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sope-and-shine · 4 years

Text

Lost and Found

-> Namjoon x Reader -> Soulmate!AU // Fluff -> 6.2k (This fic was at 6,199 before post, and I couldn’t let that happen) -> Summary: In a world full of soulmates and soul marks, you just had to get stuck with the dynamic duo. -> Warning(s): none // maybe just fluff

A/N: I suggested the name to Belle as I was drafting the post, and she said she’d sue me if I didn’t use it.

ALSO! A BIG BIG BIG THANK YOU TO BOTH @multycoloredtaco and @purpletigertaetae for reading this and giving me some really good feedback! I love you both SO MUCH!

* * *

Soulmates have always come in several different shapes and sizes. They’ve always appeared to each other in various ways. Your mother and father met by their own personal song that only the two knew of, one that played when they spared a thought to the other. Your aunt had found your uncle with a timer on her wrist, and your grandpa had the unfortunate fate of meeting your grandmother while catcalling her. According to him, it was a very eventful day, but at least her words to him finally made sense. Everyone in your family - besides your great aunt who hasn’t aged since the late 1890s - has had the amazing luck of finding their soulmate. Not everyone gets the luxury of being with their soulmate how they planned to. You’re actually friends with a shop owner who lost his soulmate about a year ago and hasn’t seen any color since. You honestly couldn’t imagine the pain he’s been through. Thankfully, your soulmate mark was not as painful.

It was just extremely annoying.

As a child, you never questioned the items that would appear in your room, thinking of them as odd gifts that your parents or your brother would leave for you. You were no stranger to finding a single sock under your bed, the occasional candy bar tucked away in your backpack, or the odd action figure that you would take to your brother thinking it was his. It wasn’t until the first homework assignment with ‘Kim Namjoon’ scrawled at the top that you began to think something wasn’t right. And that was only the beginning of what was to come.

As the years went by, more and more random items began appearing in your room at your parents house, your dorm in college, and finally your very own apartment. Each item you placed in boxes under your bed as a way to keep a piece of him with you until you could find him. However, you never imagined how forgetful and chaotic your soulmate could really be. You have everything! Clothing items, more homework assignments, various books, glasses, baby photos, and you even have a random girl’s phone number! You were tempted to call her when you first found it, but you figured that would be too weird. Instead, you continued to organize everything under your bed in hopes of giving it all back to him when you would finally meet.

Of course, you were a victim to your soulmate mark as well. Many jewelry items had disappeared from your room without a trace as a result. Hoodies, stuffed animals, and even a bra that you could’ve sworn you put in your gym bag - part of you hoped he’d hide it away because not only was it a cute bra, it was also expensive. Recently though, you’ve both been a lot more responsible. You haven’t seen any new items appear in your apartment for almost a month, and with your soulmates track record of losing 11 items in one day, a month was a huge record on his part. But you were starting to miss the gifts that would give you clues to him.

After you found out what your soulmate mark really was, you started looking forward to what would be left in your room next. Of course, it wasn’t always a win on your part, and sometimes what he lost was very questionable, but it always made you laugh when another item appeared in your room. At first, it was weird to think about someone else’s stuff appearing in your room with no prior warning, but it made you feel special to know that he was ultimately giving you pieces of himself every time he let something out of his sight. They made your long days more bearable. It makes you wonder if he’s the type of person to shower you with gifts when you feel upset or just to show his affection when he felt it was necessary. Especially on a rough day like today.

There was nothing wrong with your job, you loved everything about it! Life as a lead optician was actually a very rewarding job in the end. Helping others choose the best glasses for their face and individual personalities was one of your favorite parts, you loved watching little old ladies try on vibrant, colorful frames to feel youthful. They’re always very excited to see clearly again. Then there are all the little kids who would sit down with you to get glasses for the first time, and the look on their faces when they finally got to see the world clearly was heartwarming. Their soft smiles and wide eyes filled with amazement always made you feel a little softer inside. However, not everyday was a good day, and today was really not a good day.

Everything was going perfectly fine until the 3:30 appointment showed up at 5:00 after the doctor had already left for the day and demanded to be seen. The doctor’s technician was so scared trying to explain to the patient that they’d have to reschedule their appointment, and the poor thing was just trying not to cry over the one person who couldn’t understand how society works. Obviously, as the lead optician on duty you took over, but this patient was one of the most inconsiderate people you’d ever had to deal with. Demanding to be seen, demanding to buy glasses with an old prescription, demanding to speak to a manager - which at this point was actually you, so done and done - and just cursing up a storm at you and your fellow coworkers who all tried to help explain. The whole ordeal just took way longer than it ever should have to deal with, and it probably took at least 25 years off of your life.

“Why do people feel that they need to be rude to get what they want?” Soohyun had asked you, “Do they think it’ll just magically fix everything?”

You had agreed, “It’s like they think you’re really just messing with them. Like, “Oh no, sir! You’re correct! I apologize for the inconvenience, let me pull that out of my ass for you!” Though maybe not appropriate for the work environment, you’d at least made her day just a little better with your humor.

On days like today, a nice warm shower and a cuddle pile with all of the pillows and plushies that cover your bed made everything much better when nothing new appeared in your room. If the odd gifts the universe left from your soulmate couldn’t cheer you up, then you’d do it yourself. And that you did. Nothing felt better than the warm water washing away the day’s pain and suffering, the delicate fragrance of the coconut shampoo you splurged on easing your worries down the drain. The floral body lotion and leave-in-conditioner you’d bought on the same shopping excursion also help your body relax, their scents so intoxicating to you, that you almost topple over onto the tiled floor of your bathroom from the instant pleasure they pull from you. Instead, you make your way to your bed, adorned in your comfiest PJs and fluffiest socks.

However, you weren’t expecting to land on something so hard and uncomfortable when you plopped face first onto your sheets.

“What the heck?” Pushing yourself onto your knees and pulling back the covers, you find a small, golden trophy resting comfortably in the warmth of your sheets. On all sides it reads, ‘MNET Asian Music Awards’ with a small plaque reading, ‘2017 MNET Asian Music Awards: Artist of the Year’ at the bottom of one side. It takes you a moment to understand fully what you hold in your hands before it actually hits you.

Your soulmate is an idol.

A forgetful idol if he lost such an important award, but at least this gave you a lead as to who your soulmate is besides one of the most common surnames and a few measly pairs of mismatched socks.

Setting the award to the side, you grab your phone from your nightstand and unlock it, clicking on your browser and typing away. You look up the artist of the year from 2017 and find the top result to be a boy band called BTS. According to Google’s nice little summary and AllKPOP’s top article, they seemed to be pretty famous. Of course, you’ve heard of them before, and if you heard one of their songs then there was a good chance you’d probably recognize it! But you’ve never really been one for boy bands. You were more into kdramas if you were to be completely honest, they’re definitely your guilty pleasure and way more your speed than handsome young men dancing on stage in front of screaming girls trying to get in their pants. Could you really blame them? No. Not at all. Given the chance, you’d take it, but it wouldn’t be anything special if it wasn’t your soulmate.

Your soulmate.

Namjoon.

Changing your question, you search for ‘Kim Namjoon BTS’. If he actually pops up, then that would mean you actually know who he is.

Finding the nerve to press search, you are bombarded with three pictures above a description of him right off the bat - You hate to admit it, but soulmate or not, he’s definitely handsome. You click on a random site you hope will give you some useful information about the man who’s most likely your soulmate and are immediately redirected to something called K-Profiles. The site itself starts off with a group picture of all the members, followed by their names below it, and their social media handles under that. You’d have to look them up later.

The first member you come across is your soulmate himself. He has his blonde head resting on top of his arms with a soft, dimpled smile as he stares right back at the camera. Eyes locked onto his through the screen, you can feel your heart speeding up just from looking at him. You can’t help but smile back at him as if he can actually see you. As if he were right there ready to come out and say ‘hi’.

He’s absolutely breathtaking, and it isn’t even him.

You continue your hunting, scrolling further down to learn as much as you can about him. How old he is, when he was born, where he was born, what his favorite color is, you want to know it all! You learn that he’s the leader of the group, that he used to be known as Rap Monster before he changed it - that USB in the box under your bed made a lot more sense now. You learn that he has a sister, and that he and his band members are advocates for UNICEF, and that this man was so incredibly intelligent yet also known as the ‘god of destruction’ to those around him. But also listed on his profile is his soulmate mark.

“As said in a V-Live where RM explained a stuffed animal he kept on his desk, anything RM loses will appear with his soulmate and vice-versa. He has yet to meet his soulmate.” You read. You’ve lost quite a few stuffed animals to Namjoon, hopefully, it wasn’t an embarrassing one that would haunt you later.

You come to the end of his profile and to the top of another handsome man, yet you don’t scroll down. You haven’t learned enough. You need to know more about him, about how you can meet him. You have to know more! And that’s how you find yourself still up at 5am the next morning still wide awake watching yet another video interview of your soulmate just to hear his voice. A part of you is embarrassed for staying awake all night for some guy, but another part of you can’t let it go when you’re so deep already.

* * *

You called into work after your late night-early morning escapade, telling them you caught something from one of your friends and wouldn’t be in for the next few days. There was no way you were going anywhere with the sleep you just got, and it wouldn’t be fixed in one day either. Even after sleeping the morning away you were still tired from your late night-early morning endeavor. It’s not like you really cared though, you had just found out who your soulmate was. And unlike a lot of other people in the world, you had an entire collection of videos dedicated to just your soulmate and his passion.

It didn’t take long for you to dig your nose back into the screen of your phone just to watch him make that gorgeous, dimpled smile. There were so many videos where he talked about you, sharing some of the items you had lost with his fans like they were his best friends. He looked so proud to be showing off your things, and the look in his eyes when he’d get lost in his own thoughts just looking at them made your heart melt.

You’d heard your mom and dad talk about how happy they were to have a special song just for the two of them. Your mom used to tell you all about the day your father tracked her all the way from the grocery store, pushing through the crowd like a love interest in a kdrama because he heard her humming their song to herself. At a young age you always thought it was sweet and wanted to meet your soulmate just like your mom had, but you eventually realized as you got older that a strange person following you home is not something you want. However, now you kinda wished it could work like that, seeing that your soulmate was practically untouchable.

Of all the people in the world, you just had to get stuck with a celebrity with millions of girls from all over the world fawning over him. Getting chased in the streets must be on this guy’s workout regimen by now! How were you supposed to get anywhere near him without spending over $1,000 just to look at his face?

“How much are those fan-meet things?” You ask yourself aloud. Innocent enough, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the entire process that came with going to just one fansign. This wasn’t something you could just buy a ticket for. No. You had specific steps that you had to follow or you wouldn’t even stand a chance. There were so many steps that you were tempted to just find his company and blast music until security came to take you away. Maybe you’d at least get to meet him when they filed a restraining order.

No. You HAD to meet him. You haven’t saved all of his lost things just for you to chicken out now.

So, you made a fancafe account and waited for their next promotion to purchase an album, you waited for the lottery winners to be announced, and you almost doubled over when you saw your name on the list from the store. You thought 3 months was long enough, but the 24 hours before the event were the longest hours of your life. So long that you couldn’t even sleep!

That’s where the wrench comes in.

You hadn’t meant to stay up so late at all, but you were really excited to finally meet the man that’s been losing everything he touches - especially now that he’s started losing air pods under your bed. So, when you woke up at 10:30am for the fansign that started at 11, you knew you’d messed up.

