(Written for the LJer formerly known as Getfail.)
Shinji hesitated at the edge of the bed with the tray in his hands. For the past few hours, he found himself muddled in utter confusion. The logic of the situation just wouldn't work its way into his skull, not so much because it was an unknown but instead because he wanted to deny that it was true. It just didn't make sense. People got sick, not Angels. Angels weren't supposed to get sick. Angels were, in his opinion, godlike beings that could only be defeated by the Evangelions, not a microscopic virus.
Yet, there he stood, tray in hands and eyes on the gray-haired Angel on the bed. Currently, the patient's eyes were closed, and a wet cloth was placed over his forehead. However, after a few moments of Shinji hesitating by the bedside, eyelids lifted, and crimson eyes fixed on the boy's face.
"Shinji," he whispered.
"I… I brought you a bowl of soup and a cup of tea," Shinji said as he moved the tray. "I'll just put them over here."
He shuffled to the side and shoved the tray on the bedside table. Slowly, Kaworu turned his head to stare at the bowl and the cup through half-opened eyes. The wet cloth slipped from his skin and into a pile on his pillow where it sat until Shinji snatched it. He noted with surprise that the cloth – which was formerly soaked in cold water – was hot. A breath passed through Shinji's lips as he gingerly touched Kaworu's forehead. At the caress, the Angel closed his eyes.
"How are you feeling?" Shinji asked, his voice barely rising above a murmur.
Kaworu shook his head. His entire body burned, his joints ached, and his head felt as if a piece of cloth was jammed just beneath his skull. Each breath stung his throat, and he was forced to take them through his mouth – his nose having been rendered useless by whatever ailment was assaulting his body. What was worse, he could no longer focus on reality. He felt far too exhausted to cling to the waking world for long periods of time.
Meanwhile, Shinji knelt beside the bed and frowned. Other than the soup and tea, he really didn't know how to take care of a sick person, much less a sick Angel. Were there any differences between taking care of one compared to taking care of the other? Would giving an Angel medication for a regular person help, or would it be a deadly poison for alien organs? A cold feeling crept into Shinji's chest as he realized how little he actually knew about Kaworu and the Angels in general. What were they like on the inside? Did they have the same hearts and lungs? Shinji placed a hand on Kaworu's wrist. Gentle fingers slid between the bed and flesh in search of a pulse, as if that beat would answer any of the questions flooding Shinji's brain. Each phrase crashed into one another as Shinji felt the throb through Kaworu's skin.
"Shinji," Kaworu whispered.
Immediately, Shinji snapped from his daze and stared at Kaworu blankly. Half-opened red eyes met his gaze.
"What is it?" Shinji asked.
"Your expression is worrying me."
For a moment, Shinji tensed before forcing himself to smile. "Sorry."
Kaworu closed his eyes, and the silence lingered until Shinji thought the patient had already fallen asleep.
"Are you still awake?" Shinji asked softly.
Kaworu opened an eye and stared at his caretaker.
A blush crossed Shinji's cheeks as he looked away. "I was just wondering… what do I give you? Can you take regular medicine? I think… I think I have something for colds, but would it be poison to you or—"
"Shinji," Kaworu said for a third time.
At once, Shinji looked back at Kaworu. A smile played across the latter's lips, and he forced himself to sit up.
"Kaworu!" Shinji said as he moved to grab Kaworu by the shoulders.
The Angel chuckled. It was a strange sound, low and raspy. With slow movements, Kaworu lifted a hand and touched Shinji's cheek. A shudder ran down Shinji's spine as he felt Kaworu's clammy skin brush against his face.
"Actually," Kaworu said, "I think I feel better."