(no subject)
Title: Signal to Noise - Boy with a Coin (24/?)
Author: twigcollins
Rating: PG-13. I love swearing
Warnings: Spoilers through end of game plus secret reports.
Summary: Hey, what’s the worst that can happen?
Author’s Notes: Cross-posted to subarashiki_ds
Archive of StN links available at AO3 and ff.net
Sorry, LJ wouldn't let me do this at once so I have to divide it in two.
It isn’t fair.
It just isn’t fair, and has grown increasingly clear to Minamimoto that all his pure and rational laws, all the formulas and rules he’s come to believe in are describing some universe that will never be this one. Nobody’s life ever sucks as much as his is capable of sucking, he is absolutely sure of that. If he’d known how irredeemably stupid and futile the Game was going to be - for fuck’s sake, he would have just stayed alive.
… and his hat is missing again.
Minamimoto shoves his hands hard into his pockets, slouching a little further in silent protest against the world. It doesn’t even cheer him up to throw the Wall up just as the first Player reaches it, sending her crashing to the ground as her Partner skids to a stop. No shouting, not a single sound as she pulls herself up off the ground - it’s the Player who doesn’t talk, even though she can use her voice against the Noise in battle, hitting octaves that make Minamimoto’s wings tremble, shattering the lower-level enemies like so many wine glasses. She’s looking at him as if she might want to try it now, her partner twisting a baseball bat awkwardly between his hands, though he’s knocked Noise into next week with it, not a bad swing.
“Wall Reapers make walls, Zeroes.”
The Player’s smile is unnerving - it’s all that damned Conductor’s fault. He’d… done something to the Players, not a single one of them panicked or worried the way they were supposed to be. The stupid kid is a null function, a fuckup, but all the Reapers just think it’s hilarious. Acting like it’s a big joke, when the Conductor isn’t supposed to be here at all, isn’t supposed to be wandering around during the Game and sure as hell isn’t supposed to be helping Players. It’s not like Minamimoto likes his fellow Reapers any better, but at least there used to be some kind of pride among them, some standards. No argument with the Iron Maiden’s policy of Erase First and Ask Questions Never.
Now Neku has most of the Reapers talking about getting good seats to the pre-Game show, hilarious to watch him fumble with the n00bs, and the last time Minamimoto brought up taking the Conductor down, all it earned him was a row of dirty looks. Higashizawa didn’t even bitch about being demoted - demoted, not even Erased - just shrugged and grumbled something about ramen. It’s only been a week - what the hell’s happened to his Game?
The Player’s been typing furiously on her phone, and Minamimoto rolls his eyes.
“Ain’t worth beating me up. It won’t get you past the barrier.”
She holds it up to him, and Minamimoto leans forward slightly, reading aloud.
“Yeah, but we can… do it… for fun.”
Ten minutes later and with his ears and bones both ringing from an impossibly high C, Minamimoto is stomping away from his post, all his walls down and the Players free to do whatever the hell they want. If nobody else is going to work from a logical axiom, he sure the hell isn’t going to bother.
He hears the whir of wheels on pavement, and nearly gets run down by one of the stupid Reapers they’ve imported from out of the district. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care why she’s on roller skates, and the glare goes totally unnoticed as she blurs past, intent on some epically stupid task. Usually he’d assume brutal mayhem against Players, but for all he knows the Harrier’s going to treat them all to shaved ice. First the stupid Conductor ruins his artistic vision and then he goes for destroying the Game from the inside out - and nobody’s even trying to stop him. All the Reapers are acting crazy, he’s not even going to get into that flirting shit Uzuki was doing earlier, before her little empty set of a partner showed up, because apparently it never happened - and then she goes and gets promoted. Promoted!
Minamimoto’s the one who makes paradigm shifts. He’s the one who understands the linear transformations when everyone else is scratching their heads. That’s the way it works.
So where the hell is his hat?!
It’s still wrong, but not very surprising to find the Games Master and the Conductor just standing around in the middle of the Game. As if either of them have any intention of actually helping, doing anything to stop the farce the whole UG has become.
“Hey!”
The Conductor looks up, and Minamimoto has the vague recollection that it hadn’t always been this way. He can almost remember a time when the stupid kid had looked - if not frightened - than at least a little uneasy, a little intimidated. Now, he sort of looks through Minamimoto, as if he’s got his mind on a dozen other, more important things, like what he’s going to have for lunch.
“So, is today the day you Erase me and take over Shibuya?”
The dry, disinterested sarcasm practically cuts the tips off his wings, and Minamimoto finds himself spluttering through jargon that, this time, can’t quite get the job done. “Fuck you!”
“All right, maybe tomorrow.”
Minamimoto glares. Neku isn’t looking, but a pair of beady eyes at shoulder level looks back, the tiny nose twitching. It’s the stupid bunny with the hat. The other one is currently nibbling on the ends of the Conductor’s shoelaces. How in the hell is this allowed to go on?!
“I know you did it.” He points at the tiny Noise, since no one else seems to be paying attention. “I want my hat back, you little Fibonacci-spawning bast-”
The cute little bunny sinks its cute little teeth into his finger, so fast he doesn’t even see it move. Minamimoto howls, leaping back, though the tiny creature is nonplussed, scratching at its ear with one back paw. The Conductor and the Games Master aren’t paying any attention, and as he tries to shake some of the sting out of his hand, Minamimoto finally notices the dark circles under Uzuki’s eyes, how pale her skin is, and the way neither one of them look more than half-awake.
“Hey… you both… kinda look like shit.”
Neku blinks. Uzuki blinks.
“So I don’t know all about being Games Master,” Neku says mildly, “but is there any way to change the day’s objective so they can find a particular Wall Reaper and beat him until candy comes out?”
“Mm? Yeah.” Uzuki pulls her phone out, half-heartedly punching in numbers. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Wait, what?” Minamimoto turns. Sees a pair of familiar figures turn the corner, the baseball bat against the boy’s shoulder like an announcement of asskickings to come. Watches them look at their phones, and then up at him. The singer smiles, it’s that Reaper smile again, the one no Player is ever supposed to have.
Minamimoto takes a step back, and another.
“Oh, you guys just suck.”
---------------------
Neku doesn’t go to the cafeteria, choosing the roof instead, grateful when there’s nobody up there to watch him wolf down a cold double lunch. He needs the time alone to try and… do something, think up some sort of… whatever. Stop seeing that horrible look on Josh’s face every time he closes his eyes. He’s already been called out once for not paying attention, the teacher not impressed when he was still able to give the right answer. Thankfully, the next period had the teacher looking at him only in concern, and though she didn’t say anything, it seemed like she was waiting for him to ask to be excused.
He’d go lie down - exhausted, what feels like twenty minutes’ sleep out of the whole of last night - but Neku can’t be in that nurse’s office, not ever again ever, and his hand slips into his pocket again and it takes a good deal of strength not to make the call, not to text /i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry/ until he is forgiven. He doesn’t even care how fucked up it is, to apologize for what he feels. If Joshua will just agree, he’s happy to put things back to how they were before.
He doesn’t want you. He never did. Yet another thought he’s had at least a thousand times, and Neku stares up at the clouds crossing the sky and banishes it yet again because it’s too easy, too obvious for the Composer. If Joshua was completely indifferent, he’d just be dead.
He only wants you on his terms. More likely, but exactly what that means or what he’s supposed to do about it now, Neku has zero clue.
You’re a freak. Of course you don’t know, because there’s something wrong with- No. No, maybe… maybe the last time, but not now. Again, if Neku was as screwed up and worthless as all that, there is no doubt the Composer would be the first one to let him know, hell, in seven-foot letters at Udagawa. So whatever’s wrong… there’s nothing Neku can do about it. Except…
Neku curls up, a little ball of misery with his head against his knees, knows he’s overreacting, he has to be for it to hurt this bad, but -admit it, moron - he needs Joshua. Helplessly, and desperately, by whatever terms the Composer will allow, and that’s so stupid - Neku knows how reckless and dangerous it is, that he’ll just end up eating that carte blanche. Joshua’s hardly going to respect him, when he has all the cards and Neku holds none, but there it is.
The Composer is carrying the ultimate trump anyway - Neku already knows what it’s like to try and live without him. And hell, before that? The last time he did this whole ‘losing his best friend’ thing?
Neku can’t do it again. Doesn’t really care how pathetic that makes him.
He’s been trying to distract himself since yesterday’s utter disaster, not that it’s been working. Absolutely no use trying to do anything creative, not wanting to hang out even though Shiki had called. Absently surfing the web, clicking mindlessly, until he’d finally remembered what Tsuyoshi had said. Two suicides, two dead musicians and no new Players, and Neku had started digging a little, just trying to count up the suicides in the last few weeks, cross-checking them against the list of Players from his last Game. It was hard, having to see all those faces again, people he couldn’t save - and then things started to get even more disturbing.
It wasn’t a lot of data, so new at being Conductor that he could have easily been missing the obvious, and Neku was kind of hoping he was wrong, searching for the perfect statistic that would prove he had no idea what he was talking about. Otherwise… there had been quite a few suicides in the past few weeks, while he was Conducting his first Game, and in the week that followed. Maybe it’s not more than normal, but still - a lot of younger people, and Neku’s saw words like ‘avid photographer’ or ‘talented musician’ more often than he thought was normal. All over Tokyo, and who knew, maybe everyone else’s numbers balanced out, maybe he was wrong - but for Shibuya, from what he could tell, there were a troubling number of people who should have been Players who hadn’t ended up as… anything at all.
