[One-shot: Alive]
For…adjklgfn everyone whose worrying. Ilu babies, stop it <3
Title: Alive
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sometimes, it was hard to breathe.
There were days when he couldn’t get out of bed.
Doctor’s didn’t understand it, and neither did his parents. To them, he looked like any normal teen, chest fine and body healthy.
Shiki always cried whenever she saw him with his shirt off, hooked to yet another useless machine. It wasn’t the hospital, though that was most certainly part of it, but the twin scars almost parallel across his chest. Entry wounds. Scars.
Neku figured it was just his mind reacting, phantom pains of his death and the second time he’d been shot that practically crippled him until he could barely breathe, couldn’t move. In those instances, it was hard to keep his mind in focus, hard to bring the effort up to not sink into hours of endless brooding, mind on shadowy, tattoo orientated creatures and magnanimous smirks astride steadily held guns.
Life, and unlife, had left their scars on him, physically, mentally, and emotionally. There were some things, small things that could set him off, and no particularly understood them. He couldn’t eat ramen anymore. Murals of any kind, even CAT’s, were taboo in conversation. Whenever a new pin raged the fashion scene, the group stayed indoors, playing video games and watching movies and just generally being boring.
Shiki always mothered. Beat was overprotective. Rhyme could often be his silent shadow, though she was a better judge of when he actually needed her to be, and when she herself was being irrational about just how fragile he really was.
Sometimes he just wanted space- moments to be alone, moments to listen to music, moments where no one was around, where he could just- break down. Neku was human and, whether they wanted him to be happy all of the time or not, he was still young. Even without the trauma of those three weeks, there were still other life issues, still questions of self and life and the future to face, and like any human, he needed down time.
Most of the time, however, he was grateful.
Life and unlife were both funny in the way that they brought you together with people during situations of deep stress; people who, on a normal day, wouldn’t even catch your eye for even the most fleeting of moments.
Within death, Neku had found four amazing friends. Within life, he finally had the time to appreciate them, and learn even more.
He made sure that he did. He learnt that Shiki hated sashimi, and only liked California roll styled sushi. She had a graceless, awkward style that made her easy to open up to, a gentle exterior that more than suited the warm and loving personality within. Beat really was a pro skateboarder, and he really did love Rhyme. The issue with his parents would never stop, but he didn’t seem as bothered by it, anymore. More at peace with who he was, and that helped more than words could say.
Rhyme was a dreamer. There wasn’t a day that went by without her deciding that her future involved some tricky, obscure occupation. Neku was fairly certain she’d hit the creative arts, and hit them hard- whatever style she went for, her works would grab the nation like a vivid storm.
He was grateful to have them. Lucky to have them, lucky to have survived, and some days, the fact that he had to go through it at all was the true distinction. But only some days.
On others, it was the way Shiki smiled when he showed up in a piece of clothing, a shirt, a pair of pants, that she’d made for him.
Or the way Beat refused to let him near his skateboard for the safety of himself and ‘all those peeps around you, yo!’
The way Rhyme would babble about her next endeavor, or run up to him with a drawing, a piece of writing, her hair dyed pink, just because that’s what she was inspired to do.
When life was made of such distinctions, everything else fell to the wayside. Maybe it wasn’t living for the moment, but Neku thought that perhaps Mr. H would approve of him living for his friends.
Title: Alive
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sometimes, it was hard to breathe.
There were days when he couldn’t get out of bed.
Doctor’s didn’t understand it, and neither did his parents. To them, he looked like any normal teen, chest fine and body healthy.
Shiki always cried whenever she saw him with his shirt off, hooked to yet another useless machine. It wasn’t the hospital, though that was most certainly part of it, but the twin scars almost parallel across his chest. Entry wounds. Scars.
Neku figured it was just his mind reacting, phantom pains of his death and the second time he’d been shot that practically crippled him until he could barely breathe, couldn’t move. In those instances, it was hard to keep his mind in focus, hard to bring the effort up to not sink into hours of endless brooding, mind on shadowy, tattoo orientated creatures and magnanimous smirks astride steadily held guns.
Life, and unlife, had left their scars on him, physically, mentally, and emotionally. There were some things, small things that could set him off, and no particularly understood them. He couldn’t eat ramen anymore. Murals of any kind, even CAT’s, were taboo in conversation. Whenever a new pin raged the fashion scene, the group stayed indoors, playing video games and watching movies and just generally being boring.
Shiki always mothered. Beat was overprotective. Rhyme could often be his silent shadow, though she was a better judge of when he actually needed her to be, and when she herself was being irrational about just how fragile he really was.
Sometimes he just wanted space- moments to be alone, moments to listen to music, moments where no one was around, where he could just- break down. Neku was human and, whether they wanted him to be happy all of the time or not, he was still young. Even without the trauma of those three weeks, there were still other life issues, still questions of self and life and the future to face, and like any human, he needed down time.
Most of the time, however, he was grateful.
Life and unlife were both funny in the way that they brought you together with people during situations of deep stress; people who, on a normal day, wouldn’t even catch your eye for even the most fleeting of moments.
Within death, Neku had found four amazing friends. Within life, he finally had the time to appreciate them, and learn even more.
He made sure that he did. He learnt that Shiki hated sashimi, and only liked California roll styled sushi. She had a graceless, awkward style that made her easy to open up to, a gentle exterior that more than suited the warm and loving personality within. Beat really was a pro skateboarder, and he really did love Rhyme. The issue with his parents would never stop, but he didn’t seem as bothered by it, anymore. More at peace with who he was, and that helped more than words could say.
Rhyme was a dreamer. There wasn’t a day that went by without her deciding that her future involved some tricky, obscure occupation. Neku was fairly certain she’d hit the creative arts, and hit them hard- whatever style she went for, her works would grab the nation like a vivid storm.
He was grateful to have them. Lucky to have them, lucky to have survived, and some days, the fact that he had to go through it at all was the true distinction. But only some days.
On others, it was the way Shiki smiled when he showed up in a piece of clothing, a shirt, a pair of pants, that she’d made for him.
Or the way Beat refused to let him near his skateboard for the safety of himself and ‘all those peeps around you, yo!’
The way Rhyme would babble about her next endeavor, or run up to him with a drawing, a piece of writing, her hair dyed pink, just because that’s what she was inspired to do.
When life was made of such distinctions, everything else fell to the wayside. Maybe it wasn’t living for the moment, but Neku thought that perhaps Mr. H would approve of him living for his friends.