fully awake, but awake enough. Not entirely aware, but aware enough. And even now, sleep still clings to his thoughts. Groggy and muddled. And even now, it is not for a longer moment that he is able to push himself up. Reluctant and uncomfortable. Knowing, later on, he might be able to rest. Again. Knowing, for the moment, this would likely be best. Remembering Asuka's scolding. The demand to amend his sleeping, as long as he did. Knowing her concern. Her -)

And it takes a longer moment, but he is pulling himself out of bed. (Though the warmth that remains seems to tempt.) Not bothering to fix the wrinkles that lay, stubborn, in his shirt. Not attempting to amend the wild manner of his hair. Merely opting (telling himself) to head toward the bathroom.

Tea would not be enough - to wash his face was the next option. A back-up. Another - and it isn't long before he reaches the bathroom door. As he realizes, belatedly, that the shower is going. (It does not take nearly as long to note the occupant. To confirm them. Katsuragi's door, still shut.)

Even so, he's alerting her with a faint, "good morning." The gentle rap of his knuckles on the door as he steps in.