The night had softened.
No veil humming overhead, no cursed spits in sight
Just the steady glow of streetlights and the distant murmur of cars passing through intersections as if the world had never nearly cracked open.
The little girl still held Shinji's hand.
Tightly.
Painfully tightly.
"Onii-chan! Let's go home!"
She pulled with all the authority her tiny frame could muster.
Shinji nearly stumbled forward.
For someone so small, she possessed the strength of someone who had just decided the universe would not take her brother again.
Home.
The word echoed in his chest.
He watched her from above —the way her long black hair swayed behind her with every urgent step, the way her shoulders squared like she was leading a rescue mission.
Part of him wanted to laugh, another part wanted to cry.
And another part was afraid.
What if I'm not who she thinks I am?
He slowed.
Then gently stopped.
The girl took two more determined steps before realizing she was dragging a statue.
She turned back, confused.
"Onii-chan?"
Her eyes were still slightly swollen from crying.
Shinji swallowed.
Trust your heart.
He slowly crouched down so they were eye-level. Up close, he could see faint tear tracks on her cheeks. A smudge of dirt near her chin. The subtle tremble she was trying very hard to hide.
He hesitated, then carefully patted her head.
"Hey… little commander," he said awkwardly. "Can I be honest with you for a second?"
She blinked.
Commander?
She puffed her cheeks slightly, unimpressed by the sudden seriousness.
"We can talk at home," she insisted, tugging his sleeve again. "Grandma's waiting!"
The urgency in her voice was almost comical.
Shinji's lips twitched faintly.
She really wasn't giving him room to escape.
He took a breath and gently held her shoulders this time, his expression turning serious.
"Actually… I need to tell you something."
She froze.
He scratched the back of his head —a reflex at this point.
"I don't really remember who—"
He didn't get to finish.
She launched forward and wrapped her arms around him again.
Hard and desperate.
Like if she squeezed tight enough, reality would snap back into place.
Shinji stiffened.
His carefully prepared words dissolved into nothing.
Her small body trembled against him.
"Onii-chan… what are you saying?" she whispered.
Her voice cracked in the middle.
And when she pulled back just enough to look up at him, tears were sliding silently down her cheeks.
"So… you don't remember me?"
There was no anger in her voice.
Just fear.
Pure, unfiltered fear.
Shinji felt something twist painfully in his chest.
How do you tell someone you don't remember knowing them?
She wiped her eyes quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach them.
"Onii-chan," she said softly, trying very hard to be brave, "if you're serious… then try to remember my name."
Shinji let out a small, nervous laugh.
"That's not really fair when I just said I don't—"
His voice trailed off.
Because something stirred.
Her face.
Her voice.
The way she said "Onii-chan" like it was the most natural sound in the world.
A flicker of his memory resurfaced
Summer grass brushing against his legs.
A tiny hand gripping his sleeve.
Laughter in warm sunlight.
"Onii-chan, wait up!"
His head throbbed.
Not sharp pain.
Just pressure.
The fog in his memories slowly thinned. w
She sniffed and buried her face into his chest again.
"Onii-chan…"
The sound pierced straight through him.
Like something cracked open inside his heart.
A name hovered just out of reach.
Her fingers tightened against his shirt like she was afraid he'd evaporate again.
And then —
It surfaced.
Simple.
Familiar.
"…Akane."
The word escaped him like a breath he hadn't taken in years.
The girl froze. completely
Shinji's vision blurred.
"Akane," he repeated softly, voice breaking. "I'm sorry. Don't cry anymore."
Only then did he realize tears were running down his own face.
He pulled her into a firm embrace, this time not stiff, not uncertain.
Protective and intentional.
Akane broke into louder sobs, but they were different now.
Relief.
"You remembered…" she whispered shakily. "You remembered, Onii-chan."
He didn't understand everything.
Didn't know why his memories were fractured or how he remembered her name at that moment.
But this—
This felt undeniably real.
He tightened his hold just a little.
"I'm sorry I scared you."
Akane shook her head fiercely against him.
"It's okay," she sniffed. "Just don't do it again."
He huffed a soft laugh through his tears.
"I'll try not to schedule any more amnesia."
She blinked up at him.
"…What's amnesia?"
"Uh."
He paused.
"Nothing. Forget I said that."
"Forget what?"
"…Exactly."
For the first time that night, she giggled.
Behind them, soft footsteps approached.
An elderly woman stood a short distance away, leaning gently on a cane. Her white hair shimmered faintly under the streetlight. Her frail posture carried years of quiet endurance.
Her eyes were glossy, but she didn't interrupt.
Didn't call out.
She simply watched.
And smiled.
It was the kind of smile only someone who had prayed too many nights could wear.
The world felt small in that moment.
Just a brother and sister clinging to each other under the quiet glow of city lights.