#like neku’s logic was so close to being sound and the step in which his logic falters is something so strangely trivial

[goldensunset]

the way neku is so firm in his convictions that 1. hanekoma is the composer 2. he’s still taking the lessons hanekoma taught him to heart 3. he’ll fight hanekoma if he has to kinda drives me bonkers

[subasekabang]

Gymnopédie- Part 1

Author: Alex Rating: Teen Word Count: Total - 10219 (including title names); this chapter- 2397 Pairings/Characters: Yoshiya "Joshua" Kiryu, Neku Sakuraba, Sanae Hanekoma, Sho Minamimoto, Daisukenojo Bito (Beat), Raimu Bito (Rhyme), Shiki Misaki, Eri, Megumi Kitanji, Ken Doi, implied Shiki/Eri, implied Joshua/Neku (mostly one-sided), agender!Composer, Neku's Mom Warnings: Suicide, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentions of Voyeurism, Mild Language, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Major Character Death (?) Summary: Joshua said he just wanted one normal day. Hanekoma wouldn't deny him that, for soon the boy would have to take his duties as Composer seriously.He didn't think Joshua could die a second time.

Slowly and painfully.

Joshua sprawled across the couch. He watched the fish flit about beneath the glass tiles, then breathed out a sigh that made Megumi glance in his direction.

“Is something wrong, Sir?”

“No, Megumi.” He sighed again and rolled over onto his stomach.

Sometimes Megumi had to remind himself that this was a god and not some sullen teenger. “With all due respect, Sir, I do not understand why you insist on taking that form.”

“With all due respect, Megumi, I don’t understand why you insist on asking so many questions,” he said mockingly.

“My apologies.”

The malice melted out of his voice as he replied, “Forgiven.”

One orange fish bumped up against the glass below his dangling fingers. Of course it would be orange, he thought. There was no escaping it, was there? What a shame; he didn’t know what to do with the feeling other than run and hide. But even here in the one place he thought he was safe, the guilt gnawed at his insides, embodied in this moment by the dumb creature headbutting the glass. He closed his eyes, but that only made the incessant thump thump thump louder in his ears.

Noise. Noun. A sound, particularly one that is loud or unpleasant or that causes disturbance. This fish was definitely causing him some disturbance. He sat up. “Megumi, I’m heading out.”

The Conductor hid his surprise behind his mirrored shades. It had been many weeks since Joshua had been outside. Or even moved from the couch.

Joshua excavated himself from the cushions and swung his feet to the floor. He swayed a little as he stood, the room spinning around him, but that was just another inconvenience of keeping this human form. Having to worry about legs and balance and such. He checked his reflection in the glassy floor and shook the hair out of his eyes.

“Don’t let anyone in while I’m gone,” he said pointlessly. People weren’t exactly lining up at his door for a visit.

He chalked it up to paranoia. That was much easier than admitting to himself that it was hope that made him say those words. A vague, pathetic little hope that maybe someone out there cared enough to check on him.

Joshua tuned himself to a frequency that hid him from humans and Reapers alike as he weaved through the streets. After the events of the Game in which he staked Shibuya, his appearance was no longer a mystery. To be seen was to be recognized; no longer could he wander through the RG as if he were an ordinary kid.

Still, as he slipped through the doors of WildKat, its modulator jolted him down to the RG. He could combat it if he really wanted to, but what was the point? It wasn’t like Hanekoma got many customers. Joshua plunked himself down into at one of the many empty tables and waited to be noticed.

It didn’t take long. Joshua was nothing if not noticeable.

“Josh? What are you doing here?”

He definitely didn’t look happy about his presence, but he hadn’t kicked him out either. Joshua decided to be the optimist for once and take it as a good sign. He folded his hands on the table in front of him with a smile. “I wanted to pay my dear, sweet Producer a visit. How are the higher-ups treating you?”

“Your mess has given me quite a few headaches. You know, Josh—”

“Oh, hush,” he said, pressing a finger to his lips in the universal sign for silence. “I came here for coffee, not a lecture. We can talk business later, Sanae.”

“We have to talk it eventually.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can you get on with it?”

“Cash first.”

Joshua pouted. “Really? I have to pay? Do I at least get a discount?”

“You get to pay extra.”

He stood and shoved past him on his way behind the counter. “I’ll do it myself, then.”