You messed up bad.

Of all the irresponsible things you could’ve done, staying up late was not the one you should’ve chosen to do. Now, you’d have to wait even longer to see him. Maybe the universe was right to give you both the worst soulmate mark known to man.

It wasn’t like waiting for the next fansign was bad, but it wasn’t the best either. Everyday that passed was another day that you had to watch him through a screen. Seeing his dimpled cheeks smile at the camera - at you - making your heart race. He was so close to you, but he was so out of reach. When the next fansign did come around, you had to make sure you made it on time so you could see it in person for yourself.

That’s what you told yourself.

To your credit, you almost did do that! But you had no idea there would be so much traffic. Not only that, but you’d tripped and dropped the box of things to return to him on the street and had to pick it up before anyone saw what it was you were holding. Because of those small issues, you made it to the venue five minutes after they had closed the doors.

“Please, I’m only five minutes late!” You beg, breathing heavy and labored. You stare at the worker just doing her job with high hopes that she would have some sort of empathy for you, but her face showed no remorse.

“If you wanted to be let in, then you should have been on time.” She scolds, closing the doors on you and leaving you outside to wallow in self pity once more.

At least the first time you’d messed up you were in the comfort of your own home where you could cry over your failure. Now, you were left in the open for everyone to see your mistake. You were so close too. He was just behind the doors. Waiting to see the adoring faces of his fans that you should be a part of.

Yet you’re on the streets.

* * *

“Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?”

“What makes you say that?” You turn to your friend from your seat on the ground outside of the shop you’d purchased your album from, dressed in a light hoodie with a coffee in your hand. The light of day just peaking through the cracks between the buildings as the street lamps turn off for a new day.

At this point in your journey to meet your soulmate, you weren’t going to take any more chances. The store didn’t open for another 3 hours, and the event started an hour and a half after that, but you were going to be sure you had your ticket and made it to the venue on time. You didn’t care how early you were, you were going to see Namjoon if it was the last thing you did.

The poor, tired woman seemed to pick up on your indifference to your change in behavior and sighs, “Nothing in particular. I’m just concerned that maybe you’re taking this to the extreme now.”

“I’ve tried and failed three times already, Bomi. I cannot miss another chance to meet them!” You explain, taking a sip from your warm cup.

“Maybe the universe is trying to tell you that they’re just a boy band and you shouldn’t get so excited over them. They all have soulmates anyways.” Of course she didn’t know that you were going because one of them was your soulmate, but you couldn’t risk anyone finding out and telling your soulmate before you could tell him.

“I know that, but it’s worth it!” All the hours you’d spent waiting, watching their new content, reading their tweets and various posts from other social media wishing you could see him in person for just a moment. This was the fourth attempt, and you didn’t want to continue this cycle of hit and miss. “I’m not missing it this time.”

“Well, waiting outside of this shop so early just to get a ticket that’s already yours is absurd!”

“You didn’t have to come with me.” You grumble. It wasn’t like you didn’t know that. You were very much aware of the fact that it was insane. It was something you thought about every time you failed to make it into the venue! Having her reiterate what you already knew did not make it any easier.

However, your acquaintance wasn’t having your response, “I did. You blackmailed me into coming with you so you’d actually do it right, remember?”

The vague memory of sending her an embarrassing picture you had as a way to convince her to come flashes through your mind. So maybe your methods were unconventional, but they worked. “That’s not important!”

You both continue to wait by the store’s entrance, making light conversation as more people begin to show up for their own tickets. Of course, you knew they’d be here, that’s why you left extra early to be there first. It was a good thing you did too, because as the time ticked on and the line grew longer, it became obvious a lot of fans had purchased their albums from the same store you had. Even as the store owner arrived to start their day, not at all surprised by the line that had formed for them, there were still fans lining up for their tickets.

But in the end, you were first to arrive and receive your ticket, and that made you one of the first to the venue.

“Alright, we made it. This is where I leave you.” Bomi hikes her bag further onto her shoulder and turns to face you one last time before she leaves, “Don’t make a fool of yourself in there. And do not show them your airpod collection!”

‘Oh, I’m returning the airpod collection…’ You think to yourself, sending a quick wave goodbye to her.

Waiting for the doors to the venue to open didn’t take as long as you’d thought it would - security check taking even less time. You found your seat pretty easily as well, being placed on the left side of the empty table in the middle of the sea of chairs. Taking the time you have while everyone finds their seats, you take a peek inside of the box you’d brought to grab your album and just look at everything you’d brought to begin their return to Namjoon. You made sure to bring every pair of air pods you had found - and hadn’t sold on eBbay - a few old homework assignments, USB’s, pictures he’d taken through his pre-debut, and the trophy he’d misplaced that lead to your discovery.

Hopefully his band members wouldn’t be too upset with him.

You’d learned a lot about each of them over the two years you’ve spent trying to meet with Namjoon. So many times you’d been tempted to put yourself on the fan page or DM them on Twitter, but you were too afraid of being drowned out by other ARMYs or one of the other boys blocking you before Namjoon could see. No doubt they each probably had hardships of their own trying dodge fans claiming to be their soulmate. Watching as they each come to the stage individually, you could see why anyone would lie to call them theirs. You couldn’t deny how handsome they all were - you’d be lying to yourself if you said you thought they weren’t handsome - but no one could compare to your Namjoon.

If you get the opportunity to meet his stylist, then you’re going to give her the biggest hug for making him look this amazing! It was just a plain white, button down shirt tucked into a black pair of dress pants, but the top two buttons of his shirt undone and the grey, satin suit jacket with the addition of black, square glasses and his brown hair neatly parted to the left make him look like a god - should they exist. He takes your breath away, even if you’ve seen every picture and fancam you were able to find. The universe really said, “this one deserves the best” and threw you the biggest catch out there. You could only hope he enjoyed the simple pair of jeans and pastel yellow sweater you’d thrown on for the occasion.

It takes a while before they begin the meet and greet part, the boys introducing themselves and asking questions, letting their fan sites take pictures before they turn their attention to the individual fans as they pass them. With every moment that passes by, every row you watch stand and enter the line to the stage, you become more and more nervous. Of course, you knew your soulmate was truly Namjoon, but you were still terrified to reveal that truth in front of everyone. You’d seen a few announcements regarding the boys and their soulmates, talking about how their respective soulmate would be treated like another one of the boys and would be protected by BigHit as soon as they were found. You knew you’d at least have his company behind you, but…

What about his fans?

You can’t help but fester in your own thoughts, letting them consume you even as you make your way into the line with your box. You try your best to muster up the courage you need, but the looming presence of the table getting closer and closer makes your breathing harder. All you need to do is remain calm. They were just people.

The people who’ve spent almost 7 years with your soulmate.

And your soulmate himself.

No biggie.

“Ma’am.” The voice of the staff keeping the line interrupts your internal panic, pulling you back to reality. He points to the table where an excited Taehyung smiles eagerly at you with an empty space in front of him. “You’re next.”

“Yes! Thank you.” Reeling from embarrassment, you quickly kneel down to the space in front of the table. You give a small bow and hand over your album to the boxy-smiled boy in front of you, your hands shaking from how nervous you are. All you had to do was make it through 5 more boys and you’d meet your soulmate.

5 more people....

...and you’d meet your soulmate.

A hand lands on top of your own, “There’s no need to be nervous!” Taehyung is bright and happy, calmly running a thumb over the back of your hand as he uses the other to sign your album. His eyes shift from you to the paper and back to you, “You’re doing great~”

You felt a little bad for probably ignoring him. He must’ve been trying to introduce himself when he’d noticed you’d spaced out yet again. Yet here he was, acting as though it wasn’t even that big of a deal. Of course, he still had about 50 more people or so to have a minute conversation with, but he genuinely seemed to care. It made you feel more confident.

“Thank you.” You say, a smile gracing your lips. You were still nervous, but at least now you felt calm and somewhat collected to at least make it through the other members. You move onto Yoongi, then to Jeongguk, to Jin, to Jimin, and then to Hoseok. Once again, you’re feeling a little guilty about the time you spend with him. It wasn’t like you weren’t excited to be in front of him, but your soulmate was less than 2 feet away from you looking like he walked out of a Vogue photo shoot with a happy little smile on his face. Hopefully, if all goes well you can apologize to him for being distracted.

The staff moves everyone along and your time finally comes. You bid Hoseok a quick thank you and goodbye and move yourself in front of Namjoon, his box tucked close to your body as a way to keep you grounded.

Namjoon takes your album from Hoseok before he turns his full attention to you, his dimples that you’d been obsessed with since you’d first seen them making an appearance. His dark brown eyes stare into your own, “Hi, what’s your name?”

You’re so entranced by the man in front of you that you almost don’t respond. You manage a quiet, “(Y/n)...” But you’re so stunned and breathless that you think about repeating it just to make sure he hears it.

“Really?” He asks. His eyes widen for just a moment, and you know he recognizes it from a homework assignment or a book you’d probably lost with your name in it. You watch his shoulders as they tense and then relax as if they’d never lifted in the first place. “I really like that name. It’s one of my favorites.”

You watch him turn to the album in front of him, looking for the page you’d like him to sign. Being in front of him now, you feel your confidence grow. You can’t help yourself, “Really? Is there a reason?”

“I’ve just always liked the name.” He says, looking up momentarily with a tight smile. He probably didn’t want to be too obvious about his soulmate - well, you - so fans wouldn’t go looking for you. That must be the one downside to the life of an idol. You watch him carefully, taking in the way he handles your album with care. You watch him flip through pages, his smile slipping for a confused frown. He looks at you, “You don’t have a question for me?”

You jump at the sudden realization that you hadn’t given him the box yet, “No! I do…” This was it. You look from him to the box you’ve clung onto for two years, “It’s inside the box.”

Carefully, you slide the box forward, feeling the nerves you’ve been feeling all day spring to life. He takes it from you with a grateful smile, probably expecting a bear or something you’d made yourself just for him. But judging by the look on his face, you can tell he wasn’t expecting to find the objects in front of him. His shocked face makes you chuckle.

“I’ve always wondered how one person can lose so many things. I understand homework and socks, the airpods, but an entire trophy, Namjoon? How do you lose a trophy?” You ask. You wait for an answer, but he looks as if he’s completely shut down. His jaw hangs open ever so slightly, and his eyes are wide in disbelief. You see a glisten in his eyes and your amusement turns to worry, “Are you okay?”

The leader turns to you, glistening eyes staring into your own. His mouth opens and closes and it looks like he’s trying to find the right words to say, “I-...I don-...oh my god, you’re actually here.”

You watch as the shine in his eyes turn to tears that slowly roll down his cheeks, his mouth struggling to decide if he wants to frown or smile. You’re more worried than anything, “Wah-! Don’t cry! Why are you crying?!” You reach for his hands that still rest on the sides of the box, mimicking what Taehyung had done for you when you first stepped up to the table. “Please don’t cry.”

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He says softly, his voice cracking ever so slightly. You’re still confused if he himself is happy or not, trying to make sense of why he’s crying when he just met you. You watch his eyes drift over you with an unclear expression. Was he happy? Was he sad? Were you supposed to be reacting the same way?

“You’re beautiful…” He says, teary eyes meeting your own.

