(no subject)
Title: Signal to Noise - Boy with a Coin (10/?)
Author: twigcollins
Rating: PG-13 this chapter. Swearing, mostly.
Warnings: Spoilers through end of game plus secret reports.
Summary: Hey, what’s the worst that can happen?
Author’s Notes: Cross-posted to thewewyfanfic
Archive of StN links available here: http://delicious.com/Flidget/Signal2Noise
Neku gets - maybe - two hours of sleep, so keyed up that when he gets home he inks up a few of the sketches, the ones Mr. H didn’t want to hang onto, and has to forcibly pry himself away from the table before he can think about colors. Neku doesn’t remember falling asleep, only that he wakes up before his alarm, feeling awake and alert and almost the way he had as a very small child, the morning light through the window carrying a certain, silent promise. Except it’s not silent at all, it’s Shibuya’s Music, welcoming him back into the day, even louder in the UG, and he’s in the rhythm of it, gets dressed and ready for school and grabs, on the way out the door, a bag that Rhyme gave him the day before, running into him as he’d been going home, paths crossing for a moment. Some sort of red bean crepe thing Beat’s been practicing, more than enough to share, the bag full of nearly a dozen lopsided and lumpy attempts that still make for a delicious breakfast, Neku making his way to the Crossing, a little early, but he can stand around and snack, or maybe get another drawing in.
The first warning sign is how they’re all gathered, all of the higher officers and Harriers and maybe even all of the lower ranks, the Wall Reapers with this singular ability to look as if they’ve arrived by accident, sullenly waiting and yet able to make it seem as if it’s all their idea. Neku’s still full of the city and the morning and the remaining energy of the concert, and notices nothing out of the ordinary, doesn’t question why everyone has assembled.
He shoves another crepe in his mouth, pulls out his phone, dialing in a moment of stupid manic amusement, letting the Reapers wait. Maybe they’re all here because of the mini-lop on his shoulder, and he can’t wait to hear the clever quips about the Conductor’s new pet bunny, he really can’t. Trapping his phone between shoulder and ear, Neku tosses one of the last three crepes to Lollipop - Kariya, probably better to think of him that way, now. The older Harrier is not being such an absolute dick, for some mysterious reason of his own, and Neku might as well extend the olive branch before anyone gets beaten with it.
“Beat.” He says, when the voice mail picks up. “Blame Rhyme, she’s the one who went and shared your food. You’re spectacular, and I’m marrying you. Set a date. I’ll even wear the dress.”
Neku hangs up, half aware that he’s kind of out of his mind, a little too hyper but not caring. It’s probably the only thing keeping him awake, and he’s imagining Beat’s response when he gets that message and he kind of owes him at least something back for some of the idiotic crap in the third week, whether the other boy remembers it or not.
“So…” Neku looks up, addressing the crowd, aware that he’s not cutting nearly as impressive a figure as Kitaniji ever did, but still willing to let them come to him. Kariya looks as sullen as the Wall Reapers, for a moment, and maybe Neku’s not really going to make any friends here, maybe they’re all just here because no one expected him to make it this long.
“Here’s last night’s report.”
“You saw me last night.” Neku grins. Usually the Reapers enjoy reminding him he’s chained to the job. Kariya shrugs, too disinterested to even meet his eyes.
“Must have forgot.”
Neku flips the folder open, and everything slows, the Music wavering on one trembling vibrato.
It doesn’t take long. Pieces start falling into place, a few at first and then quickly, like a rainstorm or an avalanche, and as the sound of it rises the Music of the city dims and fades. He gets it, because it always happens this way, no matter how many times he gets his legs kicked out from under him, or how he tells himself he’ll be smarter for the next time. No matter how determined he was to duck into his headphones and not come out, no matter what. He never sees the worst until it’s got him in his jaws, and maybe Mr. H is kind but wrong. Maybe sometimes the world ends with him. Maybe sometime the world is more than content to end on its own.
He feels the bunny’s grip tighten against his shoulder, his voice a strained whisper.
“… what?”
-------------------------
Higashizawa asks first, if there should be a meeting, not because he cares but because there’s half a chance they can all call off a day early. Kariya knows that’s what they want, still thinking they can argue or cajole or bully Neku into following along, still thinking in terms of the way it’s always been for the Shibuya Game. Kariya shrugs, half-certain that gathering all the Reapers in one place is going to be a very bad move, but just as sure that it will happen regardless of his input. If they haven’t noticed the changes, any explanation he tries to give will be useless.
“Hey.” Uzuki says, looking at the file he’s been tapping nervously against the palm of his other hand. “I thought you said you were going to…”
“Yeah.” He snaps back, and out of the corner of his eye he can see that he’s startled her, never interested enough to bother with getting nervous, or short-tempered. The Wall Reapers are like a flock of birds, muttering to each other, and he can tell when Neku shows up because they all stop. Kariya hears a giggle from somewhere, whoever wasn’t in on the gossip of the Conductor and his new pet Noise now able to see for themselves. It’s amazing, really, that the thing hasn’t sprouted wings or some other sort of evolution, with the power Neku’s still radiating - Kariya glances back, maybe Higashizawa is staring a little more closely, studying the Conductor as he laughs into his cell phone, but most of the Reapers don’t have experience with this kind of Frequency - few Players are that ready, to Ascend at the end of a Game. Fewer Conductors would ever show up like this, so open and unguarded - Kariya looks down at the snack Neku threw at him as a greeting, a doughy red bean crepe, and then at the file in his other hand. It’s exactly the card he needs to play, but it might as well be a land mine.
Usually Kariya’s happy to be a bastard, but even trying, he can’t find the satisfaction in this.
“Here’s last night’s report.” He passes it over, can’t look up, and it isn’t nervousness exactly - he’s strong, and even if things go down all the way he can grab Uzuki and get them out of the blast zone, at least that.
“You saw me last night.” A smile in Neku’s voice, not sarcasm or superiority or self-congatulation, just an open happiness, and Kariya reminds himself that this is his opportunity. The further off-balance the Conductor goes, the longer he’s going to have with the Angel, with no chance that anyone will interfere. It’s what he wants.
“Must have forgot.” Kariya mutters, doesn’t mean to look up but he does, just in time to watch the smile get slapped off Neku’s face, and he feels the shock, and even the Wall Reapers notice the change, falling quickly silent.
Uzuki happily shows all her cards when she’s angry, screeching when she’s even the least bit frustrated, almost gratefully abandoning her maturity to enjoy the fury. Higashiawa gets flustered, confused and unsure when he’s thrown off his guard, painfully aware of his status at all times. Many of the Reapers considered Konishi to be the peak of cold disinterest, but Kariya always thought she simply kept her anger on a low flame, so constant it could pass for invisibility. He’d never actually seen Kitaniji angry, not that it gave him any real respect for the man.
Neku is silent, just the one shocked word and then nothing more, staring down at the folder that’s telling him of last night’s tally, the unexpected surprise. The two strongest teams, the only two remaining teams, have combined into one. Near the completion of yesterday’s Game, one Player from each team eliminated their own partner, in order to Pact together. Survival of the fittest. Desperation can breed ruthlessness, although it’s rare to have a team peak quite this late, a betrayal in the eleventh hour. The Conductor doesn’t move.
“Boss?”
Neku looks up at him, and Kariya realizes how much the Conductor has been looking forward to the end of the seventh day, to being able to congratulate at least one set of virtuous and worthy winners, to send someone - anyone - back home. It’s probably the only thing that carried him through this first week, that kept him going, and here they are with this. Kariya’s long been used to bad endings, more than content to watch the Game bring out the worst in people, surprised by the timing maybe but not the act. It’s obvious Neku never even considered it as a possibility.
It ought to make him laugh now, a Conductor putting their faith in the Players not to be assholes, but the silence around Neku is sending up the hairs on the back of his neck and it’s not funny.
“They killed their own partners.” Neku murmurs, more to himself than anyone. “They were winning, and they killed their partners anyway.”
“Hey, bunny boy. Are you going to give us some orders today or what?”
Uzuki, probably egged on by Minamimoto, and Kariya very nearly flinches as Neku’s eyes snap to her, and this, here, this is Neku’s anger, and it’s neither hesitant or slow-burning, enough to make him shuffle a half-step back. A force that could destroy every Reaper here on not much more than a whim, and is Kariya /really/ the only one who’s wondered just how strong a boy who’d spent three weeks in the Game must be? Just why the Composer chose him for this job?
Neku says nothing, and Kariya lets out the breath he’s been holding, as he looks back down at the folder in his hands. Scrambles for some comforting or inspiring words, if just to keep the Conductor from thinking about how he might best fry all of their asses - what a way to start the goddamn day, and at least he needs to get the attention off of his silly-ass partner with her silly-ass determination to get herself Erased -
“Kariya. Can you get BJ and Tenho for me?” The polite lilt in Neku’s tone is entirely false, and Kariya really wishes he wasn’t standing this close. “Now.”
“Yeah, boss.”
A flicker, a matter of moments, reappearing at Uzuki’s side as fast as he can, still waiting for the sword to fall. She can’t sense the Conductor’s anger like he can - Neku’s not projecting anymore, he’s like a damn dead zone, utterly silent - but Kariya’s nervousness has at least managed to catch her attention. Before she can say anything, the two new Harriers shuffle around the corner, unsure and wary, standing nearly shoulder-to-shoulder and not looking the Conductor in the eye.
Everyone knows what they’ve been up to, certainly the reason there aren’t at least a few more Players in the Game today. Obviously working for their own gain, and it’s certainly worthy of a punishment - most anything is, Kariya knows, if Neku decides to take offense. It was a ridiculous risk, for their first time as Harriers, going so deliberately against the Conductor’s plans - and he’s angry, and might as well take it out on them. It will be a lesson to the rest of the Reapers, a warning, and no one’s going to touch the final team of Players. Whether it bends the rules or not, no one will dare. Kariya doubts that even Higashizawa is that brave.