His phone rings. Neku’s internal organs all shuffle themselves into a new arrangement and he nearly drops it, fingernails scratching at the case as he tries to get it open.
“Josh?” God, he sounds so needy. Stupid, stupid… “Josh, don’t hang up.”
“… what?”
Neku freezes. It’s a girl’s voice. His own damn fault for not checking the incoming number.
“Uh… sorry?” Neku grimaces. “I uh, I think you have-”
“Who is this? I just-”
“Wait, you called me and-”
“- oh Jesus, I’m going to kill her. I’m just going to kill her, this isn’t funny.”
They’re talking over each other, right up until the end, and even over the phone Neku can hear the girl’s voice crack on the last two words. Silence, for a minute, and he thinks maybe she’s hung up, and maybe he should hang up - but he can hear a soft noise, a kind of sniffling, like maybe somebody’s crying with their hand over their mouth to try and not make any sound.
“Hey. Uh… hello? Are you… are you ok?”
“Huh? Yeah.” More sounds, the phone being jostled, as if she’s trying to wipe away tears. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. I shouldn’t - why am I even - I should go. I shouldn’t be bothering you.”
Except she doesn’t sound fine at all. It’s not Shiki or Eri, he’d already be out the door if it was, but who else has his number? He’s been networking some, more people with his number now than ever in his whole life - why does she sound familiar? It’s not Vancouver, Neku hasn’t talked to her since Joshua… yeah, and he’s sure she’d give him some good advice but he’s not actually sure he wants good advice right now, and doesn’t need to go around bothering near-immortal strangers with his teenage love angst.
“You’re not bothering me. I mean, I’m not doing anything,” Just eating lunch and going crazy. “You don’t have to - but I mean, if you want to talk...”
“God, you are the last person in the entire world who should be nice to me right now. I mean, really, the last…”
Neku’s not sure what’s tipped him off, he barely heard her speak the first time, but he hazards a sudden guess. “Is this… Manhattan? You’re Manhattan’s Conductor, aren’t you?”
A very shaky sound, a little laugh of dismay, and he knows he’s right. Even more than that, he thinks he might know what’s wrong.
“I.. did you two… was it a fight?”
A repeat of the laugh, only louder and more painful, almost like a sob. Okay, so he’s not making this any better. For a moment, he’s sure she’s not going to answer, just going to hang up on him.
“It’s so hard.” The words seem as heavy as concrete, he can practically feel them pulling the phone down. “You know? It’s just… I’m not even talking about the job, that’s not even the worst-” A slight pause, he can hear her breathe. “You’re really the age you look, aren’t you? I asked, and they said that you were.”
“Yeah, I am.” Neku wonders if he should say any more, if it’s compromising Shibuya or - oh, hell with it. Just the hell with it. “I know, though. What you mean. I’m… with my Composer, too. We actually… we just had a fight ourselves.”
“Get used to it.” A real, soft chuckle this time, though her tone is gentle, knowing, and she sighs. “So, what did he do?”
Neku’s ears are burning. He’s stupidly glad that she can’t see him. “I… I told him that I… loved him.”
“Oh, god, that. That never works out well. You actually used the words?”
“Yeah.” Neku says, and there’s wry sympathy in her voice and he knows he’s not alone, then. Just being able to talk is lifting some of the crushing weight that’s been on his chest since last night, tossing and turning in bed and trying not to pick up the phone, not to go to Joshua’s apartment - the elevator wouldn’t work, even if he tried, he’s sure of it.
“You think it’s bad when you tell them you need them, try telling them you’re leaving.”
Neku laughs a little. “Go away, come back?”
An echo of amusement on the other end_. “Left turn only, no left turn,” she says, and sighs again, “My Composer… actually reprogrammed my phone to call you, because we got into our Thursday fight three days early and having me phone the Conductor that nearly Erased her is exactly the sort of overcomplicated passive-aggressive bullshit she likes to-” A pause, a hiss as she exhales. “Sorry. This can’t be worth listening to.”
“Would it piss you off, if I said it’s kind of helping?” Neku smiles, because he thinks she might be smiling too. “I heard about… I mean, your Game. I’m sorry. It’s got to be…” He cannot think of a way to end that without sounding like the kid he is, so Neku trails off instead.
“We have good days. It’s nothing like it used to be. I wish… but nobody gets to see that. It’s been a long time now, but everyone still knows we’re always one step away to deep-sixing the whole East Coast, so they don’t bother to look at what we’re actually doing. We’re not actually allowed to improve.”
“I… kind of know what you mean.” Is Joshua going to leave him to deal with the Angel all on his own? Oh, yeah, and Mr. H too, after Neku had made it pretty clear what he thought of him - and he can’t do this, not with all of them at once. It’s like a high-wire act, with his boyfriend on one end and his idol on the other and Neku’s in the middle and yeah, there’s no ground when he falls. “It’s like everyone’s already agreed on what’s going to happen, and what they’re going to do, and what you’re supposed to do. You don’t even get a vote.”
“Sounds like my bad luck rubbed off on you, Shibuya. Sorry about that.”
“I’ll tag you back at the next party.” It would be all right, if this call went on for a couple of years. Otherwise Neku knows he’s going to go back into his voice mail and play the last call Joshua left, from two days ago, the same way he’s played it like twenty freaking times, even though it’s just a suggestion that he ought to learn how to improve on his Noise form a bit, so Joshua can ride him around town.
“… I miss hanging up on him.”
Manhattan chuckles gently. “He won’t stay away forever. They never do. Just…” It’s hard to tell over the phone, but he’s thinking maybe that was the thoughtful sound of someone older than him, trying to figure out just how much to tell a kid his age. “If he’s anything like mine… god, they really don’t think you know anything, about why they’re so damn self-destructive. That you don’t get exactly why you’re being punished.”
Neku’s stomach does a really unpleasant cold, lurchy thing, like it’s been tossed into the air and comes back down icy and ready to bruise. He hadn’t put it into words before now, but yeah, she’s got it about right. Funny that being punished for something he didn’t mean to do could still hurt this much.
“So what… what do I do now?” It comes out almost as a whisper, he’s surprised she can even hear him.
“Shibuya… I am really not someone you should be taking advice from. Anybody can tell you that. My relationship with Manhattan isn’t exactly healthy on the best days.”
“My Composer shot me. Twice.”
Is it sad that she’s laughs, or that Neku can actually see the humor in it?
“All right then, so you know that they’re not, that Composers… it’s never going to be exactly sane… and you’re still with him. You really want to be with him, right?”
It hurts, to think about why he’s so sure, to think about not being with him. Hurts, that he could very well never get a chance to see Joshua again, let alone touch him, or hear that sarcastic bastard tone that knows so very well how to tangle him up inside.
“Yeah. I am. I do.” Wasn’t lying, when he said he’d loved him, even if he didn’t mean to say it. Neku wants to be in this for the long haul - he’s strong enough. He’s lasted this far, hasn’t he?
“Ok just… promise me, ok? Don’t actually listen to anything I have to say.”
He’s glad it’s the middle of a busy day, and the sun is shining, that he can look over the edge of the building and see people walking around. If Neku had to do this at night, alone, he’d be totally screwed. “Yeah, well, I can promise, but nobody else is all that interested in talking to me, so I think I still owe you one.”
“You’re really a sweetheart, aren’t you?” It makes him blush, and this time he kind of thinks she knows it. “Okay, so don’t beg. You probably know that, right? It sucks, but there’s not much you can do but sit and wait until he comes to you.”
Neku shakes his head. Why he ever thought he’d somehow steer clear of relationship drama, that he’d somehow rise above - well, from a distance sometimes stupidity looks a lot like confidence. “I can’t believe I need a plan for this.”
“Think about investing in some spreadsheets.” Her tone is wry, like she’s only mostly joking. “You already knew it wasn’t going to be easy, or fair. I knew it, too. I just have to keep… reminding myself. You’re the Conductor, he’s the Composer, and your UG is there, between you. Composers are… well, they’re selfish little high-maintenance divas - they have to be, to do what they do. We’re… well, it’s the city, isn’t it, that really matters? If someone’s going to bend-”
It will be him. Just like it was with Kitaniji. Who did way more than just bend - he broke, for what ended up being no real reason at all.
“You’re tough. I guess I know that as well as anybody.” And Neku wonders then, what she had to deal with, after the party. What she had said to Manhattan, what the Composer might have said back, and if she’d felt like he does now. “So it sucks, but you dust yourself off, and you learn how to put your heart back together again, on your own. Which is… exactly no help at all, really.”
“Yeah, well,” Neku sighs, “that’s how you know it’s true.”
---------------------
He half-expects to be ambushed by Kariya after school, more adventures in getting his ass beat across space and time, but of course when Neku could use the distraction there’s no sign of him. He’s the Conductor, he ought to be able to call up any of the Reapers at any time, but there’s no way he’d be comfortable with that, deeply uncool for the boss to go around phoning his employees like he’s got nothing better to do.
Neku doesn’t want to go home. Like, ever. The only thing that’s kept him together today is a steady, constant level of paying attention to anything but himself, and even that’s not working very well. He definitely doesn’t want to go into the UG, even if he’s off enough that it’s still bleeding into him, catching bits and pieces of other people’s feelings, and it should be reassuring but today it just reminds him how alone he is. A thousand people he doesn’t want to listen to, who don’t want to listen to him either, which would be fine if he had anything else to listen to, but he’s flicked through every song on his playlist and it all sounds the same and he can’t think of a place to be or a thing to do and the only thing Neku can think of is going up. Like he’d done with Kariya, when he’d freaked him out but it seems like the sort of thing that’s probably easier with a little practice, and it wasn’t bad, not really. At the very least, it’s quiet there. Peaceful, and if Joshua is censured maybe it means he can’t reach him there, which means Neku can stop pretending he’s not waiting around for the call that isn’t coming.