“So are you.” You respond. It’s only after the words fall from your mouth that you realize what you said and you try to correct yourself, “Handsome! I meant to say you’re handsome! You’re very attractive in a very masculine way, but that’s not to say you don’t express femininity well when you choose to and you look good all the time and-” Amidst your struggle for the correct words, he’d begun to laugh at your own expense. Not how you imagined this meeting to go, you shrink back to your side of the table, “I’ll just stop talking.”

“No! Please, keep talking.” He begs, moving forward to come closer to you. He pulls on your hands that still connect across the table, squeezing to reassure you that he still wanted you to be near him. It felt so nice to have him hold your hands, so nice and comforting, that you must’ve missed the glistening in your own eyes, “Now you’re crying!”

Your hands pull from his to hide your face, “No I’m not, it’s just raining inside!”

As you try to wipe away your tears, you hear the voice of Jimin call over the speakers just off to the side of the table, “You’re not supposed to make the fans cry!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Namjoon defends. In all fairness, you did make him cry first, so this was probably fair.

Hoseok claps his hands together, his voice just subtly coming through the speakers as well, “This is so sweet! We’re all witnessing two soulmates meet for the first time!”

“It’s like a movie, but without the flower petals.” Taehyung adds, having a mic of his own on his side as well.

“Miss.” Another staff member appears next to you, only this time they’re offering a hand and a smile, “Could I have you come with me?”

You’re nervous at first, not sure if going with this staff member would be the best idea. However, the presence of Namjoon’s hand on your own once more draws your attention to his heartwarming smile, “It’s okay.”

You nod and stand, allowing the staff to lead you behind the table and into the hallway to a waiting area. They have you sit on the couch, assuring you that Namjoon and the others would be there to see you soon. This at least gave you a moment to collect your thoughts and come to the realization that you really just met your soulmate after so much hard work to get there. You’d thought plenty of times that you’d regret trying to meet him this way, but now you couldn’t be more elated that you actually got to speak to him and hold his hands. You made him cry - what were hopefully - tears of joy! Even as their manager sits down to make small talk with you while you wait for the end of the fanmeet, you can’t help but to feel as if you’re on cloud 9.

It’s not too long until you hear that the meeting has come to an end, making your heart rate speed up. Once again, you take a deep breath in and let it out, preparing yourself to face Namjoon again. Only when he does come in, you both just stare at one another. Him from the doorway with his members waiting behind him and you from your spot on the couch. You’d already met, you’d already held hands, but this...he was right there.

“Well, are you going to talk to her or just look at her?” Jin asks, a mischievous smirk gracing his features as he stares at the younger.

It would seem that the small jab at the leader was all he needed to push himself forward, legs moving swiftly across the room in long strides just so he can reach you. You stand, intending to meet him halfway, but he’s already pulling you into a much needed embrace before you even get the chance. His arms wrap over your shoulders, caging you close to his chest as he leans down to rest his head on your own. He smells so nice, and his embrace is so warm, they almost distract you from the wetness you feel on top of your head.

“Namjoon…?” You ask, worried you might make him cry more by asking.

The man himself pulls back, quickly moving to wipe his tears as if he hadn’t already cried in front of you already, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so emotional right now.”

“Don’t apologize. I think it’s cute.” You assure him. You look down, feeling a bit embarrassed yourself, “Much cuter than showing up to your fansign with a bunch of your things.”

“How long have you known?” He asks.

“2 long and painful years.” You sigh. Thinking back on everything you’ve done since discovering who and where he was, you can’t help but be thankful it worked out this time around, “I’ve tried coming to a fan sign 3 times before this.”

“Couldn’t win a ticket?” Jeongguk asks from the side, a bottle of water in his hands.

Your sheepish smile turns into a strained one, “Yeah...we’ll go with that.”

Yoongi seems to pick up on your change in attitude, “Don’t tell me…”

“No wonder the universe put them together, they’re a match made in heaven!” Jin laughs, the sound being much more entertaining in person. The other members of BTS continue to talk amongst themselves, discussing the scene before them as well as how exciting the day had been. But Namjoon, instead, focuses all of his attention on you.

“Please tell me you’re free for the rest of the day.”

For once, you were more than happy to use your holiday time, “I’m free for the rest of the weekend.”

“Good.” He says, giving you another look at his beautiful, dimpled smile.

“Good...”

* * *

“So, what’s in the box?”

376 notes · View notes

iturbide · 3 years

Text

United in Song

okay so this has been in my drafts for I don’t even know how long and I’m tired of it sitting there collecting dust, so please enjoy this fluffy 3H platonic one-shot.

/////

If there was one thing Dorothea missed about the opera, it was the audience. There was a certain kind of thrill that came with standing on the stage, staring out into the darkened crowd while the music swelled beneath her voice and feeling their tension, knowing that they held their collective breaths in anticipation, in wonder of her song…there was nothing else quite like it, in her experience. And while she didn’t really want to go back to that life of endless practices and performances, of cutthroat rivalries and patrons as dangerous as they were wealthy, she felt a little pang standing in the Garreg Mach cathedral, singing her heart out for absolutely no one.

Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. The monastery choir had finally gotten a few more members, and as the nun in charge dismissed them for the day, Annette and Hilda hurried over before she could wander off. “Wow, Dorothea! You were really amazing!!” the little redhead gushed.

“Aw, thanks, Annie,” Dorothea giggled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You were both great, too!”

“You’re so sweet,” Hilda smiled. “But we couldn’t hold a candle to you! Your voice was so beautiful -- and I swear, it filled the whole cathedral.”

Well, that might explain all the sharp looks and decrescendo gestures she’d been getting from the director.

“It’s really a shame nobody else was around to hear,” Annette sighed.

“I know exactly what you mean.” Dorothea scanned the rows of empty pews as they walked toward the doors, feeling again that ache of longing. Even when they did get to stand before an audience, something told her they would just be the choral lead to a devotional hymn for some religious service or another. “Sometimes I really wish we could just…go out and perform, you know? Show off a little, hear the applause…”

“…well, why couldn’t we?”

Dorothea paused at the top of the steps, reeling her mind back from another stage dream to focus on Hilda. “I didn’t think they did that here.”

“Not that I’ve seen. Or heard about,” Annette agreed.

“So why not do something about it?” Hilda asked. “Put on a musical performance! There’s lots of places that would work, like the lawn outside the classrooms, or the walk along the dormitories…”

“Would that really bring in an audience, though?” Annette pointed out. “Back in Fhirdiad you’d see performers doing shows on street corners, but they never really drew crowds or anything.”

“And wouldn’t it be nice to have a real stage, and a real audience?” Dorothea sighed. It was a quiet walk across the bridge to the monastery…and the whole way, she just kept turning Hilda’s suggestion over and over. It really would be nice to have an opportunity to perform…maybe she could ask Professor Manuela about it--

“This is it!!”

Dorothea jumped at Annette’s excited squeak, whirling just in time to see her grab something off the Bulletin Board. “What is?” she asked, taking the parchment and smoothing it out.

“A flier for the Weapons Tourney?” Hilda read over her shoulder. Apparently this month’s challenge was for axe-wielders, and while the pink-haired noble might excel, something told Dorothea that she wouldn’t go anywhere near it without proper incentive from the Professor.

“No! …well, I mean, yes, that’s what it is, but I mean -- this is the answer! We have a music tournament!”

“…a music tournament?” Dorothea repeated.

“Yeah!” Annette giggled. “We could have sign-ups, and people could bring their instruments or sing, and it could have brackets just like they do in the training grounds, only they’d be competing with their music! And the audience response could be how the winner’s picked!”

Dorothea felt a smile dawn across her face. “…Annie, that’s brilliant! We could get a sponsor to help judge ties, and offer a grand prize for the winner…”

“We could make fliers the way they do for the training ground matches, too!” Hilda added.

“I bet if we ask around the monastery, we could get tons of sign-ups -- and I’m sure lots of people would want to see it!” Annette insisted. “Ooh, this is so exciting!!”

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Dorothea agreed. “And I’m sure if we join forces, we can make it into a dazzling show.”

As they put their heads together to plan, for the first time in ages, she felt a thrill of excitement for what lay ahead. Garreg Mach might not have much appreciation for music now -- but if they got their way, Dorothea would make sure that changed.

-----

“A music show? Oh, you mean like they’ve got at the fair? Hey, count me in! Are you gonna have snacks?”

“No, Raph,” Dorothea sighed.

“You sure? Everybody likes good food -- I bet you’d get a ton of people to come if they could eat while they watched.”

She shook her head, fighting back a smile. It was hard to be frustrated with him when he was so enthusiastic, but she did wish he’d think about more than food. “Do they have snacks for the weapon tournaments at the training grounds?”

“Heck yeah they do!” he laughed. “I never miss a tourney, they’ve always got something for the people in the stands…”

“…huh.” She hadn’t known that. Maybe they could ask about refreshments: after all, everything else had been going splendidly so far. Professor Manuela had been over the moon when they approached her with the idea, and had swiftly appointed herself as their ‘impartial’ judge (said with a wink that made Dorothea certain she was far more partial than she’d ever admit to being); while the former diva took to planning and preparations, including venue selection and construction, she left the three students in charge of gauging interest and getting early sign-ups so they could start preparing their brackets. Hilda, rather expectedly, had complained of feeling poorly, so Dorothea had agreed to help out in canvasing the Golden Deer…which had led her, rather unexpectedly, to Raphael and his surprisingly helpful suggestion.

“Alright,” she agreed, making a note for later. “I’ll see what we can do about snacks, then.”

“All right!!” he cheered. “You’re the best, Dorothea!”

“Aw, thank you,” she smiled. “But would you want to take part? You know, be up on the stage in front of the audience? We’re looking for any kind of musical talent, whether you sing or play an instrument…”

His face scrunched up for a minute in deep, somewhat painful-looking thought. “Hmmm…I’m mostly good for muscle,” he shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I love music! I’m just not much good at makin’ it -- oh, hey, have you asked Bernadetta yet?”

“Bernie?”

“Yeah! Oh, man, she’s got this little brass thingy she plays -- she was playin’ it in the greenhouse one day, an’ I heard it from all the way in the training grounds! It was the best thing I’d ever heard!”

“Interesting,” Dorothea mused, scribbling another little note down.

“You didn’t know?”

“Bernie’s pretty shy about her talents,” Dorothea confided. “Seems she’s got all kinds of hidden ones…”

“Uh…if you go ask her, can you maybe…not tell her I told you?” he asked nervously. “See, uh…she got pretty upset when I found out, and made me promise not to tell anybody, but then you came talking about music an’ stuff and I just got real excited about maybe seein’ her up there an’ hearin’ it again, so…”

“Oh, Raph, you’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?” she giggled. “Don’t worry. I won’t say a word.”

“Thanks, Dorothea,” he beamed. “You really are the best.”

-----

“M-music show? Me? Perform!? How did you find out? Did Raphael tell you!?” Bernadetta demanded through the tiny crack between the doors of her room.

“Raphael? I haven’t talked to him,” Dorothea lied. “Hilda’s asking around with the Golden Deer, since they’re her classmates, just like Annette’s asking the Blue Lions and I’m asking all my fellow Eagles. We’re trying to get a list together of students who want to take part. Do you have any musical talents, Bernie?”

