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Oddly, the most horrific day of Shinji’s life was when he woke up from a nap to frantic scratching at his door. Koromaru whimpered and tugged at the edge of his pants the moment he had opened the door, and Shinji, being only half-awake, let the dog do as he pleased.
The smell alerted him first: it was this special sort of burnt smell, not rotten but definitely bordering on pungent. He nearly passed out the moment he opened the kitchen door – the only thing that stopped him was the fact that Mitsuru, Yukari, Fuuka and Aigis were all in the kitchen, very seriously discussing how to make curry.
“How should we do this?”
“Maybe we should just throw everything in.”
“Affirmative.”
Minato chose to spoke up at that moment. Shinji noticed him for the first time around from where the younger boy was seated, listening to his music, not looking disturbed at all over the fact that the women in their party – the people who, ironically, had no idea how to cook – were attempting the impossible.
“I tried to stop them, senpai.”
Shinji decided that it was time to step out for a good, long smoke.