“Neku! Hey! Over here!”
It’s Shiki, with Rhyme a half step behind, and Neku is hit with a sickening combination of relief and dread, which makes no sense at all, and he barely keeps from dropping into the UG even though they’re staring right at him. He doesn’t want to be alone, but the thought of how much effort it’s going to take just to try and be normal seems completely overwhelming - and the Game’s only just started, and he has to go back to school, and Neku doesn’t want to touch anything he might break and that’s all of it. He didn’t do anything wrong and it doesn’t make any difference.
Neku finds a smile somewhere, for Shiki. At least she looks happy, and Rhyme too, and this will be a good chance to work on compartmentalizing this stuff, keeping his UG business separate from his Realground life, no matter how they keep threatening to collide.
“I thought you were busy this week.” So bright, her Music lifting him up even though he’s trying to keep himself in emo quarantine. “Did you manage to escape?”
“Oh… yeah. Yeah. Well, you know…” He can’t quite figure out how it’s supposed to go, can’t find the energy, and it’s not surprising when Shiki frowns, a little crease in between her brows. Looking at him, and it reminds him of the two of them, back in the Game, when he’d been a complete dick at every opportunity, and she’d stuck by him anyway. He won’t do it to her again.
“So, where are you two going?” He says, forcing brightness into the words, and Shiki smiles.
“Dragging Rhyme along to buy some craft stuff, since Beat has to work. I want to check out this store in Shinjuku, they have some sales. It was going to be a girl’s day out, but if you want, I mean…”
He should say no. He has homework to avoid and blank walls to stare at, and Neku doesn’t want to risk… he feels dangerous, somehow, like he’s covered in invisible spikes. He’ll say something, or do something…
People leave. It’s what they do.
So much for Manhattan’s pep talk.
“Neku?” Shiki’s hand presses lightly against his forehead, checking his temperature and just for a moment he shuts his eyes and leans into her touch. The last time he had to deal with this, he didn’t have anyone else to fall back on, to tell him he was still normal, still worth the time. This is better, so much better that the next smile he gives her doesn’t take any extra work.
“It’s fine. I’m just a little tired. It’s… already been a long week.”
“Will you come with us?” Rhyme says, her tone completely innocent, though her wide-eyed gaze has been professionally calibrated for maximum heartstring-tugging.
“You get everything you ask for on your birthday, don’t you?”
“Yep.”
---------------------
It’s all right at first, a good distraction. It’s the Realground, where everything is normal and he’s just a high-schooler and Shiki is happy to talk about the show, how things went really well and she even sold a few of the smaller pieces, and how Eri thinks they need to think about getting into shoes and handbags, which is apparently where the real money is. The train to Shinjuku is not as crowded as he’d expected, and they find three seats next to each other, with Neku in the middle.
“Do you know anything about websites?”
Neku shrugs. “A dozen ways not to build one?”
“I know a little.” Rhyme says shyly. “We had a class. I put up pictures of Beat at work, and a few recipes. The ones he’s learning, like those crepes he made you.”
The more they can talk about simple stuff, easy stuff, the less of a chance Shiki has to ask him about what he’s been up to lately. Neku can see she wants to, the worry never quite leaving her gaze, but luckily he’s got his computer with him and this thing seems to be able to get a signal from the center of the earth, so within a few moments he’s looking at the results of Rhyme’s first page build and… yep, totally better than his.
“This is really great, Rhyme. I don’t suppose I could hire you?” It feels nice when she smiles, and then Shiki gives him a friendly nudge.
“Hey, who says you have dibs? Don’t listen to him, Rhyme. I’ll pay you in… hats. Super cute jackets.”
It makes Rhyme laugh a little, and Neku lets Shiki take the stylus from him, minimizing the browser, opening up his most recent pile of sketches, and it’s only been a day, just a day that he hasn’t been able to put down a line without closing out of the program, and it’s so stupid how bad he’s panicking. No reason to worry, just this one day that none of the sketches even feel familiar, that he can’t imagine trying to reproduce any of what he’s already done, that even the feel of the pen in his hand is off. It’s all tied up together, he knows that, screwing up with Josh and not being able to get hold of it, to get it out on the page, and he can’t say which one is worse - it’s all the same and it’s all horrible.
Neku’s trying really hard not to ask the question, if this is something Josh can do, if it’s more than just being upset, if it’s worse than that. If the art is all Neku’s or even if it is, and Joshua might still be able to lean on him, use that Composer power to… take it away. Joshua can be cruel, he knows it, he’s lived it, but Neku trusts him. Until now he thought it was enough, that Josh thought it was enough. So much of what they have is in everything they don’t say, and Neku thought that was right. Fun. The way it was supposed to be.
Now it seems all his unspoken agreements were just assumptions, deals between himself and nobody.
It’s been a while since he’s gone outside Shibuya. Neku’s never left during a Game week. So when the train crosses the divide into Shinjuku he’s not expecting to feel it, let alone to have it jolt him so hard it’s like he’s been hit with a train going the other way. It pulverizes, a shrieking harmony pelting him with discordant bricks of sound - he doesn’t belong here and he’s not welcome, get out get out get out!
Vaguely, Neku feels the computer slip off his lap and there’s just enough of him paying attention to be glad when Rhyme catches it. Shiki has a hand on his shoulder but that is all he can feel and he’s sure she’s talking but he can’t hear that at all. Only the screeching of Shinjuku’s UG all around him, as he’s pulled further and further away from anything he knows. Neku folds his head down, curling his arms tight to try and catch his breath, to keep himself centered and steady and visible - he’s screwed if they see anything, if he can’t control his vibe and suddenly vanishes. Still slipping despite his best efforts, losing himself to the furious pull, Shinjuku trying to peck him apart like a thousand angry gulls. The sudden inspiration strikes, not so much thought as not wanting to hurt anymore - not wanting to hurt the UG anymore - and Neku breathes out and just lets go, focuses on keeping himself together in the RG, but giving himself over completely to Shinjuku’s Song.
One moment, where Neku thinks he’s made a terrible mistake, chaos and panic and a sudden, overwhelming emptiness - and then he can hear it, the feel of something reweaving inside of him. The Music of Shinjuku rising up, steady and calm and almost apologetic, the notes like soothing hands, ruffling his hair, burbling softly. Happy to have him.
Was this what it was like, when Joshua left Shibuya? So much he doesn’t know, that Joshua must deal with and Neku has absolutely no idea - and he slowly sits back up, tipping his head back, taking a deep breath. Only a few moments have passed, Shiki and Rhyme looking at him in concern and panic, but even if he feels like he’s just been used as percussion in the World’s Most Angry Speed Orchestra, no one else has even looked their way. Hooray for large, impersonal cities.
“Neku? Are you all right?”
It’s easy to nod, to reassure her. Now that Shinjuku wants to be friendly, he feels a little like he does at the end of a good concert, buzzed and happy and so flattened under the weight of being Conductor he might actually be two-dimensional.
“A little dizzy. It’s nothing, really.” Shiki doesn’t believe him. At all. “I promise, I’m okay.”
Just a few moments later, and the train pulls up to the platform, and they disembark. Neku’s been here plenty of times, but never like this, through the lens of Shinjuku’s Music - it feels vast, stretching out around him, and Neku doesn’t dare close his eyes, for fear he’ll get caught up in it, every detail, the thought of each person passing through the district. The Music is beautiful, an entirely different tempo from Shibuya’s, though not quite as complex - and Neku smirks, thinking Josh would approve of that, but it lands like a cold blow, right in his gut. At the moment, Joshua doesn’t want to hear anything from him at all.
Shiki leads the way, chatting mostly with Rhyme about what she’s looking for, although Neku offers up a fashion opinion whenever he’s sure it will make her glare at him in dismay and forget that she was ever worried. All of this, though, is just reminding him why he can’t see them on Game weeks, no way he can avoid seeming so spaced out. Even now, he can’t help but split his attention between the RG and the UG, though it doesn’t seem to be Game week here, no sign of any Reapers at all. It isn’t until his hand goes through the woman he thought would bump into him that Neku realizes he’s skipped over, though it lasts only an instant and neither Shiki or Rhyme seem to notice, the anonymous crowd too tightly packed and interested in their own business for anyone to pay much attention to a single disappearing, reappearing kid.
Despite the unexpectedly bumpy entry, and knowing he probably shouldn’t do it again, it’s not all bad, and after a little while Neku feels as comfortable as he has all day. At the very least, it’s keeping him from brooding alone - and then he catches sight of the rather enormous bird towering over the crowd, a silent shadow out of nowhere, and he tells his optimism to fuck right off.
The Conductor’s claws click lightly against the sidewalk, surprisingly quiet even though each talon is the length of his arm. It follows alongside them in the crowd, remarkably graceful despite being the better part of two stories tall. He’d forgotten just how big Kitaniji had been, though the pheasant Noise is not quite so large. Neku still can’t see its tail feathers without looking over his shoulder, red fronds with thin black stripes hissing where they slide against the pavement. Deep brown feathers, with dark crescents of black at the tips, a white v-shape at the neck and wine red around its eyes. It would almost look normal - except for being the size of a city bus - but where the feathers are parted around its chest, the only ivory there is bone. Neku can count the ribs, and look right through them to where a shape twitches now and then in the shadows, what must be the Conductor’s heart.