“N-n-no!” she stammered. “Nope, not me, Bernie’s just good for staying out of the way, yes indeed…”

“I think you’re good for a lot more than that,” Dorothea insisted. “I know you’ve got so much talent, and it’s such a shame to hide it all away. Maybe you sing in here, or play an oboe when we’re all away from the dorms…”

“Trumpet,” the archer mumbled. “B-but I could never get up in front of so many people!”

“Oh, but from on stage, under the lights, you can’t even see most of the audience -- and wouldn’t it be great to share all that talent with the whole academy?”

“Maybe for you!” the archer squeaked. “All those people out there in the dark, staring at me, and no place to hide? That s-sounds terrifying!”

…Dorothea actually hadn’t thought about that. She was so used to basking in the attention…but that would be scary for someone as shy as Bernadetta. “That’s okay,” she smiled. “You don’t have to. But…would you maybe come to watch? Ferdie and I have already signed up to take part, and we could always use someone to cheer for us.”

“…m-maybe,” came the muffled reply.

“And if you do change your mind about being on stage, you know we’ll both be cheering you on, right?” she coaxed. “Annette even told me that Felix promised to come watch the performances, and you know how he feels about everything that isn’t training. We’d all really love it if you joined in.”

Silence from the other side of the doors. Had she pushed too hard…?

“I’ll…I-I’ll think about it.”

Beaming, Dorothea made a note on her sign-up sheet. “That’s all we’d ask for. Just let me know, okay?”

And maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she heard the smallest sound of agreement before the doors clicked firmly shut between them.

-----

Even in her fantasies, Dorothea never could have dreamed things would go this well. Not only did they get enough sign-ups to make a full five-round bracket, the whole monastery was buzzing with anticipation days before the event. It reminded her a little of Enbarr the week before a Mittelfrank production, where every group she passed on the street seemed to be talking about the upcoming show -- whether it was about their excitement to see the spectacle or despair over not getting one of the endlessly coveted (and frightfully limited) tickets. Here, thankfully, seating was hardly an issue, since Professor Manuela had managed to secure the Reception Hall for the event: the whole student body could fit there with standing room to spare, even with the stage taking up the front quarter.

Come the morning of the show, posters listing the contestants appeared on every bulletin board, and Dorothea scanned the starting matches before the thought of breakfast even occurred to her. She recognized more than a few names: Ferdinand of course, and herself (naturally), as well as Lorenz (unfortunately), Hilda, Annette, and even Bernie.

It was all so exciting, she could hardly bear it.

Time crawled by while she waited for the tournament to begin. Before noon she’d warmed up, improvised a few little tunes as practice, and rehearsed a few of her favorite songs in preparation. By the time the Reception Hall opened to the competitors, she’d chosen her starting and ending arrangements and decided on the pieces she would use if she faced any real competition. And once the doors opened and the audience began to crowd into the available seats, she felt her heart begin to race in anticipation of what was soon to come.

She didn’t even mind that she had to wait. The first match, to her delight, featured Annette and Bernie: blushing fiercely, the little red-head made her way cheerfully through an obviously original tune, while Dorothea’s fellow Eagle stuck to a familiar Imperial melody, squeezing her eyes shut tight and playing her trumpet at the stage rather than the audience. In spite of that, it was a remarkable performance, and Bernie might have won just by virtue of Raphael’s enthusiastic applause -- but his thunderous cheer startled the poor recluse and sent her bolting from the stage before the match could be officially declared, forfeiting her chance to proceed. But that might have been for the best, she supposed: Bernie clearly wasn’t big on the spotlight.

The rest of the first round and all of the second went smoothly enough. Though she didn’t bother watching every pair, she saw both Ferdinand and Annette proceed on to the quarterfinals, while Hilda lost to Lorenz in her second bout (though the noblewoman hardly seemed bothered by the loss). Dorothea’s own matches barely required any effort on her part to win: she’d spent so long practicing her favorite songs from her favorite operas in the days leading up to this competition, but a few simple melodies were all it took to ensure that she made it through the preliminaries. Even against her third opponent, all it took was the chorus from an Adrestian folksong to seal her victory...though Annette lost her own bout against Ferdinand in the same round. Dorothea congratulated her all the same, and promised to win for Annie’s sake -- perhaps a bold promise from anyone else, but one that the former Mittelfrank diva felt assured she could keep.

And sure enough, in the semifinals she not only faced her fellow Eagle but beat him handily with one of the arias she’d so carefully prepared. He lost quite gracefully, too, applauding her as enthusiastically as the audience itself and conceding even before Profesor Manuela could announce the final judgment. And with the round done, Dorothea made her way back behind the stage, humming to herself as she waited for the intermission to end and the finals to begin…

“Congratulations on sweeping the competition, Dorothea.”

She paused, turning to see the leader of the Golden Deer House grinning at her from a few feet away. Mustering up a pleasant enough smile, she offered a nod in greeting. “Why, thank you, Claude. Are you here to wish Lorenz well before I crush him?”

The nobleman blinked. “Why would I do that? Lorenz got knocked out in the last round.”

Dorothea stared at him for a long, silent moment. “To who?” she demanded, hunting about for a bracket that might give her an answer--

“...me, actually.”

Slowly, carefully, she turned again to face the leader of the Golden Deer. “Guess you weren’t watching the match,” he chuckled, hefting an odd lute-like instrument. “Lorenz was...less than thrilled with the outcome, if it helps.”

Actually, it just made her regret all the more that she hadn’t paid attention: she’d been looking forward to seeing his face when he finally lost. “Well, I suppose congratulations are in order for you, too, then,” she said, turning away from him again. “May the best musician win.”

“Oh, uh...about that.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as he drummed his fingertips along the neck of his instrument. “I was...well. I was wondering how you’d feel about calling it a draw.”

A thin smile carved its way across her face. “Are you that confident you can beat me, Claude?”

“Hardly,” he scoffed. “I have no doubt that you’d mop the floor with me.” She felt sure he was flattering her -- but she waited all the same, watching his grin soften almost shyly, though it still didn’t quite touch his eyes. “I was just...hoping I could perform with you, instead of having to compete against you. Y’know, everything here at the monastery is about pitting us against each other: the weapon tourneys, the fishing competition, and now this...I feel like we could put on a better show working together than we could separately trying to one-up each other. You can have the prize, too, if you want,” he added. “Pretty sure you’d win it anyway, but...what do you say?”

Beyond the curtain, she heard Professor Manuela take the stage again and announce the final round to the audience. Claude only watched Dorothea, though, seeming content to be patient and wait for her even as their names rang out over the wild cheering of the crowd.

And at last she smiled, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “How are you at improvising with that lute of yours?”

“If you can sing a few bars, I can probably make something work,” he grinned.

“Why don’t we put that to the test?”

“With pleasure,” he agreed, bowing playfully before offering his arm to her. Returning the gesture with a teasing curtsy of her own, Dorothea accepted -- and they walked out onto the stage together, applause washing over them in waves of wondrous sound. They parted smoothly, Claude taking up his instrument and strumming a few notes to ensure it was properly in tune before looking expectantly to her, waiting for her lead; Dorothea turned her own attention to the darkness, savoring the anticipation of the shadowed audience before her...and finally beginning to sing, the somber melody echoing throughout the crowded reception hall.

“Reach for my hand, I’ll soar away, Into the dawn, oh I wish I could stay…”

A soft chord joined in, the notes as sweet and clear as her own...and yet it did not overpower her voice: instead it seemed to carry the words higher, elevating the music in ways she had not heard since she left the Mittelfrank Opera House. She did not falter, though: instead she continued, allowing a smile to creep into her voice as she sang.

“Here in cherished halls, in peaceful days I fear the edge of dawn, knowing time betrays…”

“Is this really gonna be the last song we do?” Claude asked, his voice carrying out into the dark and startling her back to reality. “Come on, Dorothea, we’ve gotta liven it up a little!”

Even as he spoke, his fingers flew over the strings, keeping the key but tumbling into a bright, rousing accompaniment. He winked at her when she turned to stare at him, repeating the same refrain in invitation...and though she’d only ever heard the piece as a wandering lament before, she could not deny his compelling harmony.

Their music rang through the reception hall, her voice rising into the rafters on the strum of lute strings...and for the first time since she’d come to the Officer’s Academy, Dorothea felt that familiar, wonderful thrill again as the enraptured crowd watched them perform their duet on the stage.

-----

In the fortnight following the tourney, Dorothea had become the most popular girl in Garreg Mach. It seemed like every young man, noble birth or otherwise, wanted a moment of her time, a scrap of her attention...and, of course, a chance to hear her sing again.

While they’d agreed to a draw before ever taking the stage, Claude had gracefully conceded when Professor Manuela declared Dorothea the winner. It had bothered her when it happened -- all the more for how she couldn’t correct the matter over the riotous applause -- and try as she might over the intervening days, she’d still been unable to set the record straight with anyone she spoke with (aside from Hilda, who didn’t seem the least bit surprised to hear it). But strangest of all was the fact, despite now having an audience eager to hear her perform again...she couldn’t find that thrill anymore. It had been there while she was on stage with Claude, but in every performance since -- no matter how many people she had hanging on her every note -- she just felt the same hollow sort of yearning she had in the cathedral before all of this began.

Dorothea sighed as she made her way out of the dining hall, taking the stairs down to the fishing pond and wandering toward the dormitories. All the attention did get tiring after a while; luckily the grounds seemed deserted this afternoon, and she stretched her arms high as she tipped her head back, breathing in the crisp autumn air while the sun warmed her face and the soft sound of music drifted by…

She stopped, scanning the lawn and the path along the row of dorms. No one was there that she could see, but she could hear the strum of lute strings; she hurried on, listening to the music grow louder and louder until she felt certain she was close -- but the sound was too clear to be coming from behind the closed doors, and there was still no one around that she could see. “Claude?” she called, raising her voice as much as she dared.

The music stopped. “Dorothea?” the nobleman’s voice replied -- not from beside or behind her, but from above.

Tilting her head back and shading her eyes, she stared at the young man peering at her over the eaves of the dormitory roof. “What are you doing up there?” she asked.

“Playing,” he said.

“How did you even get up there? And why are you playing on the roof, for that matter?”

“It’s complicated,” he shrugged. “...well, alright, it’s not that complicated, but...should I come down so we can talk?”

Dorothea opened her mouth to agree...and paused. “...I could always come up,” she offered.

A grin twitched across his face. “I’ll meet you at my room, then,” he laughed, waving before disappearing from view. Hurrying back down to the greenhouses, she turned into the stairwell leading to the second floor of dorms where most of the noble students stayed; at the top of the steps, she saw Claude poke his head out into the hall, beaming at the sight of her. Smiling despite herself, Dorothea hurried over and ducked past him without even thinking...and as he closed the doors, she stifled a giggle at the sight of his room.

She had seen cluttered her share of dorms before -- Linhardt’s came immediately to mind -- but she’d never seen anything quite like this, with books taking up half the bed, papers spilling off the desk and onto the floor, and shelves cluttered with a mix of plants, vials, and strange brass instruments she couldn’t identify. Claude seemed briefly puzzled by her reaction...though, after another moment, he rather sheepishly began gathering up the parchment piled on his chair to give her a place to sit. “So what can I do for you?”

“Well, first of all I’d like to know how you got onto the roof,” she replied. “And off it so fast, for that matter.”

He quirked one eyebrow in apparent surprise. “What, that? It’s easy.” Dropping the papers in a haphazard pile on the desk, he stepped up onto the wide ledge beneath the open window, leaning out into empty space and stretching one arm up...