“You two, stay right there.” Neku says, and they cringe a little, just from the slight gesture he makes. Shoulders slumped and wings drooping, muttering to each other too quietly to be overheard. They’re trying not to look as if they know what’s coming, bracing themselves for the worst, and even when they’d been low-ranked, they’d certainly heard about what happened to those who crossed Kitaniji. The rest of the Reapers are paying attention now, cautious and excited and intrigued at the promise of bloodshed. The Conductor glances over to where the Wall Reapers have clustered.
“I want you to wall off everything but the 104. Push the Players toward A-East. No one else is to touch them.”
The two Harriers straighten up a little, watching Neku closely, confused and unsure now that certain death isn’t quite so certain. The Conductor’s voice is soft, empty of emotion.
“Once they get to you, I assume you can do the rest.”
No one speaks. Even Kariya’s not sure he heard the kid correctly.
“Not quite the mission, boss.” Not the mission at all. He doesn’t really know why he says it. Kitaniji wore sunglasses all the damn time, some stupid sort of attempt to intimidate. Neku doesn’t need to, doesn’t have any problem meeting his eyes. Kariya wonders if this was the same look Manhattan saw.
“If they’re that clever, they’ll get through.”
It’s a lie. The Players - even this late in the Game - have next to no chance against 777 and Neku knows it. BJ and Tenho are slouched now in nervous relief, not quite sure they can take their eyes off the Conductor, and Kariya watches as they mumble a few words in tenative agreement. Neku doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at any of them, just lets the folder fall from his hand as he turns away.
--------------------
He’s early to class, for the first time since the week began. Neku slides into his chair, and tries and fails to have a coherent thought, at least one that he wants to have. The sunlight is moving across the floor, a long rectangle of warmth sliding away two rows in front of him, and he can’t find the energy to do more than watch it go. Neku knows he’ll need to start thinking eventually, will need to come up with just the right way to tell Joshua where he can shove his super special Conductor job. He’s done with this. It’s over. He tried but he’s just not strong enough, he’s not the one the Composer wants and he’s not going to let himself become that person.
Except that’s pretty much what he just did.
His phone rings. Here’s his chance. Neku looks down, feels his stomach twist, and shuts the phone off, suddenly too tired, too empty to cobble together the energy to entertain Joshua at the moment. That’s all he’s good for, all he’s supposed to be, he gets that. His job is to distract the Composer, to be just entertaining enough to keep him from doing anything to Shibuya, and it seems inescapably stupid to imagine any more to their relationship - there is no ‘relationship’, there is no ‘him and Josh,’ there’s just Neku, alone, balancing on the wire, trying to keep from falling off and wondering when it will disappear under his feet anyway.
The first few of his classmates come through the door, chatting with each other, and the distance between them stretches out, a yawning chasm so wide Neku wonders if he’s still in the UG, maybe, and keeps wondering even as the class fills up and right up until the point that the teacher takes attendance. He tries to pay attention, even watches his hand take down a few notes, but all he can feel is the cold reality of what he’s done clutch at him, and the Music is nowhere to be found, as if abandoning his position was as easy as wishing it so.
//You wanted to destroy them. You did.//
It could have been different. If he’d been smarter, if he’d been better - should he have known? Could he have seen it coming, if he’d paid attention? Joshua would have known, but Joshua wouldn’t have cared. He would have seen it from the beginning, what kind of people they were, and Neku shakes against the sudden jolt of rage that fills him. The old, familiar feeling of betrayal, and he’s glad they’re Erased. He would have done it himself, those two cowardly, useless morons. How stupid. How fucking stupid and how fucking weak and pathetic - they didn’t trust him. He would have fought for them, he would have gone up against the Composer for them, and they couldn’t even trust him to be fair.
It was the frightened girl, the one that reminded him that little bit of Shiki, she was the one who’d betrayed her partner in the end. He never would have guessed it - the stronger ones, maybe. Or maybe they just acted stronger. It doesn’t matter, motivation makes no difference when they’re all gone now. Neku’s throat closes up, grief passing through him with all the force of a Noise attack, and he wonders if that black sorrow is always from the Noise or if it just feels that way. His little mascot left him hours ago, the mini-lop hopping off his shoulder as he walked away from the Crossing. Neku hopes she’s ok, that he didn’t hurt her somehow, by being angry, can’t bear to think of the alternative.
//All they wanted to do was live. They were afraid and they were desperate. Can you blame them? Can you?//
He can. He can’t and he can, all at once. Somehow, the day lurches forward, and Neku vaguely watches it get worse and worse as the same thoughts circle in his head, an aquarium full of restless sharks, biting at each other when no prey appears. It’s then that he remembers he’s got to go talk to the principal.
He’s starting to get flickers of thoughts from the rest of the class, like he would in the UG when he searched for them, except he’s still very much in the real world and not asking, and they’re coming anyway. Neku suspects he might be out of sync with the RG, just slightly, but can’t bring himself to care. He’s no more prepared to try and stop those thoughts than he was to answer his phone, and just leans back in his chair and plays spectator in his own life. Lets every pointless, banal thought flicker by. Just random static, even the best of them, the boy in the front corner actually in the middle of a pregnancy scare, with some girl Neku thinks might go to Beat’s school. Most of the rest aren’t that interesting, parents who are too nosy, too overbearing. Girls that might be cute, and interested in going out. Cars that would be cool to own.
Neku alternately hates himself and hates the world in ten minute intervals for the rest of the morning.
--------------------------
Kariya rolls the little bean crepe over in his hand, his appetite gone the way of the rest of the day, and he throws it into the nearest trash bin, glancing down as something warm and Noise-feeling presses against his ankle. It’s Neku’s little mini-lop, and entirely his imagination that the little beady eye is staring at him in accusation.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Go away.” He grumbles, nudging at the bunny with the toe of his shoe when it doesn’t move, although they both know better than to think he’ll actually kick her. It is a her, or she used to be, and Kariya narrows his eyes, can almost see the faint flicker of a different energy there, who she used to be and could easily be again, given a little time. She’s Blue Noise, anchored quite firmly to the Conductor now, and growing stronger. Neku either doesn’t know or doesn’t care about the power he’s providing her - he’s certainly got enough to spare, and Kariya wonders how he would feel if he knew that even with this Game lost, he’s well on his way to bringing a Player back on his own.
It’s all over now, it took about as long as he thought it would, the two Players either overconfident or impatient to reach the end, or perhaps too busy being guilty over what they’d done to think about why the path had changed so abruptly. Either way, they’re gone now, the Game over a day early with enough kills spread out to make everyone happy. BJ and Tenho have disappeared, and Kariya wonders if they got the reward they were looking for.
“Stupid Players, we didn’t even get to have any real fun.” Uzuki has been complaining for a while now, staring at her nails, although her mood is absolutely smug. Higashizawa is also failing to hide his satisfaction - he’s gotten everything out of this Game that he wanted. Even Minamimoto is feeling self-congratulatory enough to stick around, enjoying the company and the conversation when it’s all about hating the new kid and his undeserved promotion. Kariya feels old, then ancient, watching them with the same disbelief that he used to in the real world, so many years ago when he’d first become a Reaper, all those fools with no awareness of how things worked, of the world inside the world.
He has the sinking suspicion, never as present as in this moment, that the Angels too, are only masters of their sphere because they can’t see beyond it, that they are, in the end, just within another, greater world. Human, whatever else they might claim to be, whatever power they’ve found, in the end they are still human, glorified Players, and they can do all the things that Players do.
Even die.
“Did you see him?” Minamimoto crows. “I thought he was going to cry. Konishi should have kicked his ass to the tenth power. What an improbable variate.”
Uzuki flinches, just slightly, still a sore spot, but Neku’s utter failure today, his show of weakness obviously lessens the sting.
“If it had been a regular Game, then, you might have won.” Higashizawa rumbles. Kariya’s surprised, they don’t talk much about the long Game, and he’s been morbidly interested to see how it would be rewritten in their eyes. Even standing where he is, with a slightly better perspective and a while to consider it, Kariya still has mostly questions.
“LIFO, easy as that.” Minamimoto, always a paragon of the lack of humility, hands in his pockets and leaning back on his heels, as confident as if he were still a Harrier, as if he hadn’t hasn’t his ass handed to him, more than once in plain view. “If I did it again, I’d be the Composer for sure. I’d walk all over that negative outlier.”
“You all do know that he nearly destroyed the Composer of Manhattan.” Kariya says even as he wonders why he cares, not usually bothering to give Minamimoto this much attention. All three of them are looking at him now, Uzuki surprised, the other two mostly confused. “Yes, that Manhattan. The story’s been all over, I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”
Minamimoto snorts, aggressive stupidity his only real default. “Some of us have better things to do than listen to chatter across the border. It doesn’t change things - If Konishi were still here, he’d be buried under the x-axis by now, and I’d be in charge. We could have been done days ago.”
“You can’t possibly be that stupid.” More staring, because Kariya’s never thought the math freak ingenue-wannabe was anything but an idiot, but he’d never bothered saying it aloud. “You weren’t anything to her but a convenient meat shield. Do all the work getting rid of the Composer for her, and then she could either go through you and make Composer herself, or you’d die trying before you ever got there, and she could pretend she had no part of it. Or she’d convince him that she’d outed you as a troublemaker from the start, and gain herself a nice little promotion. Why /else/ would she have bothered helping you?”
Minamimoto blinks, and Kariya wonders, for the first time, just what exactly was between them. Had she been goading him into it, assuring him that he was special, that of course, he deserved to be the Composer? The thought of just how far Konishi would go to convince him they were in it together, that she had his back on such an obviously stupid plan… well now.