It’s not fair. Neku’s supposed to be sulking over being dumped by the boyfriend he can’t actually leave because he’s got this stupid job sticking bits of the world back in place. He shouldn’t have to get used to shit like this. He really shouldn’t.
“Oh!” Rhyme says, and Shiki has an arm out as she stumbles slightly, making a shy, annoyed face at the sudden bout of clumsiness, moving to the other side of where Neku is. Maybe she thinks there’s less to trip over there - Neku certainly doesn’t mind having her away from the bird, even if neither of them can see it, and it isn’t doing anything. Yet.
Finally, they reach the store - more like a building, a really big building - and Shiki makes a little face, excitement warring with the disappointment that she can’t just tear the whole thing off the foundation and drag it home.
“You two go inside. I’m going to stay out here for a little bit. Get some air.”
Shiki looks at him again, and Neku knows if he asked her to take him home, right now, she’d do it without thinking twice or complaining at all. It’s hard not to hug her, but that would definitely just freak her out more. Instead, he pulls out his cell phone - the one Josh gave him, and if he’s going to get all pathetic and start listing off things that remind him of the Composer that owns Shibuya, it’s going to be a really long list.
“I’ll text you if I need you. Promise.”
The temptation of discount fabric is too strong to ignore, and Shiki nods, and she and Rhyme disappear inside the store. It doesn’t take very long after that.
“Hey, asshole!”
It’s the tact and charm that makes the UG such a magical place, really. Between them the Composers and Conductors have endless eons of knowledge and wisdom and not a single etiquette book to pass around. Neku lets out a sigh, and turns, and at least now he’s looking at a girl instead of a giant skeleton bird… creature… thing.
Shinjuku’s Conductor is old enough to belong in college or her first real job or possibly a mental ward, wearing a deep blue kimono with white flowers along the rumpled edge, sloppily tied, with bare feet and a black leather jacket. It’s so aggressively anti-fashion it’s probably been on a runway just this week. Her eyes never look away from his, framed heavily with eyeliner, thin hands pushing blonde-tipped hair away from her face. Obviously trying to calculate just how hard to kick his ass so that he’d bounce once before he ended up back in Shibuya. Her wings stretch out wide and high behind her, and if Neku was having a better day he’d be impressed at the thought that she’s very unhappy to have him here.
“You can’t sound like that. Why do you sound like that?” Her right hand is flexed, poised, and though Neku can’t see a weapon he has the feeling that won’t matter. He looks down, which is stupid because he looks like himself, obviously, but Neku feels at least some need to try and placate her, even though there’s not much to work with. He’d be happy not to provoke her if he knew what the hell she was talking about.
“I… don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
It’s clear she doesn’t believe him, but there’s definitely a time limit on how long she can stand there about to cry havoc without actually diving in for the kill. Nobody’s ever waited for Neku to actually give them a reason before declaring war on his face, but when he doesn’t move, her wings finally fold down a bit, and a moment after that she’s got her arms crossed and is deliberately not looking at him, pretending she was never worried at all.
“We’re not taking her back, so don’t ask.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t like we had to send you anyone anyway, so you should be grateful.”
“What do you-” Neku finally catches up. “You gave me your reject Reapers. Yeah, okay, big surprise there.”
No answer. It occurs to him that she’s still waiting for him to attack, that he’s yet again making the rules up as he goes along, just by being here, and there’s probably some etiquette or laws but really he’s coming to appreciate the safe, protective layer of ignorance. Does he sound different, because of what he did coming in, making Shinjuku like him? As if Neku knows how to explain or apologize for any of it, so it’s better to just not mention it and pretend they’re thinking of anything else.
“Have you noticed anything odd happening here, in the past few weeks?”
“Liiiike… a Conductor showing up in my district unannounced, when I’m in the middle of my nap?”
It’s not even dark yet, but Neku figures it’s probably not a good idea to mention that.
“Like people dying, and not showing up in the UG. Players who ought to have been in the Game, but don’t show up.” A long pause. At least now Neku has a good idea of what the reaction shot will look like, if he should ever say the stupidest thing in the world. “Nevermind. I’m sorry I asked. Really, amazingly sorry.”
Neku’s been keeping his attention on the door, better to not have Shiki or Rhyme see him talking to invisible people, and Shinjuku’s Conductor follows his gaze with a puzzled frown.
“You’re alive, aren’t you? Like really alive.”
“Yes.”
“Wow. How lame is that.”
He used to make at least some effort at polite conversation. This was a thing that used to happen before he started hanging out with psychos with superpowers.
“Did you have a lot of time blocked on your schedule for telling me how much I suck? If you’re busy, we can just skip to the highlights.”
A weird expression on the Conductor’s face, one Neku doesn’t recognize, and she takes a step closer, and just about the time he’s thinking about what sort of weapon he’s going to want to have and if giant bird Noise feathers smell as bad as the real ones when they burn, she stops.
“So, how’d you do it?”
“I told you, I don’t know-”
“No no, not that. How’d you get so close to your Composer?”
As if he could answer that even before he’d ruined everything. Assuming this conversation means the same thing for both of them, that they’re using the same words in the same ways, which Neku has started thinking is very much not likely, he can’t even - why the hell does she need to ask that, now? Why does he have to do any of this?
“I heard you’re close, and you haven’t been Conductor, like, any time at all. So, how’d you do it so fast?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be that offended. Maybe that stupidest-person-of-ever look is just her default.
“So I can Erase my Composer. Why the hell else would I want to know?”
It shouldn’t be surprising. It shouldn’t bother him. Neku just knows what she doesn’t - though that thought is painfully funny - that he knows more about the UG, that the Composer is just another step, not the top, not even close. Entirely possible that she’d be completely disappointed to be the Composer, if the Producers - the Angels - would even let her have it. Why doesn’t anyone tell them? Is it all set up like this to keep them fighting each other - is that the whole point?
It’s not. You know it’s not.
It is and it’s not and why does nothing ever stay the way it’s supposed to? How can he learn a life-changing lesson on Thursday and have it disappear by the weekend? Show the Players on Monday how it’s all gonna be ok, and then have that feeling evaporate when he needs it the most. It’s one thing, to screw up in the UG but keep his Realground life mostly together, and even that hasn’t been easy, and now it’s pretty much all sunk. Neku doesn’t have the words for her. He doesn’t have the energy to try and make her understand, to even know that he should attempt it, and why does he feel disappointed? Maybe she really is the sensible one.
“Okay, you know… nevermind.”
The words are strangely soft, not annoyed or disgusted, so it takes Neku a moment to realize she’s said anything at all. Another to realize just why the Conductor sounds so breathless. Why she’s pale, and the look on her face is no longer contempt and now a lot more like fear. It’s a pretty new thing in his life, the look of terror. That she would really like to just be anywhere else - away from him - but she’s afraid to move because Shinjuku has gone silent. Completely and utterly still around them, and Neku is about to say that he didn’t do it, he doesn’t know what’s wrong but he didn’t do it, when he realizes it’s not that simple. He didn’t mean to do it, but even as his thoughts turn away from the worst of his bitter contemplation, Neku can hear the Music rising up around them, like the dial on a stereo slowly turning back up. It seems fine, undamaged, but what the hell could he have done, when he doesn’t know what he just did?
“… what are you?”
The Conductor whispers, and shudders, wings tucked back tight against her shoulders, and Neku doesn’t know what’s going on, how he can manage a reaction like that when Kitaniji nearly bit him in two. He feels like he should apologize, and then wonders if he’d care if she were still throwing attitude around, if he hadn’t made her more pitiable by scaring the hell out of her, by showing how easily he could crush her. Neku takes a deep, steady breath and does everything he can to stop thinking. It’s his stupid emotions that are causing this, and he needs to be very careful, he needs to get back to Shibuya without breaking half of Tokyo on the way and then…
He’ll have to talk to Mr. H, as soon as he can bring himself to do it. The rest of it doesn’t matter, how he lied or why or even if there’s more lies Neku doesn’t know about. Manhattan was right, Shibuya’s more important than anything else.
Shinjuku’s Conductor is still looking at him, waiting for some kind of answer, but Neku can’t give her what he doesn’t have.
“I’m going to go now.” It sounds stupid, Joshua would have something clever and cutting to back up his ridiculous abuses of power, but as unnerved as Neku feels the Conductor still looks rattled half out of her skin. “I’ll tell you before I show up, next time.”
A slight nod, and he’s aware that she might decide to attack him the moment he turns around, that making people afraid is just one small step from making them angry. Neku doesn’t want to start anything, doesn’t want this stupid accident to get back to Shinjuku’s Composer but it probably already has, and he doesn’t know what to do. Five days left in the Game and he can’t imagine another five minutes.
Despite his worries, nothing happens, and when he looks back from the door, Shinjuku’s Conductor is gone. Neku follows the happy peal of Shiki’s Music to where she’s staggering under the load of two large bags packed with fabric, Rhyme with what looks like a slightly more sensible starter kit, and he wants to make a joke about it being contagious, but then Shiki catches sight of him and her Music changes, suddenly sharp and pitched an octave higher and he can hear exactly what she’s thinking - how can he look worse than when we left him?
“Hey.”
“H-hey, Neku.” Shiki returns the smile, but it’s pure worry in her eyes, and he can’t tell her anything even if he wanted to explain, too tired to even think of a convincing story. “We were thinking… we might get dinner around here. Are you hungry?”
He is absolutely starving, but the thought of eating makes his stomach lurch.
“I’m gonna have to pass on that. I think I might be coming down with something.”