Claude jumped.

Dorothea lunged for him, knowing already it was too late -- but he did not fall. She stumbled into the sill, gaping as he effortlessly pulled himself up out of sight; crawling up onto the ledge, she cautiously poked her head out the window...and saw him lean out over the eave, grinning down at her from his perch. “That doesn’t look easy to me,” Dorothea pointed out.

“It just takes some practice,” he laughed. “Want to come up? The view’s great,” he added, reaching a hand down to her.

The sensible, logical, rational part of her brain insisted that she’d rather not break her neck trying to get a nice view of the monastery...even as she extended her own arm, gripping his wrist and feeling him hold fast. She heard the instructions he gave her -- she was more than certain of that, since she never would have done this on her own -- but whatever he’d said escaped her the moment she stepped off the ledge into empty air, clutching tight to Claude’s wrist even as his pleasant laughter rang in her ears. In the end he did most of the work pulling her up beside him...but once she caught her breath and her heart stopped feeling like a bird trying to escape its cage, she had to admit that he was right: the campus was lovely from so high up.

“You doing okay?” he asked, patting her shoulder gently.

“Better, I think,” she agreed, scooting further back from the edge. “So, that explains how you got up here -- now why are we here?”

“Well, in my case it’s because it’s a nice day, I don’t have anything going on, and I’m tired of dealing with Lorenz, so I figured I’d come up here and play a bit. He can yell all he wants from down there, but I’m not stopping unless he gets on this roof to make me.” As he spoke, he removed the lute strapped to his back, strumming a few notes and idly beginning to tune it again. “But what brings you up here?”

“Well...actually, I was looking for you,” she admitted, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t seen much of you since the music tourney.”

“You’ve been busy,” he winked.

Dorothea rolled her eyes, leaning back against the slightly pitched roof. “Don’t remind me, I needed to get away from it for a while.”

“Really? I thought you’d be happy about all the attention.”

“I was at first,” she sighed, “and it’s been wonderful to have more chances to sing, but…”

She trailed off, watching a few wispy clouds wandering across the pale blue sky. After a moment, the quiet strum of lute strings fell silent; glancing over at the nobleman, she found him watching her with interest, his head canting slightly to one side as he gestured for her to continue. “It...doesn’t feel like I thought it would. Back in the opera, it was always so grand and emotional, singing to an audience -- I loved that feeling, and it’s one of the things I’ve missed most since I left. I’d hoped the competition would bring it back, and singing with you I found it again, but...I haven’t felt it since. I’ve been feeling guilty about the way it ended up, and…”

“Hey, I said from the start that you’d mop the floor with me in a competition,” he laughed. “I don’t mind. I’m glad I got the chance to perform with you -- that was my prize.”

“Be serious,” she huffed. “I’m trying to apologize!”

“And I’m saying you don’t have to -- it’s not like you had a say in Professor Manuela deciding on a winner.”

“But if I don’t get it sorted out, how am I supposed to enjoy singing like I used to?”

“Are you sure guilt is what’s keeping you from it?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“You said that you haven’t felt that thrill since you left the opera. You didn’t get it again until the finals, right?” She nodded in agreement. “And then after the finals it was gone again?” Again, she nodded in agreement. “So what was different about the finals, compared to everything before and after?”

“The drama of the grand finale?” she offered.

“Well, that, too,” he chuckled, “but you weren’t performing alone, either: your melody had a harmony.”

Dorothea scoffed at the notion. “That seems…”

She trailed off as Claude leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands. She hadn’t thought of it like that before, but...her fondest memories from the opera were of performances with accompaniment: grand arias carried by a full orchestra, soft odes lilting over quavering strings. “...possible,” she conceded.

“So maybe what you were really looking for was a chance to sing with somebody, instead of going it alone or singing over them.”

“I’m flattered you think I’m so selfless,” she giggled. “Really, I just wanted an audience.” But even so, that final performance with him, building on one another’s leads and creating something far grander and more beautiful than Dorothea could have done alone...it had brought with it a familiar, delightful frisson.

“Well, I know I had more fun playing with you than I did taking Lorenz down a peg -- and I really enjoyed that,” Claude laughed, strumming his lute again, “and I, for one, would be honored to reprise the performance -- though, fair warning, I can’t promise a crowd this time around.”

“You know, I am free this afternoon,” she grinned. He beamed back at her, picking a cheerful tune on his lute strings -- an Adrestian folksong she recognized instantly; as she started in on the first verse and their duet drifted out over the quiet campus, she felt the thrill lift her heart again...and maybe it was just her imagination, but she swore Claude’s smile finally reached his eyes.

#fanfiction #fire emblem: three houses #dorothea arnault #claude von riegan #dorothea & claude #these two could have had such interesting conversations #but the only way to get that is with fanfiction #which is a shame #the title song reference is one of my favorite nods #dorothea singing it at half tempo to start #and then claude kicking it up to the faster pace #is just so much fun to me #also even though they don't have a huge impact on the piece as a whole #i just love the bits with raph and bernie so much #overall i'm still a little unsure about this particular one #but i really wanted to get it done since it's been sitting around for so long #and i needed something to get my mind on other things #let me know what you think #and if you'd like to see this one kicked over to ao3 too

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thewhizzyhead · 3 years

Text

HELLO SOME OF YOU GUYS LIKED MISFITS AND SOME OF YOU GUYS LIKED GRADE 11 (i posted about that musical draft thingy back in march and um yea there have been a lot of changes fjxjf) AND GUESS WHAT DUDES I HAVE MORE MUSICAL CONCEPT SHITS TO RAMBLE ABOUT BECAUSE MY BRAIN IS WAY TOO HYPERACTIVE FOR MY OWN GOOD SO SIT BACK, RELAX AND ENJOY THIS CLUSTERFUCK

@ari-is-anxious have fun with this and i wish you the best of luck in trying to comprehend this-

+ Kasaysayan (which means History) - this is the 2nd musical concept thingy i made (the first one being Misfits) and yea i started thinking of this went I was 14. I kinda wanted it to tell a story of like the entirety of philippine history as narrated by students and i wanted to kinda emphasize how history has many faces and how many different factors essentially blur our perspective of what we view as the past. I also wanted to like draw parallels between what our ancestors have experienced and what we currently experience esp when it comes to sociopolitical and economic stuffs and I wanted to like correct a lot of misconceptions about ph history and provide more insight and info about ph's past (i.e how centuries of colonialism have affected our current culture and overall social mindset esp in regards to our want for validation from foreigners aka the whole #PinoyPride thing; how even though activism and revolution is like the main reason on as to why the Philippines even exists, it continues to be demonized here; the ideologies of some of our revolutionary heroes and presidents and why some of them are dicks; etc etc). Also I wanted to showcase like um PH music, art, and dance and how that has progressed and also regressed throughout the years (*shakes fist at colonizers*) and um YEA YOU CAN SEE WHY I EVENTUALLY AND RATHER QUICKLY DISCONTINUED THIS TJCJSJF THIS IS *NOT* DOABLE AT ALL THSJFHF it could work as a concept album and a one-time performance BUT NOT LIKE A LEGIT PRODUCTION SO YEA FOR NOW IT WILL STAY IN THE DRAFT FOLDER FJXNSJF but yea this idea then led to the next two ideas woo

+ Noli/Fili - started wanting to make this at the start of quarantine so like um march 2020 heck i even made a wholeass word doc for this fjdjdv so it's basically a ph-rock-rap-based musical adaptation of Jose Rizal's Noli Me Tangere (Touch Me Not) and El Filibusterismo (The Filibuster) (yes these two novels are like tne national novels here since rizal is our national here and yea these were originally written in Spanish) but the protagonist of El Fili (Simoun) takes charge of telling Noli's story in Act 1 while Noli's protag (Crisostomo Ibarra) takes charge of telling Fili's story in Act 2. Those two books have very different tones and those two characters have um VERY DIFFERENT world views so i thought it would be interesting to tell one's story through the eyes of someone different and yet also the same to provide a lot more insight on how the events in the novels affected these two protags (there is a Good Reason for this and um Filipinos who studied this in 9th and 10th grade know what i'm talking about fhshf if u wanna um know what i'm talking about and don't wanna read the novels (they are very long) i suggest looking up El Filibusterismo and um yea check out Simoun fjsjf). Like for example, there would be times that Noli's narrator (Simoun) (whose general demeanor is like um a lot more cunning and cynical and a lot more resentful of the events that have happened compared to Fili's narrator) would directly question the Noli protag's (Ibarra) actions while Fili's narrator (Ibarra) (he is a lot more um hopeful and peaceful compared to Simoun) often questions how Fili's protag (Simoun) turned into well um a very cynical and cunning person with a taste for revenge (I am trying my hardest to NOT spoil the novels here gjdjf) and yea because the story is set in Spanish Colonial times here, i wanna focus more on the sociopolitical aspects and problems in the novels and how those still remain relevant here, hence the ph-rock-rap-based music. Also I would like to point out that the curriculum here barely like goes into depth about the subject matter of the novels (esp the sociopolitcal parts) and how said subject matter shaped the characters here and HOW EVERY SINGLE THING IN THIS DAMN NOVEL IS STILL RELEVANT,,,so um basically the curriculum is currently missing the entire point of the novels since Rizal wrote these two with the intent to provide socioecononic and political commentary on the pure shit that many of the Filipinos experienced under Spanish colonial rule,,,SO THIS THINGY IS BASICALLY MY MIDDLE FINGER TO THE CURRICULUM AND ESSENTIALLY MY ATTEMPT TO SHOW MORE OF THE NOVELS COMPARED TO WHAT HAS BEEN TAUGHT TO US FJJSJFV this is gonna be a nightmare to write tho cause wow those novels are jampacked

+ Patron - if this ever becomes a thing, I will consider it the greatest thing i'll ever write gjcjdbc I REALLY WANT THIS TO BE A THINGY AAAA so the plot is barebones atm but it's basically about journalism and activism here in the Philippines (and how both can get you killed fjjsjf i'm not kidding these two can legit get you killed wah redtagging sucks shit and the anti terror law can suck even more shit) and how the youth are expected to be purveyors of the country's advancement and improvement despite the fact that our voices are oftentimes dismissed and even permanently silenced when what we say goes against what those in power want us to say,,,those this is basically Misfit's spiritual successor fjxjdjf both of those musicals share similar themes fjxns so yea expect me ranting about a lot of political stuff here and a lot of talking about the ideologies of past and present politics and revolutions and how those affect the masses and how the masses can shape them in return. There will also be talk on how journalism's role in shaping society and how proper dissemination of information and lack thereof can affect people's mindsets aND HOW JOURNALISM IS OFTENTIMES MANIPULATED TO MANIPULATE PEOPLE'S MINDSETS (STUDENT JOURNALIST AND ASPIRING PROFESSIONAL JOURNALIST'S RANTS GO BRRRRR YEA I HAVE A LOT TO RANT ABOUT).

Oh and also this musical is heavily inspired by both the noli and el fili novels and by spring awakening (Everything I Write Will Be Inspired By Spring Awakening dbjxd) in a sense that Act 1's active protagonist (who then becomes Act 2's passive protag) is named Elias and is based on both Elias from Rizal's novels and on Melchior Gabor (which is funny cause rizal's elias is NOTHING LIKE MELCHIOR GABOR SO UM LOOK IT'S GONNA BE HARD TO EXPLAIN JUST UM YEA IT'S MESSY) while the passive protagonist (who becomes the active protag by the end of act 1 and throughout the entire 2nd act) is named Cris Ibarra and is based on Moritz Stiefel and Rizal's Ibarra (more specifically um Rizal's Ibarra's growth into a very different character throughout the events of the two novels).