“So what’s your problem?” Uzuki snaps. “Why are you on his side, all of a sudden?”
“Do you know what happens, when a new Conductor takes over? I mean, besides our lunatic rules-optional Game?” Everyone knows he’s been a couple places, other than here, though Kariya has never bothered mentioning where or when or how long. It’s still more than most of them, as far as he knows none of them had been that far out of Tokyo before they’d joined the Game, and besides a few crossovers from Shinjuku and Akibahara, most of them have never thought of leaving Shibuya. Kitaniji was well established when Kariya arrived, he doubts if any of the current crop of Reapers have ever even known another Conductor.
“Is it a big party?” Minamimoto says snidely, because he is incapable by any physical law of keeping his mouth shut.
“The Conductor will cull the ranks. Usually Erase everyone with any power that might be troublesome, and assign a new Games Master, promote up from the Wall Reapers. Although there are cases where they’ll just Erase everyone, and play the first Game after on their own, for the chance to pick new officers with some chance of being loyal.”
A good deal of the other Reapers hadn’t bothered to disperse after the Game’s end, hovering at the edges of the square, enjoying Higashizawa’s crowing and Uzuki’s bitching, and Kariya knows he has their full attention now.
Minamimoto snorts. “Everyone? No one erases Wall Reapers.”
“Like you said, it’s a big party.” Kariya stares him down, glancing at Higashizawa and Uzuki in turn. “You think he’s weak, and stupid, and soft, because he hasn’t done anything, when he’s got all the power he needs to raze this UG down to the pavement and start over, and you’ve given him every reason there is to do it. Maybe that makes him an idiot. Maybe we should all be /grateful/ he’s an idiot.”
Kariya turns away, unused to being the center of attention, not exactly sure if that was the smart thing to do. Not that he doesn’t have more important concerns. Neku is effectively out of the way, and the path to the little cafe is wide open. It’s a little less impressive, with a small bunny Noise hopping a few steps behind him, but Kariya is cool. He can deal.
-------------------
The nice thing about executing two people before lunch is that it makes dealing with the principal a lot easier. Neku finds he isn’t even worried, the part of him that’s still a school kid is silent now. He feels hard and cold instead, a thick, dead space standing as armor between him and the rest of the world, even without his headphones on. A snarky voice that sounds a lot like Joshua points out the principal’s rather ridiculous combover, the fabric on his suit that Shiki and Eri would surely shake their heads at - really, whatever his salary, he could do better.
“So, Mr. Sakuraba.” The man lifts the edge of the file in front of him, before letting it lay flat, glancing up at Neku and all of these little gestures are supposed to be intimidating, Neku knows. Might very well have been, once upon a time, before he’d spent three weeks dead and another week being in charge, watching people die. Making it happen. It hurts, cold and hard in the pit of his stomach and Neku looks out the window, forcing his expression to stay still and empty.
“It looks like you’re having a bit of trouble. Would you care to talk about it?”
Does that ever, ever work? Neku’s sure that his cool, shuttered expression isn’t doing him any favors here but he can’t actually get himself to care about it, all his emotions slipping away, all smooth glass where his heart should be. It wasn’t ever quite this bad, not even before the Game and the mural, not even when he’d been dragging himself through day after day - this is new, this curious detachment, this silence. Neku thinks he should probably be worried about it, but it’s so much easier not to care.
The principal frowns. “We’re a bit concerned about your recent performance in class.”
No. No, he’s not. At the surface there’s a little irritation, mostly that another student has invaded on the time he needs to do up a memo for the teachers, and always the recognition that every student’s performance reflects directly on what they can charge for tuition. Mostly, the principal’s thinking about the affair he’s having with the youngest math teacher, and her beautiful legs and the lingerie he’s purchased to slip off of them. Teal, with a little lace at the edges. Neku watches the thoughts pass by, no more interesting than the rest of them, as the man continues to make pointless noise.
He’s starting to get it, a little. Why Joshua is the way he is. How funny it might be, to watch people so wholly uncommitted to anything suddenly panic, suddenly fight so hard when the life they’re not even using is in jeopardy. No wonder Joshua got tired. Neku has only gone through a week of it, and he can’t imagine why he bothered. He’s sitting here now, because he cared so much about them, and now there’s no one left. No one.
Neku presses his hand against his mouth, hard, just for a moment. The principal doesn’t notice.
“We’ve attempted to get in touch with your father, several times.”
“He’s at a conference.” Neku says. “He should be back soon.”
The principal nods meaningfully, and Neku hears what he thinks about his father, about Neku himself, and the kinds of things he must be up to, on his own. Neku tries to see himself there in the man’s opinion, but there’s no him, just a cutout of every bad student the principal has ever had. It’s kind of amazing the man even bothered to look at his name.
“I think, Neku, you might want to reconsider the company you’re keeping.”
It’s the first real surprise of the entire meeting. Neku blinks. “I don’t…”
“I understand you’ve taken up with some of the more… eclectic members of our student body. We have many types of young men here for many reasons, some of whom are on quite different… paths than others.”
“Are you talking about Tsuyoshi?” He is, Neku can see his friend in the principal’s mind, or at least a detailed map of his piercings. If this had happened before the Game, he never would have asked the question, but he’s not intimidated anymore, nothing much to be afraid of after facing down a three-story tall Kitaniji. Neku’s aware that he’s making the man nervous, for reasons he doesn’t quite understand, and keeps himself from smiling.
Joshua toys with people like this, because really, the man is incredibly useless. The head of some school he thinks is more important than it could ever possibly be, he wouldn’t even merit a place in the Game. Not even a Game for principals. Neku tries not to cringe at that thought, of how carelessly he’s just thrown this man’s life away. Of how very little he’s capable of giving a shit right now.
The principal tries, inexplicably, for a smile of his own, but it’s weak and uncomfortable. “Your attendance has been slipping as of late, and if this continues, we expect that your grades will likely follow. You realize that we can’t help but notice such a decline in one of our brightest students.”
The rage is at his fingertips, blisteringly raw and coming from nowhere. Neku can feel it, lightning ready to strike. He doesn’t know what it would do, to release it, what effect if any it would have in the real world. His Frequency is off, he can still hear nothing but the Principal’s beige thoughts, longs to lash back with some of his own, decidedly less than bland - why didn’t they notice, when he was all alone? Why didn’t they notice how quiet he was, how he ate by himself every day, how he’d obviously done something wrong, but no one even cared enough to tell him what it was?
“I’m doing all right. I’ve been a little busy lately.” Part-time job, he doesn’t say, but thinks it, along with another moment of amazement - Tsuyoshi? Really? He’s not even /that/ over the top, a few piercings and a little black fabric not exactly going to blow up the world. Neku would tell him how he’d managed to put the administration on edge, if he didn’t think it was as likely to alarm Tsuyoshi as make him laugh.
“So, I can expect to not have a repeat of this week?”
Again, the clench in his chest, the ache down his bones and all that Neku’s done, clutching at him.
“I hope not.”
It’s the truth, practically a prayer, but the principal doesn’t hear the words for what they are, doesn’t see anything but what he expects to see, another wayward student to be nudged back into line, whatever it might take. He frowns, folding his hands over Neku’s file, and Neku imagines it is that other file, the one Vancouver might have shown him, with the future in it that never happened. Would it feel like this? So empty, and meaningless? How long did he survive there? He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t.
“You must have had other friends, Neku, before now. Why not make the effort to pursue those friendships?”
“Why don’t you leave your wife, sir, if Miss Inoue’s got such amazing legs?”
It comes in a rush, a snarl, before he can stop himself, and a part of him is shocked but the rest of him is quite satisfied to watch the principal go very pale, eyes widening, panic quickly taking the place of his bland professionalism. Finally, he has the man’s attention. It’s another Joshua moment, although the Composer would have been more subtle. Just refuse to give people the chance to be assholes, take that power away from them, and they are easy enough to control. Except there’s nothing all that impressive about being able to intimidate morons. It just hurts, like someone’s beating him up from the inside. So he’s blackmailing the head of his school. Yay.
“I’d like to go now, sir.”
Neku gives the principal the easy out, and after a moment the man recovers, and takes it. It seems very unlikely he will have to deal with the man again, at least face-to-face, and Neku doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t want to think about it, or anything else, especially not the anger that’s still leaving little fire flickers in the corner of his vision, the way the world wavers around him as his Frequency continues doing whatever it is it wants to do - nothing else is in his control, why should this be any different?
The bell is going to ring. The school day will end, and Neku realizes he is more than capable of Erasing anyone who crosses his path, that if he sees Minamimoto at any point in the near future, he’s just going to kill the man without a moment’s hesitation, and it’s probably going to feel pretty damn good, and that - Neku shivers - that is not a good thing. It’s every bad day, every one he’s ever had where he wanted the power to tear a hole in the world and now he’s got it to spare. Neku can feel it, the energy that makes him shiver, hot and cold, makes the world unsteady beneath his feet, just waiting for him to choose a target - no. God, no. He’s the Conductor of Shibuya and he will not hurt his city and he will not hurt anyone else, whatever it takes.
----------------------
The bell rings above the door, and Hanekoma knows instantly who it is, even if it’s a bit of a surprise. It isn’t at all safe for the Composer to be walking around during a Game week, with his powers still so heavily restricted, though with Joshua it’s rather more impressive that he’s endured his house arrest for this long.
“Coffee?”
“Tea.” Joshua slides into a seat at the counter with his usual quiet elegance. Favoring the old drinks more than usual these days, and Hanekoma sighs, goes beneath the counter for the overly elaborate setup of small cup - no handle, simple but expensive china, as Joshua had glared at him the last time he dared try and use a regular mug - and tea, and teapot. Once upon a time, he’d bought a plastic, single-cup brewing pot and strainer, a marvelously simple little device that was as easy as it was compact. Joshua had leaned forward, pointedly taken Hanekoma’s telekenesis pin from his pocket, and levitated it into the trash. Hanekoma has gotten back at him by demanding he use a saucer, and as long as he never goes lower than high-grade sencha, the truce stands firm.