Nothing serious, just a flare-up on his chronic case of fail.
Author: twigcollins
Rating: PG-13. I love swearing
Warnings: Spoilers through end of game plus secret reports.
Summary: Hey, what’s the worst that can happen?
Author’s Notes: Cross-posted to subarashiki_ds
Archive of StN links available at AO3 and ff.net
Sorry, LJ wouldn't let me do this at once so I have to divide it in two.
It isn’t fair.
It just isn’t fair, and has grown increasingly clear to Minamimoto that all his pure and rational laws, all the formulas and rules he’s come to believe in are describing some universe that will never be this one. Nobody’s life ever sucks as much as his is capable of sucking, he is absolutely sure of that. If he’d known how irredeemably stupid and futile the Game was going to be - for fuck’s sake, he would have just stayed alive.
… and his hat is missing again.
Minamimoto shoves his hands hard into his pockets, slouching a little further in silent protest against the world. It doesn’t even cheer him up to throw the Wall up just as the first Player reaches it, sending her crashing to the ground as her Partner skids to a stop. No shouting, not a single sound as she pulls herself up off the ground - it’s the Player who doesn’t talk, even though she can use her voice against the Noise in battle, hitting octaves that make Minamimoto’s wings tremble, shattering the lower-level enemies like so many wine glasses. She’s looking at him as if she might want to try it now, her partner twisting a baseball bat awkwardly between his hands, though he’s knocked Noise into next week with it, not a bad swing.
“Wall Reapers make walls, Zeroes.”
The Player’s smile is unnerving - it’s all that damned Conductor’s fault. He’d… done something to the Players, not a single one of them panicked or worried the way they were supposed to be. The stupid kid is a null function, a fuckup, but all the Reapers just think it’s hilarious. Acting like it’s a big joke, when the Conductor isn’t supposed to be here at all, isn’t supposed to be wandering around during the Game and sure as hell isn’t supposed to be helping Players. It’s not like Minamimoto likes his fellow Reapers any better, but at least there used to be some kind of pride among them, some standards. No argument with the Iron Maiden’s policy of Erase First and Ask Questions Never.
Now Neku has most of the Reapers talking about getting good seats to the pre-Game show, hilarious to watch him fumble with the n00bs, and the last time Minamimoto brought up taking the Conductor down, all it earned him was a row of dirty looks. Higashizawa didn’t even bitch about being demoted - demoted, not even Erased - just shrugged and grumbled something about ramen. It’s only been a week - what the hell’s happened to his Game?
The Player’s been typing furiously on her phone, and Minamimoto rolls his eyes.
“Ain’t worth beating me up. It won’t get you past the barrier.”
She holds it up to him, and Minamimoto leans forward slightly, reading aloud.
“Yeah, but we can… do it… for fun.”
Ten minutes later and with his ears and bones both ringing from an impossibly high C, Minamimoto is stomping away from his post, all his walls down and the Players free to do whatever the hell they want. If nobody else is going to work from a logical axiom, he sure the hell isn’t going to bother.
He hears the whir of wheels on pavement, and nearly gets run down by one of the stupid Reapers they’ve imported from out of the district. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care why she’s on roller skates, and the glare goes totally unnoticed as she blurs past, intent on some epically stupid task. Usually he’d assume brutal mayhem against Players, but for all he knows the Harrier’s going to treat them all to shaved ice. First the stupid Conductor ruins his artistic vision and then he goes for destroying the Game from the inside out - and nobody’s even trying to stop him. All the Reapers are acting crazy, he’s not even going to get into that flirting shit Uzuki was doing earlier, before her little empty set of a partner showed up, because apparently it never happened - and then she goes and gets promoted. Promoted!
Minamimoto’s the one who makes paradigm shifts. He’s the one who understands the linear transformations when everyone else is scratching their heads. That’s the way it works.
So where the hell is his hat?!
It’s still wrong, but not very surprising to find the Games Master and the Conductor just standing around in the middle of the Game. As if either of them have any intention of actually helping, doing anything to stop the farce the whole UG has become.
“Hey!”
The Conductor looks up, and Minamimoto has the vague recollection that it hadn’t always been this way. He can almost remember a time when the stupid kid had looked - if not frightened - than at least a little uneasy, a little intimidated. Now, he sort of looks through Minamimoto, as if he’s got his mind on a dozen other, more important things, like what he’s going to have for lunch.
“So, is today the day you Erase me and take over Shibuya?”
The dry, disinterested sarcasm practically cuts the tips off his wings, and Minamimoto finds himself spluttering through jargon that, this time, can’t quite get the job done. “Fuck you!”
“All right, maybe tomorrow.”
Minamimoto glares. Neku isn’t looking, but a pair of beady eyes at shoulder level looks back, the tiny nose twitching. It’s the stupid bunny with the hat. The other one is currently nibbling on the ends of the Conductor’s shoelaces. How in the hell is this allowed to go on?!
“I know you did it.” He points at the tiny Noise, since no one else seems to be paying attention. “I want my hat back, you little Fibonacci-spawning bast-”
The cute little bunny sinks its cute little teeth into his finger, so fast he doesn’t even see it move. Minamimoto howls, leaping back, though the tiny creature is nonplussed, scratching at its ear with one back paw. The Conductor and the Games Master aren’t paying any attention, and as he tries to shake some of the sting out of his hand, Minamimoto finally notices the dark circles under Uzuki’s eyes, how pale her skin is, and the way neither one of them look more than half-awake.
“Hey… you both… kinda look like shit.”
Neku blinks. Uzuki blinks.
“So I don’t know all about being Games Master,” Neku says mildly, “but is there any way to change the day’s objective so they can find a particular Wall Reaper and beat him until candy comes out?”
“Mm? Yeah.” Uzuki pulls her phone out, half-heartedly punching in numbers. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Wait, what?” Minamimoto turns. Sees a pair of familiar figures turn the corner, the baseball bat against the boy’s shoulder like an announcement of asskickings to come. Watches them look at their phones, and then up at him. The singer smiles, it’s that Reaper smile again, the one no Player is ever supposed to have.
Minamimoto takes a step back, and another.
“Oh, you guys just suck.”
---------------------
Neku doesn’t go to the cafeteria, choosing the roof instead, grateful when there’s nobody up there to watch him wolf down a cold double lunch. He needs the time alone to try and… do something, think up some sort of… whatever. Stop seeing that horrible look on Josh’s face every time he closes his eyes. He’s already been called out once for not paying attention, the teacher not impressed when he was still able to give the right answer. Thankfully, the next period had the teacher looking at him only in concern, and though she didn’t say anything, it seemed like she was waiting for him to ask to be excused.
He’d go lie down - exhausted, what feels like twenty minutes’ sleep out of the whole of last night - but Neku can’t be in that nurse’s office, not ever again ever, and his hand slips into his pocket again and it takes a good deal of strength not to make the call, not to text /i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry/ until he is forgiven. He doesn’t even care how fucked up it is, to apologize for what he feels. If Joshua will just agree, he’s happy to put things back to how they were before.
He doesn’t want you. He never did. Yet another thought he’s had at least a thousand times, and Neku stares up at the clouds crossing the sky and banishes it yet again because it’s too easy, too obvious for the Composer. If Joshua was completely indifferent, he’d just be dead.
He only wants you on his terms. More likely, but exactly what that means or what he’s supposed to do about it now, Neku has zero clue.
You’re a freak. Of course you don’t know, because there’s something wrong with- No. No, maybe… maybe the last time, but not now. Again, if Neku was as screwed up and worthless as all that, there is no doubt the Composer would be the first one to let him know, hell, in seven-foot letters at Udagawa. So whatever’s wrong… there’s nothing Neku can do about it. Except…
Neku curls up, a little ball of misery with his head against his knees, knows he’s overreacting, he has to be for it to hurt this bad, but -admit it, moron - he needs Joshua. Helplessly, and desperately, by whatever terms the Composer will allow, and that’s so stupid - Neku knows how reckless and dangerous it is, that he’ll just end up eating that carte blanche. Joshua’s hardly going to respect him, when he has all the cards and Neku holds none, but there it is.
The Composer is carrying the ultimate trump anyway - Neku already knows what it’s like to try and live without him. And hell, before that? The last time he did this whole ‘losing his best friend’ thing?
Neku can’t do it again. Doesn’t really care how pathetic that makes him.
He’s been trying to distract himself since yesterday’s utter disaster, not that it’s been working. Absolutely no use trying to do anything creative, not wanting to hang out even though Shiki had called. Absently surfing the web, clicking mindlessly, until he’d finally remembered what Tsuyoshi had said. Two suicides, two dead musicians and no new Players, and Neku had started digging a little, just trying to count up the suicides in the last few weeks, cross-checking them against the list of Players from his last Game. It was hard, having to see all those faces again, people he couldn’t save - and then things started to get even more disturbing.
It wasn’t a lot of data, so new at being Conductor that he could have easily been missing the obvious, and Neku was kind of hoping he was wrong, searching for the perfect statistic that would prove he had no idea what he was talking about. Otherwise… there had been quite a few suicides in the past few weeks, while he was Conducting his first Game, and in the week that followed. Maybe it’s not more than normal, but still - a lot of younger people, and Neku’s saw words like ‘avid photographer’ or ‘talented musician’ more often than he thought was normal. All over Tokyo, and who knew, maybe everyone else’s numbers balanced out, maybe he was wrong - but for Shibuya, from what he could tell, there were a troubling number of people who should have been Players who hadn’t ended up as… anything at all.
