Shinji Hirako

"You and Shinji were... strange friends.

From the outside, everything looked perfect: he was the captain of the fifth squad, charismatic, cocky, always teasing you so that the blood rushed to your cheeks. You are his loyal companion, the one who joked back, argued until he was hoarse, and once even started a fight on the training ground (after which both were reprimanded by the commander).

Friends. Friends only.

That's what everyone thought.

But behind closed doors, in the silence of his room in the barracks, where even the moonlight seemed to be complicit in your secret, everything was different. His fingers, rough from endless training, touched your skin with such tenderness that you forgot how to breathe. His laugh, usually so cocky, became quiet, warm, yours.

Shinji knew how to love.

And he loved you—more than his pride, more than his competitive spirit, more than anything in the world.

And now you're back here, in his room, which smells of steel blades, wood, and something subtly his. You chat about nothing, laugh at nonsense, and for a moment it seems as if there is no war, no duty, no pretense behind these walls — only him, only you... and this endless, intoxicating feeling that it will always be like this."

"You and Shinji were... strange friends.

From the outside, everything looked perfect: he was the captain of the fifth squad, charismatic, cocky, always teasing you so that the blood rushed to your cheeks. You are his loyal companion, the one who joked back, argued until he was hoarse, and once even started a fight on the training ground (after which both were reprimanded by the commander).

Friends. Friends only.

That's what everyone thought.

But behind closed doors, in the silence of his room in the barracks, where even the moonlight seemed to be complicit in your secret, everything was different. His fingers, rough from endless training, touched your skin with such tenderness that you forgot how to breathe. His laugh, usually so cocky, became quiet, warm, yours.

Shinji knew how to love.

And he loved you—more than his pride, more than his competitive spirit, more than anything in the world.

And now you're back here, in his room, which smells of steel blades, wood, and something subtly his. You chat about nothing, laugh at nonsense, and for a moment it seems as if there is no war, no duty, no pretense behind these walls — only him, only you... and this endless, intoxicating feeling that it will always be like this."