Except that other things have changed, whether either of them will ever admit it, though they still know each other well enough to play pretend that nothing’s wrong. Joshua reaches into his pocket, pulls out a phone and slides it across the table. Hanekoma recognizes it, one of the last pieces of merch he slapped his art on, before the long Game and his longer dry spell. It really hasn’t been longer. Every day is just a goddamn eternity.
“Thanks for rubbing my face in it.”
A slight smirk, though Joshua tips his head down so it’s hidden under his hair. “If you’d killed me properly, maybe you could still manage to doodle.”
“I doubt it.” Hanekoma says, entirely serious. “So I’m guessing this is for Phones.”
“A gift for my Conductor, for his first successful Game.”
He never gave Kitaniji gifts. It never even came up, just not the way things were ever done in Shibuya.
Hanekoma hits the teapot with a pyrokenisis pin, and sets it next to Joshua to cool. “You want the usual features?”
“Yes, and I want you to add something, so I can turn it on remotely.”
Hanekoma laughs. “I think this will end up under a bus, if I do that.”
He looks up, when he realizes Joshua is not laughing, is not smiling at all. The look on his face is deceptively mild, fiddling with the lid of the teapot, reaching out for the proofs Hanekoma has been studying since Neku dropped them off. Simple sketches, but they’ll be perfect when they’re finished - the company might decide to go with more than one, print off variants. He’ll give Neku a day or two to ask for finals, since he’s already fulfilled his commitment days ahead of schedule - and yes, he’s as jealous as ever, thanks for asking.
“He did miss the Game, yesterday morning.” Hanekoma says, fishing for hints when the Composer offers nothing, and Joshua smirks, foxlike, always evasive except when he’s proud of himself.
“That would be my fault. I guess I wore him out.”
It could be innocent. Hanekoma could at least feign ignorance, if it were anyone other than Joshua talking, and he weren’t wearing that amused, possessive evil little smile and if there hadn’t been room for suspicion for at least a little while now, the exact particulars of the relationship between Composer and Conductor. Hanekoma still goes for the whiskey, more than justified in starting his day with a nice Irish coffee. The Composer picks up the teapot, gently swirling the brewing leaves.
“You won’t have to report it this week. The Game’s over.” Joshua says quietly, as if the words aren’t loaded. It’s like a parody of a rational conversation, where all the right things are said but the meaning is somehow exactly the opposite. Hanekoma puts his hands flat on the table, treading carefully.
“A day early?”
“Mm-hm.” Joshua sniffs, pretending to be engrossed in getting his drink exactly right, which Hanekoma knows is just bitter enough that no one else would dare touch it. He also knows what it means, for things to end early, and he can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Neku. The kid would have taken it hard, to have a Game go like that.
“Where is he, Josh?”
The bitter little laugh sends the hairs up on the back of his neck, Joshua looking down into his cup, turning it in his hand. “I wouldn’t know. He’s not answering his phone.”
Deliberate obtuseness - that’s a very, very bad sign. Hanekoma wishes he had the range he needs in this moment, his usual Producer ability to know exactly what’s wrong with Shibuya before the Composer even steps through the door. He’s so muted now, by the time he figured out what had gone wrong it would be raining sulfur.
“You need a phone to find him now, boss?” As if asking the question in an easygoing manner will somehow influence the outcome. The best case scenario, actually, is that Joshua tried to work around his limits and damaged his Frequency, or that he’s destabilized in some other way. And that’s the /best/ he can hope for.
“Neku’s not in Shibuya anymore.” He drops the bombshell with a calm, practiced ease, and flips around another of the sketches, staring at it more closely. “Well, this is a new style for you.”
“What do you mean, he’s not-” Hanekoma trails off, not at all sure where to take this conversation. It’s more than Neku wandering off to some other district - most large cities in the world allow their Conductors some mobility, and as far as Hanekoma knows most of them are simply curious about Neku, wouldn’t mind getting a chance to see him up close, no real danger there yet. Joshua has enough power even now to keep Neku from dying in any permanent way during a Game - and even if he did, even if one of the Reapers managed to get absurdly lucky, the Angels would not hesitate to send him the news of that particular Ascension. No other option he can imagine seems at all likely - not Fallen, not Neku - god, not /this soon/. Even if they’d had their eye on him, even if there had been an opening -
“I would think you’d give me a little more credit than that.” Joshua snorts, reading his thoughts, and his body is still young but his eyes are still and always the Composer’s eyes, and old, with a resignation Hanekoma hasn’t seen there in so long he thought that maybe, maybe pushing Shibuya to the brink of annihilation would be enough to banish it forever. Except it isn’t the way it was before, that grim boredom is thin and transparent in parts, and what rests behind it is fear. Hanekoma hasn’t seen Joshua pretending not to be afraid in so long, not since he was truly mortal, and it’s more than enough to lift him up and set him right on edge, just waiting to knock him over.
“Help if you talked to me, boss.”
“I doubt it.” The Composer says, still in that same, bland monotone, as if he really did come here for nothing more than a cup of tea and a shuffle through Hanekoma’s paperwork.
“Joshua.”
The Composer’s hand stills, and he lets out a breath, glancing toward the wall. “The last two Players today, they Erased their original partners at the end of yesterday’s Game. Neku took this as proof that they were worthy of a larger challenge, and adjusted the Mission accordingly.”
Hanekoma blinks, instantly untwisting Joshua’s particular view of the truth. It wasn’t a matter of time running out. So Neku, the Conductor, ordered an Erasure. Really, it was practically protocol. Even if the Players had made it through the rest of the Game, they never would have been allowed to return to life. Given a chance as Reapers, maybe - ironically, they had a better shot even at Ascending than they would at ever going home, although Neku’s final decision to even deny them that chance was certainly in line with precedent.
He’s a little surprised, trying to see it from Neku’s perspective, that he could reach that decision so quickly, especially after being pushed to that edge himself with his own partner. It hadn’t been a tactical move for him, though, only fear, Hanekoma knows that. Panic and confusion and that sense of betrayal that had followed him, even with his memories gone, such a part of who he was that even Joshua couldn’t erase it completely. The Composer believed Neku would be ruthless when it was necessary, and he’d been right until it had mattered most, until he’d been certain Neku would pull the trigger. The boy just didn’t operate like that, nothing so simple, so easy to understand. Even if he’d wanted to do this, Erase them, it would have cost him. His very first Game, to end like this…
“I knew he would get angry. I expected that… but he’s withdrawn from the city completely. He has no idea what he’s risking.”
Hanekoma blinks. “You can’t get him back.”
“I doubt Neku even knows anything is wrong.”
Joshua shrugs, takes another drink, and Hanekoma resists the urge to add another shot to his own mug. He doesn’t even know who to try to call, it’s been made quite clear that the Angels are not interested in hearing from him unless they ask. If they don’t know about this yet, bringing it to their attention won’t exactly make things better for either him or Joshua. Or maybe this is what they’ve been waiting for, maybe Neku is not quite as valuable as the one, final failure that will allow them to start over with Shibuya from scratch.
“I’m not as strong as he is, not now. Usually, it’s less than meaningless. He’s easy enough to anticipate. I thought…”
Joshua pauses, both hands around his cup, staring down at nothing. Hanekoma can fill in the gaps. He thought it wouldn’t matter, if Neku got angry, or upset, or hurt. He thought it would be a learning experience, a nasty lesson, and Neku would learn that he was simply being stubborn, trying to make a distinction between the Players and the Reapers, to believe that they weren’t all capable of the same ugly endgame.
“You know him, Josh. You knew Neku would pull away, when he got hurt. It’s what he does.”
“Yes, it is. He’s quite adept at it.”
It’s a feedback loop, then. Neku in his own little hell somewhere beneath the UG. Surrounded by negative emotions that will feed on each other, strengthening the Conductor’s detachment from Shibuya, pushing him further away from anything that might counter that distance, that despair. Bad enough, for Neku to put his headphones on and disappear from the world, but now he has more than enough power to truly disappear, not to be found if he doesn’t want it, not ever again, and he doesn’t even understand what he’s done.
“I can try to-”
“Oh I doubt anyone would show up in time, even if they did believe you.” Joshua flicks his hand in a slight, dismissive gesture. “If he doesn’t come back to me, he’ll Erase himself. Simple as that.” He sighs in something that would be annoyance in any other circumstances, fingertips tracing the curve of a line, the pictures spread around him. Proofs for the cover of an album full of silly nonsense, and Hanekoma knows people will remember Neku’s work long after they’ve forgotten the songs or the singer.
“You didn’t do these, did you?”
Hanekoma shakes his head. The sound he can hear, very lightly, is the cup, chittering ever so slightly against the saucer, because Joshua’s hand has started to shake. It lasts for half a second, no more, and then the Composer is standing up, still graceful, still every inch the ineffable ruler of his domain.
“If you could make those modifications to the phone, I’d appreciate it. And if you see Neku, tell him I’d like to see him.”
“Yeah, boss. You got it.” He has the impulse to leap the counter, do something, /anything/, even though he hasn’t so much as put a hand on the Composer’s shoulder for longer than he can imagine. Hanekoma occupies himself by rubbing at the edge of an already clean mug, until the bell rings over the door again, and Joshua is gone.
=======================
Author’s Notes:
1. Chapter title - “Funny the Way It Is,” Dave Matthews Band.
2. Well, now class is over until the fall. So with any luck that means I can get a few more chapters out a little faster. Thanks as always for reading. I don’t always know what to say to comments, but I do read them all and I’m very happy for your comments, and that you’re enjoying this.