ALSOOO there is this one concept that made me really REAALLY want to make Patron an actual thingy and that is the existence of um Shadows in the show. Inspired by the voices in Deaf West Speing Awakening, these Shadows can always be found lurking on stage alongside their respective characters like um if Elias is in a scene, his shadow can also be found on stage somewhere. I kinda want them to like represent the characters' innermost thoughts and the other parts of themselves the characters' would like to hide through how the Shadows act on stage and um yea choreography gjsjf Patron is porbably gonna be very dance heavy so um yea it's a bit hard to explain so i'll just point to Alex Boniello and Daniel Durant's Moritz fjxjjf i kinda want it to be like that. The Shadows would be part of the show's ensemble and um yea lots of dancing and prop moving woo also at times they would be singing for the character they are assigned to like um while Elias would be in the middle of doing something on stage, his Shadow would be the one singing in his stead and when his Shadow sings, that's when the character becomes the most vulnerable to the audience because the Shadows often expose their characters' thoughts and worries to the audience that the characters themselves wouldn't really express. So like um the Shadows address the audience a lot gjxjsjd except for one aka Ibarra's Shadow. Instead of addressing the audience, Ibarra's shadow addresses IBARRA directly, often questioning Ibarra's actions (especially their hesitance in Act 1). ig ibarra's shadow is rather representative of what Ibarra would turn into in Act 2 when they take over as the Active protag. But um Ibarra's shadow still questions Ibarra frequently esp in regards to their risky actions so um yea Ibarra's shadow is kinda like the Fates the hadestown wherein they serve to sow doubt but over here Ibarra's shadow is meant to symbolize how insecure they feel in regards to their decisions which well, as the protag, make and break the show. Also um yea the rest of the characters' shadows also start addressing their characters more while the characters themselves start addressing the audience more so woo switcheroo! Also the dynamic that the characters have with each other is similar to the dynamics between the kids in Spring Awakening wherein they are just kids (well in this cause young adults aged 18-20) trying to figure out life in general and all that so woo

(also I would like to note that I really want Ibarra's role to be open to all genders in order to like make a statement that anyone can grow into the character Ibarra becomes throughout Patron but rn hmm i'm still thinking about how that will play out especially given that I kinda wanted Patron's Ibarra to have two love interests here aka Elias and Clara (kiiiiinda based on Maria Clara aka Ibarra's actual love interest from Rizal's novels but um YEA THERE ARE A LOT OF DEVIATIONS GJXSF) but tbh i'm still figuring out a way to make Clara have a much larger role here in terms of pushing the plot cause rn the Elias and Ibarra dynamic have an advantage since um active-passive protagonist switcheroo so I'm kinda thinking of a way to make Clara a secret 3rd protag that is both an active and a passive one? I dunno fjsjd honestly i'm still trying to figure out what Maria Clara represents in the novels cause I know for certain that Rizal did not write her to be a mere demure love interest so um yea WORK IN PROGRESS AND UM ALL IN ALL IBARRA CAN BE PLAYED BY ANY AND ALL GENDERS AND IBARRA IS PANSEXUAL BECAUSE I FUCKING WANT THEM TO BE GJSJJF)

+ Grade 12 - OKI SO LIKE I'VE POSTED ABOUT THIS BEFORE BACK IN MARCH BUT UM I'VE CHANGED SOME STUFF GJXJJD so anyways Grade 12 is well um designed to be a campy-please-don't-take-this-seriously-this-is-just-for-laughs-and-gags musical about 12th graders (i changed the grade to raise the stakes) that makes fun of Filipino TV tropes esp when related to teenagers while also providing a lit more insight on ad to what teenagers go through on a daily basis in terms of trying to grow into the person they want themselves to be while also trying to change to adapt to a world that more often that not goes against them. So yea it's not as heavy as the other musicals, heck I designed this after Preston Max Allen's Carrie 2 musical (dude check it out it has jenny rose baker and it's gold) so woo funsies but i also like this to mean something. Oh and also this is basically me ranting about Everything Wrong In The Philippine Education System (how it more often than not is really detrimental to the students' personal wellbeings through constant overwork and disregard of physical, mental and emotional health issues, its accessibility issues esp the issues experiences by those of the poorer sectors, the um very outdated info at times, how the system perpetuates classism and a shit ton of very detrimental social hierarchy bullshits esp through the implementation of the star sections (speaking as someone who's been in the "lower" sections and has also been in the star sections, I HAVE A LOT TO RANT ABOUT THIS ONE OH BOY FUN FACT I WANTED TO MAKE AN ACADEMIC PAPER ON THIS BUT MY 10TH GRADE TEACHER WOULDN'T LET ME) etc etc) plot is mainly barebones atm but um yea here are some of the updates to the characters: Kyla (formerly named Kate), Noel and Ella haven't changed that much but um I've decided to give the Halos Lagi Nalang number to Kyla and Max (nonbinary student that serves as a foil to Kyla in which Max is constantly being denied opportunities that they want while Kyla constantly refuses opportunities that Max wants; also yea i'll be talking about stories that trans and nonbinary students have experienced in both of my high schools through Max cause i really wanna bring attention to how the trans and nonbinary community is really being shat on despite the um sliiight improvement in the way schools treat the (cisgender) members of the lgbtq+ community; also they are just as ambitious as Ella (i envision her to be like um Draft Eva + Riley jfhdf) um yea major plot pusher woo I'd compare them to Draft Eva + Reese but um I Sincerely And Solemnly Promise To Not Screw Them Over In Act 2 fjjxfj) instead because they will be the ones with queerness being a much bigger factor to their individual plotlines compared to Noel and Ella.

The other main characters are um Marco (typical jock dude who's actually one of the more philosophical and introspective characters in the show; i want to like um highlight the whole sports scholarships debacle, how stereotypes can affect how people are treated in real life and also touch on the machismo culture that's um really being enforced here esp with him being an athlete and all; also he's really good friends with Max and through that friendship he learns that him slightly questioning his sexuality is a good thing so yea), Ruben & Lexi (i don't have that much planned for them atm because woo barebones plot but i do imagine them to be initially framed as the more antagonistic characters and have that like stereotype be taken apart as the show goes on esp considering that both are in the "lower sections" and are um more prone to stereotyping) aND A NARRATOR CHARACTER HMMM WHERE HAVE WE SEEN THIS BEFORE GJXJD oki but this Narrator (can be played by any gender as long as the actor IS VERY FUNNY LIKE COMEDIC TIMING IS A *MUST*) is based on the Narrator in PMA's Carrie 2 but I also want the narrator to be like um more crucial to the plot as the story progresses esp as they interact with both the audience and the characters a lot more so like um it's a bit hard to describe their exact role here because um BAREBONES PLOT FJXJD but altho they can't directly affect the story they are telling (cause so far my plan for them is like um they were a former classmate of 7/8 of the characters here but unfortunately they died due to a car accident), they can and do indeed influence the characters in it and all of the characters (except Kyla) know who they are (especially Ruben) so um yea. Also the solo I have planned for them is called Live On (which is um yea a spin off of Move On fjxjd) and through them, I plan to explore the tragedy of unexpected deaths and what happens to those left behind (this will be based on observations and accounts from many of my former schoolmates) and how many have yet to move on and how they choose to live on despite of that because they know that's what their former classmate, schoolmate, and loved on would've wanted.

SO OBVIOUSLY I OWE GRADE 12 TO SIR PRESTON MAX ALLEN GJXJFJD THANK YOU PMA FOR ONCE AGAIN INFLUENCING MY WORK WOO

+ Concepts - oki so this is the only musical so far that i wanna write solely in English nfjsj so this is inspired by Fun Home in which there are like versions of characters in different ages right? Over here there are 2 versions of 6 characters: the 17-18 year old ones, and the 27-28 year old ones. Through them, this musical will explore two main things: (1) the sad and depressing reality of having to give up one's artistic dreams and passions for the sake of practicality and (2) choosing to take a leap of faith and try to grasp on to whatever chances one may have left to live a life that means more than just making ends meet. Act 1 has the teenagers focus on Point 2 while the adults focus on Point 1; Act 2 has the teenagers focus on Point 1 while the adults end up focusing on Act 2. Once again, um barebones plot with even more barebones characters (heck i dont even have NAMES for them gnxnd) but i think it'll be pretty cool to elaborate upon the shitty circumstances here in the ph when it comes to artistic pursuits and how most of the kids I know are terrified of growing up because they don't want to give up dreaming even though that they know that they have to wake up. I also think it'll be cool to point out thay even though that yea situations like these suck, it'll never ever be too late to pick up the pieces and try again cause at the end of the day, life only ends when you say it will end: there will always be chances, you just need to be gutsy enough to grasp them. Also um yea I originally planned to post like a shit ton of poems this month that would basically be the lyrics of the songs that would go into this musical bUT I'M LAZY SO I'M THROWING AWAY THE POSTING SCHEDULE FJXJSJD anyways here r 2 of the poems/songs that i wanna make for this:

+ In 10 Years - a duet between one of the teenagers and their adult counterpart which is um basically the teen singing their optimistic yet really in-depth and mature perspective on chasing Point 2 while the adult sings about Point 1, wishing that they could tell their teen self about how disappointed they will be; i imagine this to be um kinda like the first version of Dear Theodosia but um more intense maybe fjdjf

+ Run - a duet between two teens who are best friends where one girl tries to convince the other to run and play with her in the nearby playground AND YES THIS DUET IS VERY FUCKING GAY JDJSJDF this was um originally part of Grade 12 tbh and it was supposed to be sung by Lexi and it was supposed to be about a 9th grade event that i personally was a part of where um 9th grade student researchers at a research seminar at a different freaking university took over the elementary students' playground when the seminar finished (I SHALL TREASURE THAT MEMORY FOREVER) and um yea it was basically about holding on to your childhood while you still can...aND THEN I UNINTENTIONALLY MADE IT GAY JFJSJSF Lexi is still getting that song about the research seminar event tho but um it won't be Run cause Run basically turned into a song that's not only about holding on to what's left of your childhood but also to the people you treasure that you know you have to leave behind sooner or later and um yea the girl that the one girl tries to convince to go to the playground agrees to that and then boom go duet stylized after 21 and Alone Now + I Don't Care by freaking preston max allen once again woo (i promise that this won't be plagiarism gndnd) (also altho the two girls have to go their separate ways by their graduation, they eventually meet again at the end of act 2 so woo hopeful ending for the sapphics

OKI THAT'S ALL FOR TODAY FHXHSHD THIS IS WAY TOO FUCKING LONG OF A RAMBLE GOOD GOD AAAAA SO UM IF ANYONE ELSE MADE IT TO THE END, I ONCE AGAIN WILL SEND YOU A SHIT TON OF CARBONARA-

#ari i'm so sorry but this is like...so unbelievably long and convoluted tjxjs GOODLUCK #AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS TJXJSF #so moral of the story is: my brain is too hyperactive for my own good #God help me #also God help those who are gonna try to read this fjxjs #so woo more musical concept rambles aaa #move on tw #move on #ask to tag #izzy's rambles and shit

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tamamatango · 4 years

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Let’s talk about Kururu, again

Apparently the fandom is growing all of a sudden so I feel like talking about Kururu again cuz that’s all I know how to do and it’s been a while

First off disclaimer that fandom is fandom and anybody can interpret any character any way they want and if you like to portray a character a certain way for whatever reason go for it, more power to you (unless you put them in pedo/incest relationships that are displayed as good in which case fuck you). But in my personal Kirbpinion(TM) the Funimation dub was a fucking mistake because so many fan content creators write a way different Kururu than what he is in canon cuz the dub never got to his best episodes and also upped the sadism to ridiculous levels. Listen I know it’s funny to joke that he’s the kind of guy that has 3 medieval torture chambers but hear me out. Kururu is by no means a perfect person, he’s genuinely pretty rude/blunt (though sometimes his straightforwardness is justified :P), has an ego, sometimes acts pretty gross around others and likes extreme and elaborate pranks way way way too much BUT.