His phone rings. Neku’s internal organs all shuffle themselves into a new arrangement and he nearly drops it, fingernails scratching at the case as he tries to get it open.
“Josh?” God, he sounds so needy. Stupid, stupid… “Josh, don’t hang up.”
“… what?”
Neku freezes. It’s a girl’s voice. His own damn fault for not checking the incoming number.
“Uh… sorry?” Neku grimaces. “I uh, I think you have-”
“Who is this? I just-”
“Wait, you called me and-”
“- oh Jesus, I’m going to kill her. I’m just going to kill her, this isn’t funny.”
They’re talking over each other, right up until the end, and even over the phone Neku can hear the girl’s voice crack on the last two words. Silence, for a minute, and he thinks maybe she’s hung up, and maybe he should hang up - but he can hear a soft noise, a kind of sniffling, like maybe somebody’s crying with their hand over their mouth to try and not make any sound.
“Hey. Uh… hello? Are you… are you ok?”
“Huh? Yeah.” More sounds, the phone being jostled, as if she’s trying to wipe away tears. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. I shouldn’t - why am I even - I should go. I shouldn’t be bothering you.”
Except she doesn’t sound fine at all. It’s not Shiki or Eri, he’d already be out the door if it was, but who else has his number? He’s been networking some, more people with his number now than ever in his whole life - why does she sound familiar? It’s not Vancouver, Neku hasn’t talked to her since Joshua… yeah, and he’s sure she’d give him some good advice but he’s not actually sure he wants good advice right now, and doesn’t need to go around bothering near-immortal strangers with his teenage love angst.
“You’re not bothering me. I mean, I’m not doing anything,” Just eating lunch and going crazy. “You don’t have to - but I mean, if you want to talk...”
“God, you are the last person in the entire world who should be nice to me right now. I mean, really, the last…”
Neku’s not sure what’s tipped him off, he barely heard her speak the first time, but he hazards a sudden guess. “Is this… Manhattan? You’re Manhattan’s Conductor, aren’t you?”
A very shaky sound, a little laugh of dismay, and he knows he’s right. Even more than that, he thinks he might know what’s wrong.
“I.. did you two… was it a fight?”
A repeat of the laugh, only louder and more painful, almost like a sob. Okay, so he’s not making this any better. For a moment, he’s sure she’s not going to answer, just going to hang up on him.
“It’s so hard.” The words seem as heavy as concrete, he can practically feel them pulling the phone down. “You know? It’s just… I’m not even talking about the job, that’s not even the worst-” A slight pause, he can hear her breathe. “You’re really the age you look, aren’t you? I asked, and they said that you were.”
“Yeah, I am.” Neku wonders if he should say any more, if it’s compromising Shibuya or - oh, hell with it. Just the hell with it. “I know, though. What you mean. I’m… with my Composer, too. We actually… we just had a fight ourselves.”
“Get used to it.” A real, soft chuckle this time, though her tone is gentle, knowing, and she sighs. “So, what did he do?”
Neku’s ears are burning. He’s stupidly glad that she can’t see him. “I… I told him that I… loved him.”
“Oh, god, that. That never works out well. You actually used the words?”
“Yeah.” Neku says, and there’s wry sympathy in her voice and he knows he’s not alone, then. Just being able to talk is lifting some of the crushing weight that’s been on his chest since last night, tossing and turning in bed and trying not to pick up the phone, not to go to Joshua’s apartment - the elevator wouldn’t work, even if he tried, he’s sure of it.
“You think it’s bad when you tell them you need them, try telling them you’re leaving.”
Neku laughs a little. “Go away, come back?”
An echo of amusement on the other end_. “Left turn only, no left turn,” she says, and sighs again, “My Composer… actually reprogrammed my phone to call you, because we got into our Thursday fight three days early and having me phone the Conductor that nearly Erased her is exactly the sort of overcomplicated passive-aggressive bullshit she likes to-” A pause, a hiss as she exhales. “Sorry. This can’t be worth listening to.”
“Would it piss you off, if I said it’s kind of helping?” Neku smiles, because he thinks she might be smiling too. “I heard about… I mean, your Game. I’m sorry. It’s got to be…” He cannot think of a way to end that without sounding like the kid he is, so Neku trails off instead.
“We have good days. It’s nothing like it used to be. I wish… but nobody gets to see that. It’s been a long time now, but everyone still knows we’re always one step away to deep-sixing the whole East Coast, so they don’t bother to look at what we’re actually doing. We’re not actually allowed to improve.”
“I… kind of know what you mean.” Is Joshua going to leave him to deal with the Angel all on his own? Oh, yeah, and Mr. H too, after Neku had made it pretty clear what he thought of him - and he can’t do this, not with all of them at once. It’s like a high-wire act, with his boyfriend on one end and his idol on the other and Neku’s in the middle and yeah, there’s no ground when he falls. “It’s like everyone’s already agreed on what’s going to happen, and what they’re going to do, and what you’re supposed to do. You don’t even get a vote.”
“Sounds like my bad luck rubbed off on you, Shibuya. Sorry about that.”
“I’ll tag you back at the next party.” It would be all right, if this call went on for a couple of years. Otherwise Neku knows he’s going to go back into his voice mail and play the last call Joshua left, from two days ago, the same way he’s played it like twenty freaking times, even though it’s just a suggestion that he ought to learn how to improve on his Noise form a bit, so Joshua can ride him around town.
“… I miss hanging up on him.”
Manhattan chuckles gently. “He won’t stay away forever. They never do. Just…” It’s hard to tell over the phone, but he’s thinking maybe that was the thoughtful sound of someone older than him, trying to figure out just how much to tell a kid his age. “If he’s anything like mine… god, they really don’t think you know anything, about why they’re so damn self-destructive. That you don’t get exactly why you’re being punished.”
Neku’s stomach does a really unpleasant cold, lurchy thing, like it’s been tossed into the air and comes back down icy and ready to bruise. He hadn’t put it into words before now, but yeah, she’s got it about right. Funny that being punished for something he didn’t mean to do could still hurt this much.
“So what… what do I do now?” It comes out almost as a whisper, he’s surprised she can even hear him.
“Shibuya… I am really not someone you should be taking advice from. Anybody can tell you that. My relationship with Manhattan isn’t exactly healthy on the best days.”
“My Composer shot me. Twice.”
Is it sad that she’s laughs, or that Neku can actually see the humor in it?
“All right then, so you know that they’re not, that Composers… it’s never going to be exactly sane… and you’re still with him. You really want to be with him, right?”
It hurts, to think about why he’s so sure, to think about not being with him. Hurts, that he could very well never get a chance to see Joshua again, let alone touch him, or hear that sarcastic bastard tone that knows so very well how to tangle him up inside.
“Yeah. I am. I do.” Wasn’t lying, when he said he’d loved him, even if he didn’t mean to say it. Neku wants to be in this for the long haul - he’s strong enough. He’s lasted this far, hasn’t he?
“Ok just… promise me, ok? Don’t actually listen to anything I have to say.”
He’s glad it’s the middle of a busy day, and the sun is shining, that he can look over the edge of the building and see people walking around. If Neku had to do this at night, alone, he’d be totally screwed. “Yeah, well, I can promise, but nobody else is all that interested in talking to me, so I think I still owe you one.”
“You’re really a sweetheart, aren’t you?” It makes him blush, and this time he kind of thinks she knows it. “Okay, so don’t beg. You probably know that, right? It sucks, but there’s not much you can do but sit and wait until he comes to you.”
Neku shakes his head. Why he ever thought he’d somehow steer clear of relationship drama, that he’d somehow rise above - well, from a distance sometimes stupidity looks a lot like confidence. “I can’t believe I need a plan for this.”
“Think about investing in some spreadsheets.” Her tone is wry, like she’s only mostly joking. “You already knew it wasn’t going to be easy, or fair. I knew it, too. I just have to keep… reminding myself. You’re the Conductor, he’s the Composer, and your UG is there, between you. Composers are… well, they’re selfish little high-maintenance divas - they have to be, to do what they do. We’re… well, it’s the city, isn’t it, that really matters? If someone’s going to bend-”
It will be him. Just like it was with Kitaniji. Who did way more than just bend - he broke, for what ended up being no real reason at all.
“You’re tough. I guess I know that as well as anybody.” And Neku wonders then, what she had to deal with, after the party. What she had said to Manhattan, what the Composer might have said back, and if she’d felt like he does now. “So it sucks, but you dust yourself off, and you learn how to put your heart back together again, on your own. Which is… exactly no help at all, really.”
“Yeah, well,” Neku sighs, “that’s how you know it’s true.”
---------------------
He half-expects to be ambushed by Kariya after school, more adventures in getting his ass beat across space and time, but of course when Neku could use the distraction there’s no sign of him. He’s the Conductor, he ought to be able to call up any of the Reapers at any time, but there’s no way he’d be comfortable with that, deeply uncool for the boss to go around phoning his employees like he’s got nothing better to do.
Neku doesn’t want to go home. Like, ever. The only thing that’s kept him together today is a steady, constant level of paying attention to anything but himself, and even that’s not working very well. He definitely doesn’t want to go into the UG, even if he’s off enough that it’s still bleeding into him, catching bits and pieces of other people’s feelings, and it should be reassuring but today it just reminds him how alone he is. A thousand people he doesn’t want to listen to, who don’t want to listen to him either, which would be fine if he had anything else to listen to, but he’s flicked through every song on his playlist and it all sounds the same and he can’t think of a place to be or a thing to do and the only thing Neku can think of is going up. Like he’d done with Kariya, when he’d freaked him out but it seems like the sort of thing that’s probably easier with a little practice, and it wasn’t bad, not really. At the very least, it’s quiet there. Peaceful, and if Joshua is censured maybe it means he can’t reach him there, which means Neku can stop pretending he’s not waiting around for the call that isn’t coming.