Author: twigcollins
Rating: PG-13 this chapter. Swearing, mostly.
Warnings: Spoilers through end of game plus secret reports.
Summary: Hey, what’s the worst that can happen?
Author’s Notes: Cross-posted to thewewyfanfic
Archive of StN links available here: http://delicious.com/Flidget/Signal2Noise
Neku gets - maybe - two hours of sleep, so keyed up that when he gets home he inks up a few of the sketches, the ones Mr. H didn’t want to hang onto, and has to forcibly pry himself away from the table before he can think about colors. Neku doesn’t remember falling asleep, only that he wakes up before his alarm, feeling awake and alert and almost the way he had as a very small child, the morning light through the window carrying a certain, silent promise. Except it’s not silent at all, it’s Shibuya’s Music, welcoming him back into the day, even louder in the UG, and he’s in the rhythm of it, gets dressed and ready for school and grabs, on the way out the door, a bag that Rhyme gave him the day before, running into him as he’d been going home, paths crossing for a moment. Some sort of red bean crepe thing Beat’s been practicing, more than enough to share, the bag full of nearly a dozen lopsided and lumpy attempts that still make for a delicious breakfast, Neku making his way to the Crossing, a little early, but he can stand around and snack, or maybe get another drawing in.
The first warning sign is how they’re all gathered, all of the higher officers and Harriers and maybe even all of the lower ranks, the Wall Reapers with this singular ability to look as if they’ve arrived by accident, sullenly waiting and yet able to make it seem as if it’s all their idea. Neku’s still full of the city and the morning and the remaining energy of the concert, and notices nothing out of the ordinary, doesn’t question why everyone has assembled.
He shoves another crepe in his mouth, pulls out his phone, dialing in a moment of stupid manic amusement, letting the Reapers wait. Maybe they’re all here because of the mini-lop on his shoulder, and he can’t wait to hear the clever quips about the Conductor’s new pet bunny, he really can’t. Trapping his phone between shoulder and ear, Neku tosses one of the last three crepes to Lollipop - Kariya, probably better to think of him that way, now. The older Harrier is not being such an absolute dick, for some mysterious reason of his own, and Neku might as well extend the olive branch before anyone gets beaten with it.
“Beat.” He says, when the voice mail picks up. “Blame Rhyme, she’s the one who went and shared your food. You’re spectacular, and I’m marrying you. Set a date. I’ll even wear the dress.”
Neku hangs up, half aware that he’s kind of out of his mind, a little too hyper but not caring. It’s probably the only thing keeping him awake, and he’s imagining Beat’s response when he gets that message and he kind of owes him at least something back for some of the idiotic crap in the third week, whether the other boy remembers it or not.
“So…” Neku looks up, addressing the crowd, aware that he’s not cutting nearly as impressive a figure as Kitaniji ever did, but still willing to let them come to him. Kariya looks as sullen as the Wall Reapers, for a moment, and maybe Neku’s not really going to make any friends here, maybe they’re all just here because no one expected him to make it this long.
“Here’s last night’s report.”
“You saw me last night.” Neku grins. Usually the Reapers enjoy reminding him he’s chained to the job. Kariya shrugs, too disinterested to even meet his eyes.
“Must have forgot.”
Neku flips the folder open, and everything slows, the Music wavering on one trembling vibrato.
It doesn’t take long. Pieces start falling into place, a few at first and then quickly, like a rainstorm or an avalanche, and as the sound of it rises the Music of the city dims and fades. He gets it, because it always happens this way, no matter how many times he gets his legs kicked out from under him, or how he tells himself he’ll be smarter for the next time. No matter how determined he was to duck into his headphones and not come out, no matter what. He never sees the worst until it’s got him in his jaws, and maybe Mr. H is kind but wrong. Maybe sometimes the world ends with him. Maybe sometime the world is more than content to end on its own.
He feels the bunny’s grip tighten against his shoulder, his voice a strained whisper.
“… what?”
-------------------------
Higashizawa asks first, if there should be a meeting, not because he cares but because there’s half a chance they can all call off a day early. Kariya knows that’s what they want, still thinking they can argue or cajole or bully Neku into following along, still thinking in terms of the way it’s always been for the Shibuya Game. Kariya shrugs, half-certain that gathering all the Reapers in one place is going to be a very bad move, but just as sure that it will happen regardless of his input. If they haven’t noticed the changes, any explanation he tries to give will be useless.
“Hey.” Uzuki says, looking at the file he’s been tapping nervously against the palm of his other hand. “I thought you said you were going to…”
“Yeah.” He snaps back, and out of the corner of his eye he can see that he’s startled her, never interested enough to bother with getting nervous, or short-tempered. The Wall Reapers are like a flock of birds, muttering to each other, and he can tell when Neku shows up because they all stop. Kariya hears a giggle from somewhere, whoever wasn’t in on the gossip of the Conductor and his new pet Noise now able to see for themselves. It’s amazing, really, that the thing hasn’t sprouted wings or some other sort of evolution, with the power Neku’s still radiating - Kariya glances back, maybe Higashizawa is staring a little more closely, studying the Conductor as he laughs into his cell phone, but most of the Reapers don’t have experience with this kind of Frequency - few Players are that ready, to Ascend at the end of a Game. Fewer Conductors would ever show up like this, so open and unguarded - Kariya looks down at the snack Neku threw at him as a greeting, a doughy red bean crepe, and then at the file in his other hand. It’s exactly the card he needs to play, but it might as well be a land mine.
Usually Kariya’s happy to be a bastard, but even trying, he can’t find the satisfaction in this.
“Here’s last night’s report.” He passes it over, can’t look up, and it isn’t nervousness exactly - he’s strong, and even if things go down all the way he can grab Uzuki and get them out of the blast zone, at least that.
“You saw me last night.” A smile in Neku’s voice, not sarcasm or superiority or self-congatulation, just an open happiness, and Kariya reminds himself that this is his opportunity. The further off-balance the Conductor goes, the longer he’s going to have with the Angel, with no chance that anyone will interfere. It’s what he wants.
“Must have forgot.” Kariya mutters, doesn’t mean to look up but he does, just in time to watch the smile get slapped off Neku’s face, and he feels the shock, and even the Wall Reapers notice the change, falling quickly silent.
Uzuki happily shows all her cards when she’s angry, screeching when she’s even the least bit frustrated, almost gratefully abandoning her maturity to enjoy the fury. Higashiawa gets flustered, confused and unsure when he’s thrown off his guard, painfully aware of his status at all times. Many of the Reapers considered Konishi to be the peak of cold disinterest, but Kariya always thought she simply kept her anger on a low flame, so constant it could pass for invisibility. He’d never actually seen Kitaniji angry, not that it gave him any real respect for the man.
Neku is silent, just the one shocked word and then nothing more, staring down at the folder that’s telling him of last night’s tally, the unexpected surprise. The two strongest teams, the only two remaining teams, have combined into one. Near the completion of yesterday’s Game, one Player from each team eliminated their own partner, in order to Pact together. Survival of the fittest. Desperation can breed ruthlessness, although it’s rare to have a team peak quite this late, a betrayal in the eleventh hour. The Conductor doesn’t move.
“Boss?”
Neku looks up at him, and Kariya realizes how much the Conductor has been looking forward to the end of the seventh day, to being able to congratulate at least one set of virtuous and worthy winners, to send someone - anyone - back home. It’s probably the only thing that carried him through this first week, that kept him going, and here they are with this. Kariya’s long been used to bad endings, more than content to watch the Game bring out the worst in people, surprised by the timing maybe but not the act. It’s obvious Neku never even considered it as a possibility.
It ought to make him laugh now, a Conductor putting their faith in the Players not to be assholes, but the silence around Neku is sending up the hairs on the back of his neck and it’s not funny.
“They killed their own partners.” Neku murmurs, more to himself than anyone. “They were winning, and they killed their partners anyway.”
“Hey, bunny boy. Are you going to give us some orders today or what?”
Uzuki, probably egged on by Minamimoto, and Kariya very nearly flinches as Neku’s eyes snap to her, and this, here, this is Neku’s anger, and it’s neither hesitant or slow-burning, enough to make him shuffle a half-step back. A force that could destroy every Reaper here on not much more than a whim, and is Kariya /really/ the only one who’s wondered just how strong a boy who’d spent three weeks in the Game must be? Just why the Composer chose him for this job?
Neku says nothing, and Kariya lets out the breath he’s been holding, as he looks back down at the folder in his hands. Scrambles for some comforting or inspiring words, if just to keep the Conductor from thinking about how he might best fry all of their asses - what a way to start the goddamn day, and at least he needs to get the attention off of his silly-ass partner with her silly-ass determination to get herself Erased -
“Kariya. Can you get BJ and Tenho for me?” The polite lilt in Neku’s tone is entirely false, and Kariya really wishes he wasn’t standing this close. “Now.”
“Yeah, boss.”
A flicker, a matter of moments, reappearing at Uzuki’s side as fast as he can, still waiting for the sword to fall. She can’t sense the Conductor’s anger like he can - Neku’s not projecting anymore, he’s like a damn dead zone, utterly silent - but Kariya’s nervousness has at least managed to catch her attention. Before she can say anything, the two new Harriers shuffle around the corner, unsure and wary, standing nearly shoulder-to-shoulder and not looking the Conductor in the eye.
Everyone knows what they’ve been up to, certainly the reason there aren’t at least a few more Players in the Game today. Obviously working for their own gain, and it’s certainly worthy of a punishment - most anything is, Kariya knows, if Neku decides to take offense. It was a ridiculous risk, for their first time as Harriers, going so deliberately against the Conductor’s plans - and he’s angry, and might as well take it out on them. It will be a lesson to the rest of the Reapers, a warning, and no one’s going to touch the final team of Players. Whether it bends the rules or not, no one will dare. Kariya doubts that even Higashizawa is that brave.