Assuming you’ve watched far enough into the series (like 100+ eps) I do not really understand the interpretation that he doesn’t care about anyone and that friendship and love are things he is totally incapable of. He says that yes but if you pay enough attention to his dialogue it becomes pretty apparent that he displays this attitude for multiple reasons. One is that he does genuinely have a hard time expressing the emotions he feels and often has awkward/guarded ways of doing so. But also he says many times over the course of the series that he has a “reputation” to keep up and wants people to call him a jerk; he wants to look cool and rebellious all the time and he thinks a nasty apathetic attitude is what earns him that status (not claiming that’s a healthy mindset, mind you). He wants to have full control over the way people see him and he gets super frustrated and humiliated when he can’t. This is probably why he gets so upset when people talk about how unpopular he is, because he’s spent so much time honing his image to a T and is like why the fuck isn’t this working?! In other words even though sometimes he is just an actual pain in the neck a lot of his asshole antics are part of a carefully manufactured persona, and he will do anything down to labeling his own memories to prevent other people from seeing through his facade and discovering the parts of him that are vulnerable.

And God forbid anyone does figure out that he does care quite a bit for the people around him, or at least if he didn’t at first he does now. Early on in the series he was commonly referred to as “depressing” and while the meta reason is probably just the anime writers just didn’t know how to adapt the character yet (he started out a little differently in the manga), in canon I believe he was just even more inclined to push everybody away from him, and as he began to get used to working in a group he gradually opened up. He commentates on how “soft” he’s gotten since he came to Earth a couple times, and the fact that he’s surprisingly one of the most loyal to Keroro out of the whole team (in many episodes where everyone abandons Keroro for being dumb he leaves last) and goes out of his way to help when he thinks it’s warranted (he asks for money when things aren’t dire yeah but hey labor deserves compensation :V) shows that he is dedicated to his team. There’s even episodes where he doles out some kind of moral lesson to the squad in his own Kururu-y way, especially to Keroro and Tamama. Even the Hinatas he’ll pitch in to protect when he has to, and we all know he’ll pretty much drop everything if Saburo needs him.

Speaking of which. I think the unspoken reason why he’s best friends with Saburo (besides the surface-level stuff like they’re smart and nerdy and seen as enigmas by everybody else) is because Saburo is the only other person in the cast who understands Kururu’s particular struggle of putting on airs as a means of self-defense all the time. He basically has a carefully managed celebrity life (that he has to constantly work to hide in anime canon), a somewhat formal/reserved public life, and the more quirky enthusiastic side of himself he only shows when alone and to the few people he’s close to and god damn that just sounds like the most exhausting juggling act ever. He has an outlet to free himself through his art but he still has to live with nobody quite knowing what he goes through on a daily basis, which is probably why we see him off on his own for most of the series (until he gets to warm up to everybody better...wonder who that sounds like) and occasionally have his bouts of frustration and insecurity like in 229 where he says “fuck it I’m gonna fight the apocalypse alone because I need something to do,” 354(? I think that’s the number) where he talks about just dropping everything and starting over, and I think one of the Christmas eps where Giroro has to like beg him to go to the Hinatas’ party cuz he says he’s “busy” even though he’s just sitting around pretty much (UPDATE: it’s 294 the implication is probably that he has his show or something but cmon that’s only like an hour lol). I am going off on a tangent now but anyway the point is he and Kururu are the most complicated communicators of the cast and they share feelings only they understand which is why they can more or less read each other’s minds and know exactly what to do when the other is in trouble.

Back to Kururu. Keroro, from what I can tell, is the closest to him out of the Platoon; Keroro gets freaked out by Kururu’s pranks sometimes yeah but they have a lot of common interests as the fun-lovers of the group and Kururu’s also kinda been interested in Keroro enough time follow him around for almost his entire life up to this point so there’s that. He also gets along with the other people he‘s around; we know he and Aki get along from the beginning because of how dynamic their personalities are but later on he gets close to Fuyuki to the point where they just hang out for the heck of it sometimes, and even though Natsumi is very justified in generally disliking him (many of Kururu’s more Eugh moments tend to involve her) even she seems to rely on him often, and in the cursed puppy episode she knows all his favorite foods by heart so she must care in some fashion lol. Dororo and he aren’t evidently super close but I think they get each other on some level as the (in-universe) least popular of the platoon and Dororo at least respects his abilities, and has clearly come to figure out his subtleties based on 229. Giroro and Mois...things get complicated. Just putting on record that I’m not a fan of either ship between Kururu and them. I’ve said this before but I think Giroro and Kururu are in a turbulent sibling-adjacent relationship in that they have completely opposing attitudes but they have a begrudging sense of respect for each other and, ultimately, they’re teammates, so they’ll defend each other when someone they don’t know tries to mess with them. I really don’t think the flirty stuff on Kururu’s end goes beyond teasing and I got kinda sick of that running gag if I’m being honest. (You can probably tell which frog I ship Kururu with by now :P) Mois went from something of a rival to Kururu to his lab partner, which is probably why he goes easier on her than he used to and even strikes up something of a friendship because the only other person he knows that might be capable of handling his technology is an Earthling who’s still against the invasion despite his lax attitude so. She helps :V

Now the question is why Kururu acts like he does if his relationships really aren’t all that bad and I think there’s two components to this. I’ve made it clear by now I think he’s autistic but your mileage may vary there. I think personally his childhood did something to the way he processes things as well. In Secret of the Kero Ball, he’s got a bandage on his head which may imply he got hurt somewhere and then he almost drowned which canonically definitely did something to him lol, was mostly seen alone so who knows if he has a family he still talks to, and then he got drafted into the army and placed into a high-ranking position of great responsibility at a very young age; it’s kind of a no-brainer why he rebeled and got demoted eventually. I’ve got plenty of headcanons about what his early days in the Military did to him but that’s for another day because good God this post went on too long.

In short: Kururu is possibly the most complicated character in the show and the F in Flanderization stands for “Funimation.” That’s it I’m never writing another essay about pee-color frog again I will make real content again at some point I promise

#keroro gunso #sgt frog #kururu #kululu #long post #i sure spent 2 hours on this #imo kururu is a more compelling tsundere than giroro there I said it

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mahalkitajohnnysuh · 4 years

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Cruel Game

Shaking things up with this brain fart because too much lovey-dovey can get on your nerves. Well, sometimes. Or is it just me?

Anyway, I just want to share that I love any Jaehyun and Mark interactions. I like how chill both are, and let’s be honest – they give off frat boy vibes.

I love this GIF of them – I feel the love, man! GIF is from this link.

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :)

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Summary: Sharing that I love Jaehyun and Mark’s friendship is a clue to what you’ll be reading today, as the guys are fueled by their jealousy to get Essie’s heart. Say what?! Yes, I wrote this with the tensest timeline in mind, meaning it’s before Johnny and Essie got together and are getting real touchy with each other.

POV: 3rd person

Word count: 1,200 + words

Warning: Italics are for thoughts and foreign terms.

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Jaehyun knew he lost when he saw the look Essie and Johnny shared during one of their hangouts.

The grey-haired heartthrob, along with Taeyong and Ten, decided to visit their friends Mark, Johnny, and Essie (who also happen to be housemates). It has been a while since Mark and Taeyong were in their respective apartments due to their hectic schedules, and it has been ages since all of them hung out with Ten.

He, Taeyong, and Johnny cooked while Ten, Mark, and Essie provided entertainment through singing with their respective instruments or dancing. The three men prepared a mix of both Korean and Japanese food, which delighted the only girl in the house. “It’s as if you know what I’m craving for!” She gushed, clapping her hands together in glee.

“Of course, I know what you like,” Jaehyun commented confidently with a wink, making her blush. His action was not lost on Johnny, who looked as if he could burn a hole on the back of his friend’s head. “Thank you, Jay!” Essie chirped before she nudged Ten to help her in setting the table.

Once that was set, everyone sat down and enjoyed their dinner. It was during this part of the evening that Jaehyun knew that Essie has made up her mind on whom she likes the most. It was not lost on him that he was one of the people who first knew of her crush on Johnny and other guys in their huge social circle. If he remembered correctly, the only ones from the group she told of were him and Ten.

He caught Johnny tapping her shoulder lightly to whisper something in her ear. He noticed the way she leaned immediately to his touch and giggled at the few words he said. They shared a look before they went back to eating.

If he was asked to describe the look they gave each other, it was one of sweet longing and understanding. In short, he was jealous that he wasn’t the one who received it.

Jaehyun tightened the grip on his utensils as he continued eating dinner, feeling his face heat up in anger. “Hey, hyung. You okay?” Mark asked, who was seated to his left. He nodded in response and gave a goofy smile to reassure him.

“But your ear is, like, all red,” Ten commented before eating a whole sushi. He touched his ear and felt that he was going to get burned with how hot it was. “Oh, maybe it must be the weather? Or the room’s a bit too warm,” he mumbled before focusing on his plate again.

“Did you say it’s too hot, Jay? I can adjust the temperature of the AC,” Essie offered, now standing up to go to where she placed the remote of the air conditioner. “Yeah, thanks dear,” he said softly, looking at her figure disappear into the living room.

“Hey, that’s not where the remote for the AC is, you dummy! It’s over here,” Johnny said, following the girl into the room she went to. The sight of his friend going to where his crush was made him massage his temples in silence, which then led him to lose his appetite.

“I don’t think you’re okay, hyung,” Mark whispered, moving his chair closer to the table. The sound it made turned heads, and all of them looked at the two guys. “What?” Jaehyun was irritated at the looks he got from Taeyong and Ten.

“Yeah, you don’t seem well, Yoon Oh. Do you need a break?” Taeyong said carefully since he didn’t want to irk his housemate. After all, they were going home the same way in the same car.

“I think so. I’ll just be outside,” Jaehyun muttered before going outside to the porch. Mark excused himself shortly afterward and went to where he was as well.

The two men observed the night scenery in silence – well, they could still hear the sound of cicadas chirping and clicking and their heavy breathing.

“What brings you here, Mark?” He started, folding his arms over his chest.

“I think I know what set you off,” the younger guy replied, moving closer to him.

“Oh, you think? Then humor me. Tell me what that is,” his tone was sarcastic, which Mark picked up and returned in his response.

“Don’t think you’re the only one who’s annoyed with Johnny and Essie making goo-goo eyes at each other.”