Hanekoma looked down at him. “Joshua.”

“I’m the Composer; I do what I want,” he said over the grind of the coffee machine.

“And what happened the last time I let you do whatever you wanted?”

Joshua smiled sweetly and turned, hands clasped behind his back. “No permanent damage was done and everyone involved became a better person? I don’t see the problem.”

Hanekoma pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the headache that Joshua was giving him. He sincerely hoped he was joking, but it was impossible to tell with Joshua. He worked off of his own logic, utterly divorced from the way the rest of the world worked—“my secret garden,” Hanekoma could hear him saying—and maintained that everyone else functioned in the same way. In Joshua’s version of the world, communication was difficult, and understanding near-impossible. Even after all these years, Hanekoma couldn’t trace the arcane paths of his thoughts. For all he knew, Joshua may have truly believed that he had done nothing wrong.

“Do you need me to explain what the problem is to you?”

“Maybe, but I don’t care, and I won’t listen.” He busied himself with drawing a cat in his coffee with the creamer and cooed, “How about latte art, Mr. CAT?”

It was hard to tell if Joshua was talking to him or the coffee. He leaned over to inspect his work. “... Don’t quit your day job.”

“What, you don’t like it? I think it’s quite cute.”

“I think your ego is getting in the way of your judgement.”

“Ouch. You’re crushing my dreams, Sanae.”

“Some dreams need to be crushed.”

Joshua swirled his coffee around in his cup, the cat-ish thing he drew dissolving into a pale brown. “I don’t need a reminder. I know very well that dreams don’t come true.”

“Not with that attitude, they don’t,” Hanekoma replied automatically.

Joshua made an over-exaggerated display of abashment, his hand fluttering up to his mouth like an old-time actress about to swoon. “Even dreams have a problem with my attitude? How cruel!”

“To be perfectly honest, Joshua, I can’t think of a single thing that doesn’t have a problem with you attitude.” He nudged Joshua aside to make his own coffee.

Joshua hoisted himself up onto the counter.

“Please sit in a chair.”

“No. You don’t control me.”

Hanekoma sighed. “Actually, I do. Or at least I’m supposed to. Instead, here I am, getting sassed by a kid who never left his rebellious phase.”

“It is not a phase,” he said, putting his coffee down to cross his arms.

“Case in point,” the Producer grunted. “Spoken like a true emo teen.”

“Fair enough. I have been known to flirt with both ends of a gun.” He reached for his coffee again and took a sip.

Hanekoma winced in sympathy. He could practically hear Joshua’s fingertips and tongue sizzling from the scalding hot drink. Joshua didn’t seem to care, but Hanekoma picked up his own cup gingerly, hot even through its sleeve. “I don’t know who allowed you to get your hands on one.”

“Since when have I waited for permission?”

“Never, unfortunately for the rest of us who have to deal with the consequences. Sometimes I think you’re more trouble than you’re worth…”

As soon as that last sentence slipped out of his mouth, he saw something shift in Joshua’s face and knew he had struck a nerve.

He chugged what was left of his coffee and dropped the cup back down on the counter, chipping the edge, and jumped to the floor. “When I was alive, I was better off dead. Now that I’m dead, I’m better off, what? Not existing at all? Oh, believe me, if I had the choice!” He laughed sharply.

Hanekoma suppressed another sigh. He hadn’t really meant what he had said, but neither was he in the state of mind to deal with Joshua’s moods. It was easier to just let him go and deal with it after he cooled down.

Joshua stormed out the door and promptly phased out of the RG as soon as he was out of modulator range. Hanekoma could still see him, but he knew what was happening by the way his body blurred around the edges. Also by the way several people walked directly through him. He glared at them, which of course they did not notice. Their lack of response seemed to only make him more angry. Hanekoma pulled out his phone and dialed Megumi’s number.

“Keep an eye on the Composer. And please make sure he doesn’t get his hands on another gun.”

“Understood.”

Megumi’s mass call to the Reapers wasn’t really necessary. Even without being given orders, none of them would dare to tear their eyes away from their composer. He stomped through the streets like a force of nature, his corporeal form drifting off of him in ribbons to dissolve into the air like wisps of smoke. With each step, his glow grew stronger, until it was lightning stalking through the streets, sparking down the alleyways, sending beacons of light up into the sky. Noise vaporized on contact with his shimmering power, crying out one last time before being silenced for good. Reapers took to the air to avoid meeting the same fate. It was a good thing that the Game wasn’t running that week; every single Player would have been Erased.