“You two, stay right there.” Neku says, and they cringe a little, just from the slight gesture he makes. Shoulders slumped and wings drooping, muttering to each other too quietly to be overheard. They’re trying not to look as if they know what’s coming, bracing themselves for the worst, and even when they’d been low-ranked, they’d certainly heard about what happened to those who crossed Kitaniji. The rest of the Reapers are paying attention now, cautious and excited and intrigued at the promise of bloodshed. The Conductor glances over to where the Wall Reapers have clustered.
“I want you to wall off everything but the 104. Push the Players toward A-East. No one else is to touch them.”
The two Harriers straighten up a little, watching Neku closely, confused and unsure now that certain death isn’t quite so certain. The Conductor’s voice is soft, empty of emotion.
“Once they get to you, I assume you can do the rest.”
No one speaks. Even Kariya’s not sure he heard the kid correctly.
“Not quite the mission, boss.” Not the mission at all. He doesn’t really know why he says it. Kitaniji wore sunglasses all the damn time, some stupid sort of attempt to intimidate. Neku doesn’t need to, doesn’t have any problem meeting his eyes. Kariya wonders if this was the same look Manhattan saw.
“If they’re that clever, they’ll get through.”
It’s a lie. The Players - even this late in the Game - have next to no chance against 777 and Neku knows it. BJ and Tenho are slouched now in nervous relief, not quite sure they can take their eyes off the Conductor, and Kariya watches as they mumble a few words in tenative agreement. Neku doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at any of them, just lets the folder fall from his hand as he turns away.
--------------------
He’s early to class, for the first time since the week began. Neku slides into his chair, and tries and fails to have a coherent thought, at least one that he wants to have. The sunlight is moving across the floor, a long rectangle of warmth sliding away two rows in front of him, and he can’t find the energy to do more than watch it go. Neku knows he’ll need to start thinking eventually, will need to come up with just the right way to tell Joshua where he can shove his super special Conductor job. He’s done with this. It’s over. He tried but he’s just not strong enough, he’s not the one the Composer wants and he’s not going to let himself become that person.
Except that’s pretty much what he just did.
His phone rings. Here’s his chance. Neku looks down, feels his stomach twist, and shuts the phone off, suddenly too tired, too empty to cobble together the energy to entertain Joshua at the moment. That’s all he’s good for, all he’s supposed to be, he gets that. His job is to distract the Composer, to be just entertaining enough to keep him from doing anything to Shibuya, and it seems inescapably stupid to imagine any more to their relationship - there is no ‘relationship’, there is no ‘him and Josh,’ there’s just Neku, alone, balancing on the wire, trying to keep from falling off and wondering when it will disappear under his feet anyway.
The first few of his classmates come through the door, chatting with each other, and the distance between them stretches out, a yawning chasm so wide Neku wonders if he’s still in the UG, maybe, and keeps wondering even as the class fills up and right up until the point that the teacher takes attendance. He tries to pay attention, even watches his hand take down a few notes, but all he can feel is the cold reality of what he’s done clutch at him, and the Music is nowhere to be found, as if abandoning his position was as easy as wishing it so.
//You wanted to destroy them. You did.//
It could have been different. If he’d been smarter, if he’d been better - should he have known? Could he have seen it coming, if he’d paid attention? Joshua would have known, but Joshua wouldn’t have cared. He would have seen it from the beginning, what kind of people they were, and Neku shakes against the sudden jolt of rage that fills him. The old, familiar feeling of betrayal, and he’s glad they’re Erased. He would have done it himself, those two cowardly, useless morons. How stupid. How fucking stupid and how fucking weak and pathetic - they didn’t trust him. He would have fought for them, he would have gone up against the Composer for them, and they couldn’t even trust him to be fair.
It was the frightened girl, the one that reminded him that little bit of Shiki, she was the one who’d betrayed her partner in the end. He never would have guessed it - the stronger ones, maybe. Or maybe they just acted stronger. It doesn’t matter, motivation makes no difference when they’re all gone now. Neku’s throat closes up, grief passing through him with all the force of a Noise attack, and he wonders if that black sorrow is always from the Noise or if it just feels that way. His little mascot left him hours ago, the mini-lop hopping off his shoulder as he walked away from the Crossing. Neku hopes she’s ok, that he didn’t hurt her somehow, by being angry, can’t bear to think of the alternative.
//All they wanted to do was live. They were afraid and they were desperate. Can you blame them? Can you?//
He can. He can’t and he can, all at once. Somehow, the day lurches forward, and Neku vaguely watches it get worse and worse as the same thoughts circle in his head, an aquarium full of restless sharks, biting at each other when no prey appears. It’s then that he remembers he’s got to go talk to the principal.
He’s starting to get flickers of thoughts from the rest of the class, like he would in the UG when he searched for them, except he’s still very much in the real world and not asking, and they’re coming anyway. Neku suspects he might be out of sync with the RG, just slightly, but can’t bring himself to care. He’s no more prepared to try and stop those thoughts than he was to answer his phone, and just leans back in his chair and plays spectator in his own life. Lets every pointless, banal thought flicker by. Just random static, even the best of them, the boy in the front corner actually in the middle of a pregnancy scare, with some girl Neku thinks might go to Beat’s school. Most of the rest aren’t that interesting, parents who are too nosy, too overbearing. Girls that might be cute, and interested in going out. Cars that would be cool to own.
Neku alternately hates himself and hates the world in ten minute intervals for the rest of the morning.
--------------------------
Kariya rolls the little bean crepe over in his hand, his appetite gone the way of the rest of the day, and he throws it into the nearest trash bin, glancing down as something warm and Noise-feeling presses against his ankle. It’s Neku’s little mini-lop, and entirely his imagination that the little beady eye is staring at him in accusation.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Go away.” He grumbles, nudging at the bunny with the toe of his shoe when it doesn’t move, although they both know better than to think he’ll actually kick her. It is a her, or she used to be, and Kariya narrows his eyes, can almost see the faint flicker of a different energy there, who she used to be and could easily be again, given a little time. She’s Blue Noise, anchored quite firmly to the Conductor now, and growing stronger. Neku either doesn’t know or doesn’t care about the power he’s providing her - he’s certainly got enough to spare, and Kariya wonders how he would feel if he knew that even with this Game lost, he’s well on his way to bringing a Player back on his own.
It’s all over now, it took about as long as he thought it would, the two Players either overconfident or impatient to reach the end, or perhaps too busy being guilty over what they’d done to think about why the path had changed so abruptly. Either way, they’re gone now, the Game over a day early with enough kills spread out to make everyone happy. BJ and Tenho have disappeared, and Kariya wonders if they got the reward they were looking for.
“Stupid Players, we didn’t even get to have any real fun.” Uzuki has been complaining for a while now, staring at her nails, although her mood is absolutely smug. Higashizawa is also failing to hide his satisfaction - he’s gotten everything out of this Game that he wanted. Even Minamimoto is feeling self-congratulatory enough to stick around, enjoying the company and the conversation when it’s all about hating the new kid and his undeserved promotion. Kariya feels old, then ancient, watching them with the same disbelief that he used to in the real world, so many years ago when he’d first become a Reaper, all those fools with no awareness of how things worked, of the world inside the world.
He has the sinking suspicion, never as present as in this moment, that the Angels too, are only masters of their sphere because they can’t see beyond it, that they are, in the end, just within another, greater world. Human, whatever else they might claim to be, whatever power they’ve found, in the end they are still human, glorified Players, and they can do all the things that Players do.
Even die.
“Did you see him?” Minamimoto crows. “I thought he was going to cry. Konishi should have kicked his ass to the tenth power. What an improbable variate.”
Uzuki flinches, just slightly, still a sore spot, but Neku’s utter failure today, his show of weakness obviously lessens the sting.
“If it had been a regular Game, then, you might have won.” Higashizawa rumbles. Kariya’s surprised, they don’t talk much about the long Game, and he’s been morbidly interested to see how it would be rewritten in their eyes. Even standing where he is, with a slightly better perspective and a while to consider it, Kariya still has mostly questions.
“LIFO, easy as that.” Minamimoto, always a paragon of the lack of humility, hands in his pockets and leaning back on his heels, as confident as if he were still a Harrier, as if he hadn’t hasn’t his ass handed to him, more than once in plain view. “If I did it again, I’d be the Composer for sure. I’d walk all over that negative outlier.”
“You all do know that he nearly destroyed the Composer of Manhattan.” Kariya says even as he wonders why he cares, not usually bothering to give Minamimoto this much attention. All three of them are looking at him now, Uzuki surprised, the other two mostly confused. “Yes, that Manhattan. The story’s been all over, I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”
Minamimoto snorts, aggressive stupidity his only real default. “Some of us have better things to do than listen to chatter across the border. It doesn’t change things - If Konishi were still here, he’d be buried under the x-axis by now, and I’d be in charge. We could have been done days ago.”
“You can’t possibly be that stupid.” More staring, because Kariya’s never thought the math freak ingenue-wannabe was anything but an idiot, but he’d never bothered saying it aloud. “You weren’t anything to her but a convenient meat shield. Do all the work getting rid of the Composer for her, and then she could either go through you and make Composer herself, or you’d die trying before you ever got there, and she could pretend she had no part of it. Or she’d convince him that she’d outed you as a troublemaker from the start, and gain herself a nice little promotion. Why /else/ would she have bothered helping you?”
Minamimoto blinks, and Kariya wonders, for the first time, just what exactly was between them. Had she been goading him into it, assuring him that he was special, that of course, he deserved to be the Composer? The thought of just how far Konishi would go to convince him they were in it together, that she had his back on such an obviously stupid plan… well now.