“Neku! Hey! Over here!”
It’s Shiki, with Rhyme a half step behind, and Neku is hit with a sickening combination of relief and dread, which makes no sense at all, and he barely keeps from dropping into the UG even though they’re staring right at him. He doesn’t want to be alone, but the thought of how much effort it’s going to take just to try and be normal seems completely overwhelming - and the Game’s only just started, and he has to go back to school, and Neku doesn’t want to touch anything he might break and that’s all of it. He didn’t do anything wrong and it doesn’t make any difference.
Neku finds a smile somewhere, for Shiki. At least she looks happy, and Rhyme too, and this will be a good chance to work on compartmentalizing this stuff, keeping his UG business separate from his Realground life, no matter how they keep threatening to collide.
“I thought you were busy this week.” So bright, her Music lifting him up even though he’s trying to keep himself in emo quarantine. “Did you manage to escape?”
“Oh… yeah. Yeah. Well, you know…” He can’t quite figure out how it’s supposed to go, can’t find the energy, and it’s not surprising when Shiki frowns, a little crease in between her brows. Looking at him, and it reminds him of the two of them, back in the Game, when he’d been a complete dick at every opportunity, and she’d stuck by him anyway. He won’t do it to her again.
“So, where are you two going?” He says, forcing brightness into the words, and Shiki smiles.
“Dragging Rhyme along to buy some craft stuff, since Beat has to work. I want to check out this store in Shinjuku, they have some sales. It was going to be a girl’s day out, but if you want, I mean…”
He should say no. He has homework to avoid and blank walls to stare at, and Neku doesn’t want to risk… he feels dangerous, somehow, like he’s covered in invisible spikes. He’ll say something, or do something…
People leave. It’s what they do.
So much for Manhattan’s pep talk.
“Neku?” Shiki’s hand presses lightly against his forehead, checking his temperature and just for a moment he shuts his eyes and leans into her touch. The last time he had to deal with this, he didn’t have anyone else to fall back on, to tell him he was still normal, still worth the time. This is better, so much better that the next smile he gives her doesn’t take any extra work.
“It’s fine. I’m just a little tired. It’s… already been a long week.”
“Will you come with us?” Rhyme says, her tone completely innocent, though her wide-eyed gaze has been professionally calibrated for maximum heartstring-tugging.
“You get everything you ask for on your birthday, don’t you?”
“Yep.”
---------------------
It’s all right at first, a good distraction. It’s the Realground, where everything is normal and he’s just a high-schooler and Shiki is happy to talk about the show, how things went really well and she even sold a few of the smaller pieces, and how Eri thinks they need to think about getting into shoes and handbags, which is apparently where the real money is. The train to Shinjuku is not as crowded as he’d expected, and they find three seats next to each other, with Neku in the middle.
“Do you know anything about websites?”
Neku shrugs. “A dozen ways not to build one?”
“I know a little.” Rhyme says shyly. “We had a class. I put up pictures of Beat at work, and a few recipes. The ones he’s learning, like those crepes he made you.”
The more they can talk about simple stuff, easy stuff, the less of a chance Shiki has to ask him about what he’s been up to lately. Neku can see she wants to, the worry never quite leaving her gaze, but luckily he’s got his computer with him and this thing seems to be able to get a signal from the center of the earth, so within a few moments he’s looking at the results of Rhyme’s first page build and… yep, totally better than his.
“This is really great, Rhyme. I don’t suppose I could hire you?” It feels nice when she smiles, and then Shiki gives him a friendly nudge.
“Hey, who says you have dibs? Don’t listen to him, Rhyme. I’ll pay you in… hats. Super cute jackets.”
It makes Rhyme laugh a little, and Neku lets Shiki take the stylus from him, minimizing the browser, opening up his most recent pile of sketches, and it’s only been a day, just a day that he hasn’t been able to put down a line without closing out of the program, and it’s so stupid how bad he’s panicking. No reason to worry, just this one day that none of the sketches even feel familiar, that he can’t imagine trying to reproduce any of what he’s already done, that even the feel of the pen in his hand is off. It’s all tied up together, he knows that, screwing up with Josh and not being able to get hold of it, to get it out on the page, and he can’t say which one is worse - it’s all the same and it’s all horrible.
Neku’s trying really hard not to ask the question, if this is something Josh can do, if it’s more than just being upset, if it’s worse than that. If the art is all Neku’s or even if it is, and Joshua might still be able to lean on him, use that Composer power to… take it away. Joshua can be cruel, he knows it, he’s lived it, but Neku trusts him. Until now he thought it was enough, that Josh thought it was enough. So much of what they have is in everything they don’t say, and Neku thought that was right. Fun. The way it was supposed to be.
Now it seems all his unspoken agreements were just assumptions, deals between himself and nobody.
It’s been a while since he’s gone outside Shibuya. Neku’s never left during a Game week. So when the train crosses the divide into Shinjuku he’s not expecting to feel it, let alone to have it jolt him so hard it’s like he’s been hit with a train going the other way. It pulverizes, a shrieking harmony pelting him with discordant bricks of sound - he doesn’t belong here and he’s not welcome, get out get out get out!
Vaguely, Neku feels the computer slip off his lap and there’s just enough of him paying attention to be glad when Rhyme catches it. Shiki has a hand on his shoulder but that is all he can feel and he’s sure she’s talking but he can’t hear that at all. Only the screeching of Shinjuku’s UG all around him, as he’s pulled further and further away from anything he knows. Neku folds his head down, curling his arms tight to try and catch his breath, to keep himself centered and steady and visible - he’s screwed if they see anything, if he can’t control his vibe and suddenly vanishes. Still slipping despite his best efforts, losing himself to the furious pull, Shinjuku trying to peck him apart like a thousand angry gulls. The sudden inspiration strikes, not so much thought as not wanting to hurt anymore - not wanting to hurt the UG anymore - and Neku breathes out and just lets go, focuses on keeping himself together in the RG, but giving himself over completely to Shinjuku’s Song.
One moment, where Neku thinks he’s made a terrible mistake, chaos and panic and a sudden, overwhelming emptiness - and then he can hear it, the feel of something reweaving inside of him. The Music of Shinjuku rising up, steady and calm and almost apologetic, the notes like soothing hands, ruffling his hair, burbling softly. Happy to have him.
Was this what it was like, when Joshua left Shibuya? So much he doesn’t know, that Joshua must deal with and Neku has absolutely no idea - and he slowly sits back up, tipping his head back, taking a deep breath. Only a few moments have passed, Shiki and Rhyme looking at him in concern and panic, but even if he feels like he’s just been used as percussion in the World’s Most Angry Speed Orchestra, no one else has even looked their way. Hooray for large, impersonal cities.
“Neku? Are you all right?”
It’s easy to nod, to reassure her. Now that Shinjuku wants to be friendly, he feels a little like he does at the end of a good concert, buzzed and happy and so flattened under the weight of being Conductor he might actually be two-dimensional.
“A little dizzy. It’s nothing, really.” Shiki doesn’t believe him. At all. “I promise, I’m okay.”
Just a few moments later, and the train pulls up to the platform, and they disembark. Neku’s been here plenty of times, but never like this, through the lens of Shinjuku’s Music - it feels vast, stretching out around him, and Neku doesn’t dare close his eyes, for fear he’ll get caught up in it, every detail, the thought of each person passing through the district. The Music is beautiful, an entirely different tempo from Shibuya’s, though not quite as complex - and Neku smirks, thinking Josh would approve of that, but it lands like a cold blow, right in his gut. At the moment, Joshua doesn’t want to hear anything from him at all.
Shiki leads the way, chatting mostly with Rhyme about what she’s looking for, although Neku offers up a fashion opinion whenever he’s sure it will make her glare at him in dismay and forget that she was ever worried. All of this, though, is just reminding him why he can’t see them on Game weeks, no way he can avoid seeming so spaced out. Even now, he can’t help but split his attention between the RG and the UG, though it doesn’t seem to be Game week here, no sign of any Reapers at all. It isn’t until his hand goes through the woman he thought would bump into him that Neku realizes he’s skipped over, though it lasts only an instant and neither Shiki or Rhyme seem to notice, the anonymous crowd too tightly packed and interested in their own business for anyone to pay much attention to a single disappearing, reappearing kid.
Despite the unexpectedly bumpy entry, and knowing he probably shouldn’t do it again, it’s not all bad, and after a little while Neku feels as comfortable as he has all day. At the very least, it’s keeping him from brooding alone - and then he catches sight of the rather enormous bird towering over the crowd, a silent shadow out of nowhere, and he tells his optimism to fuck right off.
The Conductor’s claws click lightly against the sidewalk, surprisingly quiet even though each talon is the length of his arm. It follows alongside them in the crowd, remarkably graceful despite being the better part of two stories tall. He’d forgotten just how big Kitaniji had been, though the pheasant Noise is not quite so large. Neku still can’t see its tail feathers without looking over his shoulder, red fronds with thin black stripes hissing where they slide against the pavement. Deep brown feathers, with dark crescents of black at the tips, a white v-shape at the neck and wine red around its eyes. It would almost look normal - except for being the size of a city bus - but where the feathers are parted around its chest, the only ivory there is bone. Neku can count the ribs, and look right through them to where a shape twitches now and then in the shadows, what must be the Conductor’s heart.