Even a few people in the RG noticed the flashes out light out of the corner of their eyes. They looked around in confusion as the world around them lit up and shone and dimmed once more. Had they turned to the sky, they would have seen lights streaking up like reverse shooting stars, but instead they dropped their gazes to the ground and kept on walking, as ignorant of the world around them as they had always been.

Beyond their perception, the Composer phased through the bustling crowds. Feathers fluttered down behind him, and when they touched the ground, they burst into a shower of sparks and music. People suddenly found themselves wanting to stop by Hip Snake or Sheep Heavenly to buy some new swag. The trends were in chaos as Joshua’s influence ebbed and flowed and shifted the charts at an incredible rate.

As for the boy himself, well, he was still simmering with anger. Still lingering on Hanekoma’s words and his own and on the stubborn memories of his life that even now refused to leave him. His nails dug into his palm as his hands clenched into fists; he desperately ignored the burning behind his eyes. He turned abruptly down a dingy alleyway, one last feather spiralling from him. When this one hit the streets, it was more than just a pretty display of sparks. It became the epicenter for a final shimmering wave of power, spreading outward from where it landed and sending any Reaper bold enough to follow him scrambling for safety.

Joshua pressed one hand against the cold, rough brickwork. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly.

In and out. In and out. In and out and on and off and better off better off better off better off…

He pushed his hands up against his ears, but the words came from within rather than without, and he could not muffle them. Had any Reapers still been watching, they would have seen their Composer flicker, flash, and, finally, vanish.

Hanekoma’s phone rang. He was going to put it on Do Not Disturb until he saw the name on the screen. He picked it up.

“We lost Him,” Megumi’s voice said.

“What? Lost who?”

“The Composer.”

“You’re kidding, right? He was a walking light show two seconds ago!”

“I do not kid, Producer. It was too dangerous for us to get too close. He was there, and then He was not.”

“He… Alright. Okay. Fine. I’ll deal with this. You keep doing your thing, and let me know if anything else happens.” He disconnected the call and scrolled through the apps on his phone. Finally, Joshua’s tracker would be good for something. “I swear, this kid is going to be the second death of me,” he muttered as he headed out the door.

He followed the tracker through the streets, phasing through people just as Joshua had moments before. He retraced the boy’s steps, twisting through unused paths and sometimes directly through walls and barriers no normal human could pass, until he reached a dead-end alleyway.

The tracker said Joshua was here, but Hanekoma could see nothing but brick walls and rusted dumpsters. He nudged aside bags of trash with his semi-corporeal foot. “Joshua?”

His own voice echoed back at him. He narrowed his eyes and looked harder. Looked past the UG and the RG and all the parts in between, and the ones that existed below, and the ones that existed above. The outline of a boy flickered into view. He reached out to grab it. His hand closed around the vague suggestion of a limb, which solidified into a bony teenaged arm at his touch.

“Let go,” Joshua hissed at him, making a half-hearted attempt to pull away. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against Hanekoma. There was a reason he was the Producer.

“Kid, what the hell have you been doing?” Now that Joshua was grounded, there was no need for him to hold on. He released Joshua’s arm and…

Hanekoma stared at his hand. His palm was red with blood. He looked down at Joshua, who was hurriedly trying to bind his arm with part of his shirt. He wasn’t very successful.

“Joshua.” He held him by the jaw and forced his head to turn. He stared into those violet eyes, as lost and bitter as they had been when they first met. “You haven’t changed, have you?”

Joshua smiled crookedly, unwilling to show how much the Producer’s disappointment hurt him. “Believe me, I would if I could.”

Hanekoma released him. “You can, but you won’t,” he said. “Come talk to me once you’ve calmed down and are ready to discuss this like adults.” He turned, leaving Joshua to stare at his back as he walked away.

Blood dripped on the ground. Joshua laughed joylessly, breathlessly, uncontrollaby.

At least, that was what he thought. It took a whole minute for him to realize that he wasn’t.

Yoshiya Kiryu, god of Shibuya, was crying.