You Can (Not) Forget

Can We (Not) Advance?

Shinji lead Asuka to one of the other rooms near his mother's. Neither of them talked, but Asuka was okay with that. She swore her heart was beating loud enough to be heard. The Second Child wanted to talk to him, but she hadn't expected the boy to be so eager to do the same. The only consolation in all of this was that Mari didn't give her any funny looks for the two of them going off to be alone.

Her hand was released and the closing of the door behind them snapped Asuka out of her thoughts. She looked around, but the room was lacking in any sort of identity. It was just white everywhere. The ceiling and floor, the walls and bed. Even the chairs. There was not a single thing present to distract herself with. There was a clock, but the ticking annoyed her more than soothed her nerves.

"Asuka." Her gaze flicked to Shinji at the sound of her name. It was a mistake. Looking Shinji in the eyes sent butterflies through her stomach and put a weight on her chest all at once. She was so confused. But that was why she was here, wasn't it? Asuka knew she wasn't going to get any answers by avoiding the boy and refusing to speak to him.

"Shinji." Her voice wavered and she mentally cursed herself for it. She didn't want to sound anxious.

"You must have a lot of questions." Shinji didn't comment on her slip. She was grateful for that at least.

"I do," she responds as she pulls the necklace from him out of her pocket, "This... was it real? Was any of it?" She heard her own anger in her voice, but she didn't care. She was angry. Even after somewhat being able to understand why Shinji hid everything from everyone, it still hurt. She'd thought she knew him; Asuka thought the boy standing across from her could tell her everything and she would have been able to confide in him, in kind.

Her hopes had been dashed in less than a day. There had been so much about him she didn't know. Things she could have never even thought of had been hidden away from her. She did not feel trusted any longer. Rationally, a small part of her knew there was no way he could have told anybody, but feelings were rarely—if ever—rational.

"My feelings for you are genuine, Asuka. That, I would never lie about. You mean too much to me."

"But am I the one you actually care about!? Or is it the Asuka you used to know? I don't want to be anyone's replacement!" she yelled back; teeth bared. Shinji blinked owlishly at her, clearly unprepared for that response. He would later realize he should not have been surprised at all.

"Asuka... you're not a replacement for anyone. I did know you. In my dimension both of us lived with Misato. Weird, right? You must be wondering why that would happen." And she was. Asuka couldn't think of any reason why she and Shinji would need to live together. After all, she had her mother. That's when it clicked.

"My mom...?" Asuka's question prompted Shinji to look down, rubbing the back of his head as he did so. It was all the confirmation she needed. Asuka couldn't imagine what a life without her mother must have been like. Kyoko meant so much to her. Asuka's mother was her idol. If she wasn't around...

What kind of person was she? how did she grow up?

"Yeah... I won't go into detail... I don't think you need to know all of that, but you were an orphan. Both your parents were dead, and you didn't have any other family. Yes, where I come from, Mari didn't exist." Asuka found Shinji's reply to be another shock. Mari too? The Asuka he'd known had been totally alone?

"How...?"

"I won't tell you. It's not something you'd want to know. Look, while on the surface, you and the Asuka from my home dimension are very similar, beneath all that, you're not really alike. You're more open and easier to talk to. More accepting. You're not nearly as full of yourself as she was. Asuka—the other Asuka—she went through a lot before I ever met her and it made her the way she was... she didn't deserve it, and deep down I think she must have been a good person... but I don't think any relationship between us would have ever worked."