It’s not fair. Neku’s supposed to be sulking over being dumped by the boyfriend he can’t actually leave because he’s got this stupid job sticking bits of the world back in place. He shouldn’t have to get used to shit like this. He really shouldn’t.
“Oh!” Rhyme says, and Shiki has an arm out as she stumbles slightly, making a shy, annoyed face at the sudden bout of clumsiness, moving to the other side of where Neku is. Maybe she thinks there’s less to trip over there - Neku certainly doesn’t mind having her away from the bird, even if neither of them can see it, and it isn’t doing anything. Yet.
Finally, they reach the store - more like a building, a really big building - and Shiki makes a little face, excitement warring with the disappointment that she can’t just tear the whole thing off the foundation and drag it home.
“You two go inside. I’m going to stay out here for a little bit. Get some air.”
Shiki looks at him again, and Neku knows if he asked her to take him home, right now, she’d do it without thinking twice or complaining at all. It’s hard not to hug her, but that would definitely just freak her out more. Instead, he pulls out his cell phone - the one Josh gave him, and if he’s going to get all pathetic and start listing off things that remind him of the Composer that owns Shibuya, it’s going to be a really long list.
“I’ll text you if I need you. Promise.”
The temptation of discount fabric is too strong to ignore, and Shiki nods, and she and Rhyme disappear inside the store. It doesn’t take very long after that.
“Hey, asshole!”
It’s the tact and charm that makes the UG such a magical place, really. Between them the Composers and Conductors have endless eons of knowledge and wisdom and not a single etiquette book to pass around. Neku lets out a sigh, and turns, and at least now he’s looking at a girl instead of a giant skeleton bird… creature… thing.
Shinjuku’s Conductor is old enough to belong in college or her first real job or possibly a mental ward, wearing a deep blue kimono with white flowers along the rumpled edge, sloppily tied, with bare feet and a black leather jacket. It’s so aggressively anti-fashion it’s probably been on a runway just this week. Her eyes never look away from his, framed heavily with eyeliner, thin hands pushing blonde-tipped hair away from her face. Obviously trying to calculate just how hard to kick his ass so that he’d bounce once before he ended up back in Shibuya. Her wings stretch out wide and high behind her, and if Neku was having a better day he’d be impressed at the thought that she’s very unhappy to have him here.
“You can’t sound like that. Why do you sound like that?” Her right hand is flexed, poised, and though Neku can’t see a weapon he has the feeling that won’t matter. He looks down, which is stupid because he looks like himself, obviously, but Neku feels at least some need to try and placate her, even though there’s not much to work with. He’d be happy not to provoke her if he knew what the hell she was talking about.
“I… don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
It’s clear she doesn’t believe him, but there’s definitely a time limit on how long she can stand there about to cry havoc without actually diving in for the kill. Nobody’s ever waited for Neku to actually give them a reason before declaring war on his face, but when he doesn’t move, her wings finally fold down a bit, and a moment after that she’s got her arms crossed and is deliberately not looking at him, pretending she was never worried at all.
“We’re not taking her back, so don’t ask.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t like we had to send you anyone anyway, so you should be grateful.”
“What do you-” Neku finally catches up. “You gave me your reject Reapers. Yeah, okay, big surprise there.”
No answer. It occurs to him that she’s still waiting for him to attack, that he’s yet again making the rules up as he goes along, just by being here, and there’s probably some etiquette or laws but really he’s coming to appreciate the safe, protective layer of ignorance. Does he sound different, because of what he did coming in, making Shinjuku like him? As if Neku knows how to explain or apologize for any of it, so it’s better to just not mention it and pretend they’re thinking of anything else.
“Have you noticed anything odd happening here, in the past few weeks?”
“Liiiike… a Conductor showing up in my district unannounced, when I’m in the middle of my nap?”
It’s not even dark yet, but Neku figures it’s probably not a good idea to mention that.
“Like people dying, and not showing up in the UG. Players who ought to have been in the Game, but don’t show up.” A long pause. At least now Neku has a good idea of what the reaction shot will look like, if he should ever say the stupidest thing in the world. “Nevermind. I’m sorry I asked. Really, amazingly sorry.”
Neku’s been keeping his attention on the door, better to not have Shiki or Rhyme see him talking to invisible people, and Shinjuku’s Conductor follows his gaze with a puzzled frown.
“You’re alive, aren’t you? Like really alive.”
“Yes.”
“Wow. How lame is that.”
He used to make at least some effort at polite conversation. This was a thing that used to happen before he started hanging out with psychos with superpowers.
“Did you have a lot of time blocked on your schedule for telling me how much I suck? If you’re busy, we can just skip to the highlights.”
A weird expression on the Conductor’s face, one Neku doesn’t recognize, and she takes a step closer, and just about the time he’s thinking about what sort of weapon he’s going to want to have and if giant bird Noise feathers smell as bad as the real ones when they burn, she stops.
“So, how’d you do it?”
“I told you, I don’t know-”
“No no, not that. How’d you get so close to your Composer?”
As if he could answer that even before he’d ruined everything. Assuming this conversation means the same thing for both of them, that they’re using the same words in the same ways, which Neku has started thinking is very much not likely, he can’t even - why the hell does she need to ask that, now? Why does he have to do any of this?
“I heard you’re close, and you haven’t been Conductor, like, any time at all. So, how’d you do it so fast?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be that offended. Maybe that stupidest-person-of-ever look is just her default.
“So I can Erase my Composer. Why the hell else would I want to know?”
It shouldn’t be surprising. It shouldn’t bother him. Neku just knows what she doesn’t - though that thought is painfully funny - that he knows more about the UG, that the Composer is just another step, not the top, not even close. Entirely possible that she’d be completely disappointed to be the Composer, if the Producers - the Angels - would even let her have it. Why doesn’t anyone tell them? Is it all set up like this to keep them fighting each other - is that the whole point?
It’s not. You know it’s not.
It is and it’s not and why does nothing ever stay the way it’s supposed to? How can he learn a life-changing lesson on Thursday and have it disappear by the weekend? Show the Players on Monday how it’s all gonna be ok, and then have that feeling evaporate when he needs it the most. It’s one thing, to screw up in the UG but keep his Realground life mostly together, and even that hasn’t been easy, and now it’s pretty much all sunk. Neku doesn’t have the words for her. He doesn’t have the energy to try and make her understand, to even know that he should attempt it, and why does he feel disappointed? Maybe she really is the sensible one.
“Okay, you know… nevermind.”
The words are strangely soft, not annoyed or disgusted, so it takes Neku a moment to realize she’s said anything at all. Another to realize just why the Conductor sounds so breathless. Why she’s pale, and the look on her face is no longer contempt and now a lot more like fear. It’s a pretty new thing in his life, the look of terror. That she would really like to just be anywhere else - away from him - but she’s afraid to move because Shinjuku has gone silent. Completely and utterly still around them, and Neku is about to say that he didn’t do it, he doesn’t know what’s wrong but he didn’t do it, when he realizes it’s not that simple. He didn’t mean to do it, but even as his thoughts turn away from the worst of his bitter contemplation, Neku can hear the Music rising up around them, like the dial on a stereo slowly turning back up. It seems fine, undamaged, but what the hell could he have done, when he doesn’t know what he just did?
“… what are you?”
The Conductor whispers, and shudders, wings tucked back tight against her shoulders, and Neku doesn’t know what’s going on, how he can manage a reaction like that when Kitaniji nearly bit him in two. He feels like he should apologize, and then wonders if he’d care if she were still throwing attitude around, if he hadn’t made her more pitiable by scaring the hell out of her, by showing how easily he could crush her. Neku takes a deep, steady breath and does everything he can to stop thinking. It’s his stupid emotions that are causing this, and he needs to be very careful, he needs to get back to Shibuya without breaking half of Tokyo on the way and then…
He’ll have to talk to Mr. H, as soon as he can bring himself to do it. The rest of it doesn’t matter, how he lied or why or even if there’s more lies Neku doesn’t know about. Manhattan was right, Shibuya’s more important than anything else.
Shinjuku’s Conductor is still looking at him, waiting for some kind of answer, but Neku can’t give her what he doesn’t have.
“I’m going to go now.” It sounds stupid, Joshua would have something clever and cutting to back up his ridiculous abuses of power, but as unnerved as Neku feels the Conductor still looks rattled half out of her skin. “I’ll tell you before I show up, next time.”
A slight nod, and he’s aware that she might decide to attack him the moment he turns around, that making people afraid is just one small step from making them angry. Neku doesn’t want to start anything, doesn’t want this stupid accident to get back to Shinjuku’s Composer but it probably already has, and he doesn’t know what to do. Five days left in the Game and he can’t imagine another five minutes.
Despite his worries, nothing happens, and when he looks back from the door, Shinjuku’s Conductor is gone. Neku follows the happy peal of Shiki’s Music to where she’s staggering under the load of two large bags packed with fabric, Rhyme with what looks like a slightly more sensible starter kit, and he wants to make a joke about it being contagious, but then Shiki catches sight of him and her Music changes, suddenly sharp and pitched an octave higher and he can hear exactly what she’s thinking - how can he look worse than when we left him?
“Hey.”
“H-hey, Neku.” Shiki returns the smile, but it’s pure worry in her eyes, and he can’t tell her anything even if he wanted to explain, too tired to even think of a convincing story. “We were thinking… we might get dinner around here. Are you hungry?”
He is absolutely starving, but the thought of eating makes his stomach lurch.
“I’m gonna have to pass on that. I think I might be coming down with something.”
Nothing serious, just a flare-up on his chronic case of fail.