“So what’s your problem?” Uzuki snaps. “Why are you on his side, all of a sudden?”
“Do you know what happens, when a new Conductor takes over? I mean, besides our lunatic rules-optional Game?” Everyone knows he’s been a couple places, other than here, though Kariya has never bothered mentioning where or when or how long. It’s still more than most of them, as far as he knows none of them had been that far out of Tokyo before they’d joined the Game, and besides a few crossovers from Shinjuku and Akibahara, most of them have never thought of leaving Shibuya. Kitaniji was well established when Kariya arrived, he doubts if any of the current crop of Reapers have ever even known another Conductor.
“Is it a big party?” Minamimoto says snidely, because he is incapable by any physical law of keeping his mouth shut.
“The Conductor will cull the ranks. Usually Erase everyone with any power that might be troublesome, and assign a new Games Master, promote up from the Wall Reapers. Although there are cases where they’ll just Erase everyone, and play the first Game after on their own, for the chance to pick new officers with some chance of being loyal.”
A good deal of the other Reapers hadn’t bothered to disperse after the Game’s end, hovering at the edges of the square, enjoying Higashizawa’s crowing and Uzuki’s bitching, and Kariya knows he has their full attention now.
Minamimoto snorts. “Everyone? No one erases Wall Reapers.”
“Like you said, it’s a big party.” Kariya stares him down, glancing at Higashizawa and Uzuki in turn. “You think he’s weak, and stupid, and soft, because he hasn’t done anything, when he’s got all the power he needs to raze this UG down to the pavement and start over, and you’ve given him every reason there is to do it. Maybe that makes him an idiot. Maybe we should all be /grateful/ he’s an idiot.”
Kariya turns away, unused to being the center of attention, not exactly sure if that was the smart thing to do. Not that he doesn’t have more important concerns. Neku is effectively out of the way, and the path to the little cafe is wide open. It’s a little less impressive, with a small bunny Noise hopping a few steps behind him, but Kariya is cool. He can deal.
-------------------
The nice thing about executing two people before lunch is that it makes dealing with the principal a lot easier. Neku finds he isn’t even worried, the part of him that’s still a school kid is silent now. He feels hard and cold instead, a thick, dead space standing as armor between him and the rest of the world, even without his headphones on. A snarky voice that sounds a lot like Joshua points out the principal’s rather ridiculous combover, the fabric on his suit that Shiki and Eri would surely shake their heads at - really, whatever his salary, he could do better.
“So, Mr. Sakuraba.” The man lifts the edge of the file in front of him, before letting it lay flat, glancing up at Neku and all of these little gestures are supposed to be intimidating, Neku knows. Might very well have been, once upon a time, before he’d spent three weeks dead and another week being in charge, watching people die. Making it happen. It hurts, cold and hard in the pit of his stomach and Neku looks out the window, forcing his expression to stay still and empty.
“It looks like you’re having a bit of trouble. Would you care to talk about it?”
Does that ever, ever work? Neku’s sure that his cool, shuttered expression isn’t doing him any favors here but he can’t actually get himself to care about it, all his emotions slipping away, all smooth glass where his heart should be. It wasn’t ever quite this bad, not even before the Game and the mural, not even when he’d been dragging himself through day after day - this is new, this curious detachment, this silence. Neku thinks he should probably be worried about it, but it’s so much easier not to care.
The principal frowns. “We’re a bit concerned about your recent performance in class.”
No. No, he’s not. At the surface there’s a little irritation, mostly that another student has invaded on the time he needs to do up a memo for the teachers, and always the recognition that every student’s performance reflects directly on what they can charge for tuition. Mostly, the principal’s thinking about the affair he’s having with the youngest math teacher, and her beautiful legs and the lingerie he’s purchased to slip off of them. Teal, with a little lace at the edges. Neku watches the thoughts pass by, no more interesting than the rest of them, as the man continues to make pointless noise.
He’s starting to get it, a little. Why Joshua is the way he is. How funny it might be, to watch people so wholly uncommitted to anything suddenly panic, suddenly fight so hard when the life they’re not even using is in jeopardy. No wonder Joshua got tired. Neku has only gone through a week of it, and he can’t imagine why he bothered. He’s sitting here now, because he cared so much about them, and now there’s no one left. No one.
Neku presses his hand against his mouth, hard, just for a moment. The principal doesn’t notice.
“We’ve attempted to get in touch with your father, several times.”
“He’s at a conference.” Neku says. “He should be back soon.”
The principal nods meaningfully, and Neku hears what he thinks about his father, about Neku himself, and the kinds of things he must be up to, on his own. Neku tries to see himself there in the man’s opinion, but there’s no him, just a cutout of every bad student the principal has ever had. It’s kind of amazing the man even bothered to look at his name.
“I think, Neku, you might want to reconsider the company you’re keeping.”
It’s the first real surprise of the entire meeting. Neku blinks. “I don’t…”
“I understand you’ve taken up with some of the more… eclectic members of our student body. We have many types of young men here for many reasons, some of whom are on quite different… paths than others.”
“Are you talking about Tsuyoshi?” He is, Neku can see his friend in the principal’s mind, or at least a detailed map of his piercings. If this had happened before the Game, he never would have asked the question, but he’s not intimidated anymore, nothing much to be afraid of after facing down a three-story tall Kitaniji. Neku’s aware that he’s making the man nervous, for reasons he doesn’t quite understand, and keeps himself from smiling.
Joshua toys with people like this, because really, the man is incredibly useless. The head of some school he thinks is more important than it could ever possibly be, he wouldn’t even merit a place in the Game. Not even a Game for principals. Neku tries not to cringe at that thought, of how carelessly he’s just thrown this man’s life away. Of how very little he’s capable of giving a shit right now.
The principal tries, inexplicably, for a smile of his own, but it’s weak and uncomfortable. “Your attendance has been slipping as of late, and if this continues, we expect that your grades will likely follow. You realize that we can’t help but notice such a decline in one of our brightest students.”
The rage is at his fingertips, blisteringly raw and coming from nowhere. Neku can feel it, lightning ready to strike. He doesn’t know what it would do, to release it, what effect if any it would have in the real world. His Frequency is off, he can still hear nothing but the Principal’s beige thoughts, longs to lash back with some of his own, decidedly less than bland - why didn’t they notice, when he was all alone? Why didn’t they notice how quiet he was, how he ate by himself every day, how he’d obviously done something wrong, but no one even cared enough to tell him what it was?
“I’m doing all right. I’ve been a little busy lately.” Part-time job, he doesn’t say, but thinks it, along with another moment of amazement - Tsuyoshi? Really? He’s not even /that/ over the top, a few piercings and a little black fabric not exactly going to blow up the world. Neku would tell him how he’d managed to put the administration on edge, if he didn’t think it was as likely to alarm Tsuyoshi as make him laugh.
“So, I can expect to not have a repeat of this week?”
Again, the clench in his chest, the ache down his bones and all that Neku’s done, clutching at him.
“I hope not.”
It’s the truth, practically a prayer, but the principal doesn’t hear the words for what they are, doesn’t see anything but what he expects to see, another wayward student to be nudged back into line, whatever it might take. He frowns, folding his hands over Neku’s file, and Neku imagines it is that other file, the one Vancouver might have shown him, with the future in it that never happened. Would it feel like this? So empty, and meaningless? How long did he survive there? He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t.
“You must have had other friends, Neku, before now. Why not make the effort to pursue those friendships?”
“Why don’t you leave your wife, sir, if Miss Inoue’s got such amazing legs?”
It comes in a rush, a snarl, before he can stop himself, and a part of him is shocked but the rest of him is quite satisfied to watch the principal go very pale, eyes widening, panic quickly taking the place of his bland professionalism. Finally, he has the man’s attention. It’s another Joshua moment, although the Composer would have been more subtle. Just refuse to give people the chance to be assholes, take that power away from them, and they are easy enough to control. Except there’s nothing all that impressive about being able to intimidate morons. It just hurts, like someone’s beating him up from the inside. So he’s blackmailing the head of his school. Yay.
“I’d like to go now, sir.”
Neku gives the principal the easy out, and after a moment the man recovers, and takes it. It seems very unlikely he will have to deal with the man again, at least face-to-face, and Neku doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t want to think about it, or anything else, especially not the anger that’s still leaving little fire flickers in the corner of his vision, the way the world wavers around him as his Frequency continues doing whatever it is it wants to do - nothing else is in his control, why should this be any different?
The bell is going to ring. The school day will end, and Neku realizes he is more than capable of Erasing anyone who crosses his path, that if he sees Minamimoto at any point in the near future, he’s just going to kill the man without a moment’s hesitation, and it’s probably going to feel pretty damn good, and that - Neku shivers - that is not a good thing. It’s every bad day, every one he’s ever had where he wanted the power to tear a hole in the world and now he’s got it to spare. Neku can feel it, the energy that makes him shiver, hot and cold, makes the world unsteady beneath his feet, just waiting for him to choose a target - no. God, no. He’s the Conductor of Shibuya and he will not hurt his city and he will not hurt anyone else, whatever it takes.
----------------------
The bell rings above the door, and Hanekoma knows instantly who it is, even if it’s a bit of a surprise. It isn’t at all safe for the Composer to be walking around during a Game week, with his powers still so heavily restricted, though with Joshua it’s rather more impressive that he’s endured his house arrest for this long.
“Coffee?”
“Tea.” Joshua slides into a seat at the counter with his usual quiet elegance. Favoring the old drinks more than usual these days, and Hanekoma sighs, goes beneath the counter for the overly elaborate setup of small cup - no handle, simple but expensive china, as Joshua had glared at him the last time he dared try and use a regular mug - and tea, and teapot. Once upon a time, he’d bought a plastic, single-cup brewing pot and strainer, a marvelously simple little device that was as easy as it was compact. Joshua had leaned forward, pointedly taken Hanekoma’s telekenesis pin from his pocket, and levitated it into the trash. Hanekoma has gotten back at him by demanding he use a saucer, and as long as he never goes lower than high-grade sencha, the truce stands firm.
Except that other things have changed, whether either of them will ever admit it, though they still know each other well enough to play pretend that nothing’s wrong. Joshua reaches into his pocket, pulls out a phone and slides it across the table. Hanekoma recognizes it, one of the last pieces of merch he slapped his art on, before the long Game and his longer dry spell. It really hasn’t been longer. Every day is just a goddamn eternity.
“Thanks for rubbing my face in it.”
A slight smirk, though Joshua tips his head down so it’s hidden under his hair. “If you’d killed me properly, maybe you could still manage to doodle.”
“I doubt it.” Hanekoma says, entirely serious. “So I’m guessing this is for Phones.”
“A gift for my Conductor, for his first successful Game.”
He never gave Kitaniji gifts. It never even came up, just not the way things were ever done in Shibuya.
Hanekoma hits the teapot with a pyrokenisis pin, and sets it next to Joshua to cool. “You want the usual features?”
“Yes, and I want you to add something, so I can turn it on remotely.”
Hanekoma laughs. “I think this will end up under a bus, if I do that.”
He looks up, when he realizes Joshua is not laughing, is not smiling at all. The look on his face is deceptively mild, fiddling with the lid of the teapot, reaching out for the proofs Hanekoma has been studying since Neku dropped them off. Simple sketches, but they’ll be perfect when they’re finished - the company might decide to go with more than one, print off variants. He’ll give Neku a day or two to ask for finals, since he’s already fulfilled his commitment days ahead of schedule - and yes, he’s as jealous as ever, thanks for asking.
“He did miss the Game, yesterday morning.” Hanekoma says, fishing for hints when the Composer offers nothing, and Joshua smirks, foxlike, always evasive except when he’s proud of himself.
“That would be my fault. I guess I wore him out.”
It could be innocent. Hanekoma could at least feign ignorance, if it were anyone other than Joshua talking, and he weren’t wearing that amused, possessive evil little smile and if there hadn’t been room for suspicion for at least a little while now, the exact particulars of the relationship between Composer and Conductor. Hanekoma still goes for the whiskey, more than justified in starting his day with a nice Irish coffee. The Composer picks up the teapot, gently swirling the brewing leaves.
“You won’t have to report it this week. The Game’s over.” Joshua says quietly, as if the words aren’t loaded. It’s like a parody of a rational conversation, where all the right things are said but the meaning is somehow exactly the opposite. Hanekoma puts his hands flat on the table, treading carefully.
“A day early?”
“Mm-hm.” Joshua sniffs, pretending to be engrossed in getting his drink exactly right, which Hanekoma knows is just bitter enough that no one else would dare touch it. He also knows what it means, for things to end early, and he can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Neku. The kid would have taken it hard, to have a Game go like that.
“Where is he, Josh?”
The bitter little laugh sends the hairs up on the back of his neck, Joshua looking down into his cup, turning it in his hand. “I wouldn’t know. He’s not answering his phone.”
Deliberate obtuseness - that’s a very, very bad sign. Hanekoma wishes he had the range he needs in this moment, his usual Producer ability to know exactly what’s wrong with Shibuya before the Composer even steps through the door. He’s so muted now, by the time he figured out what had gone wrong it would be raining sulfur.
“You need a phone to find him now, boss?” As if asking the question in an easygoing manner will somehow influence the outcome. The best case scenario, actually, is that Joshua tried to work around his limits and damaged his Frequency, or that he’s destabilized in some other way. And that’s the /best/ he can hope for.
“Neku’s not in Shibuya anymore.” He drops the bombshell with a calm, practiced ease, and flips around another of the sketches, staring at it more closely. “Well, this is a new style for you.”
“What do you mean, he’s not-” Hanekoma trails off, not at all sure where to take this conversation. It’s more than Neku wandering off to some other district - most large cities in the world allow their Conductors some mobility, and as far as Hanekoma knows most of them are simply curious about Neku, wouldn’t mind getting a chance to see him up close, no real danger there yet. Joshua has enough power even now to keep Neku from dying in any permanent way during a Game - and even if he did, even if one of the Reapers managed to get absurdly lucky, the Angels would not hesitate to send him the news of that particular Ascension. No other option he can imagine seems at all likely - not Fallen, not Neku - god, not /this soon/. Even if they’d had their eye on him, even if there had been an opening -
“I would think you’d give me a little more credit than that.” Joshua snorts, reading his thoughts, and his body is still young but his eyes are still and always the Composer’s eyes, and old, with a resignation Hanekoma hasn’t seen there in so long he thought that maybe, maybe pushing Shibuya to the brink of annihilation would be enough to banish it forever. Except it isn’t the way it was before, that grim boredom is thin and transparent in parts, and what rests behind it is fear. Hanekoma hasn’t seen Joshua pretending not to be afraid in so long, not since he was truly mortal, and it’s more than enough to lift him up and set him right on edge, just waiting to knock him over.
“Help if you talked to me, boss.”
“I doubt it.” The Composer says, still in that same, bland monotone, as if he really did come here for nothing more than a cup of tea and a shuffle through Hanekoma’s paperwork.
“Joshua.”
The Composer’s hand stills, and he lets out a breath, glancing toward the wall. “The last two Players today, they Erased their original partners at the end of yesterday’s Game. Neku took this as proof that they were worthy of a larger challenge, and adjusted the Mission accordingly.”
Hanekoma blinks, instantly untwisting Joshua’s particular view of the truth. It wasn’t a matter of time running out. So Neku, the Conductor, ordered an Erasure. Really, it was practically protocol. Even if the Players had made it through the rest of the Game, they never would have been allowed to return to life. Given a chance as Reapers, maybe - ironically, they had a better shot even at Ascending than they would at ever going home, although Neku’s final decision to even deny them that chance was certainly in line with precedent.
He’s a little surprised, trying to see it from Neku’s perspective, that he could reach that decision so quickly, especially after being pushed to that edge himself with his own partner. It hadn’t been a tactical move for him, though, only fear, Hanekoma knows that. Panic and confusion and that sense of betrayal that had followed him, even with his memories gone, such a part of who he was that even Joshua couldn’t erase it completely. The Composer believed Neku would be ruthless when it was necessary, and he’d been right until it had mattered most, until he’d been certain Neku would pull the trigger. The boy just didn’t operate like that, nothing so simple, so easy to understand. Even if he’d wanted to do this, Erase them, it would have cost him. His very first Game, to end like this…
“I knew he would get angry. I expected that… but he’s withdrawn from the city completely. He has no idea what he’s risking.”
Hanekoma blinks. “You can’t get him back.”
“I doubt Neku even knows anything is wrong.”
Joshua shrugs, takes another drink, and Hanekoma resists the urge to add another shot to his own mug. He doesn’t even know who to try to call, it’s been made quite clear that the Angels are not interested in hearing from him unless they ask. If they don’t know about this yet, bringing it to their attention won’t exactly make things better for either him or Joshua. Or maybe this is what they’ve been waiting for, maybe Neku is not quite as valuable as the one, final failure that will allow them to start over with Shibuya from scratch.
“I’m not as strong as he is, not now. Usually, it’s less than meaningless. He’s easy enough to anticipate. I thought…”
Joshua pauses, both hands around his cup, staring down at nothing. Hanekoma can fill in the gaps. He thought it wouldn’t matter, if Neku got angry, or upset, or hurt. He thought it would be a learning experience, a nasty lesson, and Neku would learn that he was simply being stubborn, trying to make a distinction between the Players and the Reapers, to believe that they weren’t all capable of the same ugly endgame.
“You know him, Josh. You knew Neku would pull away, when he got hurt. It’s what he does.”
“Yes, it is. He’s quite adept at it.”
It’s a feedback loop, then. Neku in his own little hell somewhere beneath the UG. Surrounded by negative emotions that will feed on each other, strengthening the Conductor’s detachment from Shibuya, pushing him further away from anything that might counter that distance, that despair. Bad enough, for Neku to put his headphones on and disappear from the world, but now he has more than enough power to truly disappear, not to be found if he doesn’t want it, not ever again, and he doesn’t even understand what he’s done.
“I can try to-”
“Oh I doubt anyone would show up in time, even if they did believe you.” Joshua flicks his hand in a slight, dismissive gesture. “If he doesn’t come back to me, he’ll Erase himself. Simple as that.” He sighs in something that would be annoyance in any other circumstances, fingertips tracing the curve of a line, the pictures spread around him. Proofs for the cover of an album full of silly nonsense, and Hanekoma knows people will remember Neku’s work long after they’ve forgotten the songs or the singer.
“You didn’t do these, did you?”
Hanekoma shakes his head. The sound he can hear, very lightly, is the cup, chittering ever so slightly against the saucer, because Joshua’s hand has started to shake. It lasts for half a second, no more, and then the Composer is standing up, still graceful, still every inch the ineffable ruler of his domain.
“If you could make those modifications to the phone, I’d appreciate it. And if you see Neku, tell him I’d like to see him.”
“Yeah, boss. You got it.” He has the impulse to leap the counter, do something, /anything/, even though he hasn’t so much as put a hand on the Composer’s shoulder for longer than he can imagine. Hanekoma occupies himself by rubbing at the edge of an already clean mug, until the bell rings over the door again, and Joshua is gone.
=======================
Author’s Notes:
1. Chapter title - “Funny the Way It Is,” Dave Matthews Band.
2. Well, now class is over until the fall. So with any luck that means I can get a few more chapters out a little faster. Thanks as always for reading. I don’t always know what to say to comments, but I do read them all and I’m very happy for your comments, and that you’re enjoying this.