They looked at each other for a moment and burst into laughter afterward. “Hey, why are you annoyed with them? What did they do to you? Sucks that you have to endure that, eh?” Jaehyun took a seat on the bench, and Mark followed suit. “It’s not that they did anything to me, but I think…I like Essie noona more than, you know, as a sister figure.” The way his voice softened at the end made the older guy’s heart ache.

“Damn, Mark. I didn’t know you felt that way. I guess…you can say the same thing about me too,” he brushed his hair away from his face and looked out into the dark horizon again. “It’s not usual for me to be jealous, especially towards one of my best friends. But I can’t help it. I like Essie too, but I think she has made her decision on who she likes the most.”

“Huh? What does that mean?” Mark moved closer to his hyung, his eyes shining in anticipation with his next words.

Oh crap, this is bad. I shouldn’t have phrased it that way…he thought, running another hand through his hair.

“Let’s just say that Essie likes a lot of guys, and among them all, Johnny is the one she likes the best. And unfortunately, none of us made that list. Isn’t that sad?”

It took a moment for Mark to reply. “Maybe she wouldn’t tell us that if she liked us that way, you know? But maybe she likes one of us too, or heck, even just one of us aside from Johnny hyung. But who are we to compete with him?” He peeked inside and saw that he and Essie were arguing on the dinner table.

“Hey, be confident with yourself, Mark Lee. Suh Youngho isn’t the only handsome and talented guy in the room,” Jaehyun patted his friend’s back before sneaking a look on the commotion inside. He saw that Essie looked pissed, and Johnny was rolling his eyes at her.

“But they look like a fucking married couple already,” Mark mumbled, his eyes also focused on the two. “I think they’re meant for each other.”

“Don’t lose hope. Why don’t you try?” Both men returned to looking at the night sky. “You know, talking with you made me not give up on pursuing Essie. I felt that I have already lost. That sickeningly sweet look she and Youngho had earlier broke me, man. I swear to you,” the older guy admitted, his eyes now focused on his shoes.

“But that means we’ll be competing for her then,” the black-haired guy glanced at Jaehyun, who was now looking at him. “I still want to try, you know. Even if I know deep inside she might not accept my love.”

“That’s the spirit, I guess?” Jaehyun chuckled, slinging an arm around Mark’s shoulder. “May the best man win then.”

“Good luck to us, hyung. I mean it.”

–––

FIN

P.S. The title came from ‘Sit Down’ as it suddenly played in my head the moment I saved the initial draft. Of course, how can I forget Jaehyun’s lines and his competitive spirit?

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douxie-casperan · 4 years

Note

💫!!

[Makes vague hand waving motions because I’ve been working on this for several hours now and it’s Zouxie as all heck.]

I look to you - Whitney Houston

Nothing to do, but lift my head I look to you And when all my strength is gone In you I can be strong I look to you And when melodies are gone In you I hear a song I look to you

Despite dutifully yelling to announce her arrival to Douxie's apartment after swinging the door wide, Zoe got no immediate response from the wizard who had said he'd be here when she texted earlier to ask if she could stop by and harass him about borrowing a few bits from the shop again. It's not that unusual admittedly, having to just nip out for something or simply getting engrossed with whatever he was doing was pretty normal but given his natural habit of being a charmer always out to put the best foot forward it seemed to embarrass him whenever he got caught out being a bad host. Probably a good thing she didn't kick the door in mind, mighta set the wards off anyway and that'd left two of them freaking out. The last time it happened she was wearing steel caps and it left a sizable dent that they were both left scramble fixing before the landlord found out with even him very nearly breaking his self-censorship habit. Not her finest moment but her hands were full of takeout at the time, needs must!

Shrugging out of the tatty patched-up jacket that had been shamelessly robbed when last here because of a chill swept in way earlier than planned, the door is clicked shut with a suspicious frown whilst listening out for any signs or even where they might be squirreled right now only to be greeted with utter silence. Odd.

"Greeting committee is being a bit on the lacking side today. Even you too, furball? Will bribe for at least a hello here!" she shouts again from where the clothes are dumped over the back of the sofa before pressing her now bare elbows into it while leaning on the back expectantly. No response again. Huffing with annoyance the witch snaps her fingers together to create a small orb that crackles softly in pink hovering gingerly just above glossy black nails.

"My boys, your standards are starting to slip big time."

It is a simple enough tracking spell and while it'd fall under wasteful use, technically, better to have something harmless to save her hawking the few rooms in the place particularly given his familiar is sticking close rather than offering sarcastic remarks as he tends to whenever she comes over. That fact is even more important because if this is a bad episode that means sound dampeners are up too, it had been quite a while since the last but they're as unpredictable as the tides at times... Better to play it safe and with a flick of the wrist, the hunt begins.

The light flits to and fro as though needing to get it's bearings first then dashes over to the closed door of his own room and hovers there unable to go further which is a sure sign something had been put up to keep things in or out depending. Alright then straight up knocking it is.

The sounds on the other side are at best vague and muffled though her patience is swiftly rewarded by it opening enough to allow her to slip inside before shutting. There is the man himself sitting on the bed with back to the wall with his precious guitar held close to his chest, absolutely surrounded by pieces of paper that had been hastily scribbled on or scrunched up accordingly, a no doubt stone cold tea cup and the presence of one particular glasses wearing cat who had claimed one of these for himself to sit on. Giving the doorframe another tap he's flashed a grin to get a much more sheepish look right back and little more than a flicked ear by the other. Charming.

"My someone's been busy," she says while he scrambles to make some space in the disaster area that had been his current song writing project. It did explain the lousy reception that's for sure.

"Hmn, a bit. Had something I needed to get out my head and guess the time got away from me a bit. Sorry love," he answers apologetically while gesturing with one hand, the other is hunting for the pen that had made a break for it into the pillows.

"Not left you hanging at the altar too long have I?"

Giving him a small thank you, his familiar is ceremoniously scooped into the air with a surprised prrt then, after joining the pair on the duvet herself, he is given pride and place on her lap with a chin scratch before he can start complaining about being moved earning a quirked brow at the sheer display of blatantness. Personally she finds how Archie plays favourites sometimes absolutely hilarious, he's complained enough times how he always gets told off if he'd tried to touch him there though having better scritching nails compared to how short he keeps his own probably helps tilt things in her favour.

"Nah, you get inspired you bunker up with the cat it's fine! Only payment I demand is whatever you're working on," she replies nonchalant waving at the stack of sheets.

"Gotta be something real good if you put a keep out sign and I'm already here. So c'mon hit me."

"Sure I could do but I don't think it's ready, it's still rough as heck and I can't seem to get some of the words to come together how I want them to," Douxie groans putting a hand under his chin.

"Been driving me nuts honestly. S'like my brain just dumped them there and expected me to put them together again without any real input."

"It just means she gets to hear the first draft and you get an opinion other than mine," pipes up a voice of reason with a yawn.

"You've been going around in circles for the past hour anyway, a fresh test run is overdue."

Douxie seems to dither if to go ahead or not from the way his expression changes subtly between wanting to argue or just say to heck with it and yield to the pleading face and whined pleeeeeease coming from across the bed. From how the instrument is moved back into a more playable position it seems the yes vote has won out if still a little bit reluctant about it. Fingertips grace the strings to test them without committing to anything, then a deep breath is taken for luck and he begins to play.

On an eve of a night chilled with rain Did a door open to a world beyond Revealing a particular face On to be a future friend, another love With pursed lips and fire in her eyes Seeking shelter with the mundane

Thought nothing of it at the time like a fool Just wanted to be friendly Where could chat so innocently Enjoy that pleasant company All the while knowing Not getting attached was a hard and fast rule

We'd meet it'd seem again and again Upon desert shores and townships Admiring the ruins of ages and lives Share stories and freedoms Then part ways whilst knowing It was always a case of when

Messages would arrive upon a raven Crossing borders and seas Reminders that we're not alone Seeing the same sun, same stars Words to break the deafening silence But it'd never beat a real conversation

Because I lived for the ones with you

Somehow in the future Upon a leyline in California While making a stop with a delivery There would be a flash of colour And I would say Hey I think I know her

I'd have both good days and bad Sometimes the cracks would show through Centuries of living does nothing it seems Covered in the dust and grime So I would deny and lie through my teeth And say everything is just fab

You're stronger than you know Over and over you'd say Team up with him and pin me down Hold those words to my face Then say together So don't hide away, let it show!

It still wears but gets better From the smile I carry you know it's true Nothing in the world can get to me I have a brother to help me breathe Plus someone to fight my corner too And know I'd always let her

Because I love living in this world with you

A beat passes as the last of the notes echo into nothingness.

Then a second.

Just as he is about to ask what she thought and apologise again for it being a little on the cheesy side, his stupid grey shirt is grabbed to yank him close enough to kiss him and hide the blush sweeping across her face whilst miraculously not accidently terfing Archie off. Despite initial freezing in surprise he quickly melts into something far softer and loving with a look that refuses to fade when their lips part again. It never gets old no matter how many times Zoe has seen him do it.

"You might be a sappy idiot Casperan, but you're my sappy idiot."

#furblrwurblr #No facts truer than a good meme #Pinks and Blues #Zouxie #900 years of wandering

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magic5ball · 3 years

Text

Nature Trail to Hell: Epilogue

Epilogue (Or should I say, EPIC-LOGUE!)

If you can believe it, camp actually got better after that. Heck, I’d ever go as far as to say it was half- decent! Now that I’d been through my crazy adventure, most of the stuff I dreaded before didn’t bug me so much (except singing in front of the mess hall. Those moments will haunt me forever.) Now, the days were filled with canoeing, fishing, and roasting marshmallows around the campfire. For the other campers, at least. Hobag put us right to work making amends for all the damage we’d done, shoveling snow and putting cabins back together log by log. We got to build a campfire, at least, but this one was made from all the evidence of Bob-Sardoth’s horrible reign.

Why she let us do the funner stuff after everything we did was anybody’s guess. Maybe Bob-Sardoth had scrambled her brain a bit.

Still, that didn’t mean there were a few surprises left in store. For one, singing the chaunt of Bob-Sardoth, even if only partway through, did some odd things to my body. My teeth were sharp triangles, and where my bog toes used to be, I now had the sharp sickle claw of a deinonychus. Yeah, my parents would probably be freaked out, but it was nothing puberty couldn’t explain.

But my favorite had to be when one day, I was picking up oars on the lakeshore, when who did I see paddling through the water but my old pal Bokrug!

“Dude! Where you been?!” I screamed, the waterfowl making his way to the shore.

Turned out, he’d retired from the whole LARP geese gig and had his bones transferred over to the lake. He’d also had a talk with Hoebag, suggesting that, maybe, just maybe, we didn’t have to spend half an hour singing in front of that stupid mess hall! And you ever happen to come across Camp Sham today, you can probably find him still there, dabbing for algae in the lake. Also, tell him I said hi. Its’ been awhile.

As for the sponge dinosaurs, I have no idea where they ran off to. Maybe they froze to death, though I’ve heard some of the campers never behaved quite right after returning home. Started roaming in heards and eating five times their weight in lettuce every day.

And Hilda…

Since our talk with Hobag, Shatner and I had kinda been avoiding her, even after our big heart-to-heart. Didn’t help we were in charge of cleaning up the mess made by Bob-Sardoth’s reign, so the more akward parts of our relationship were always fresh in the mind.

That being said, I did see her exactly one more time before the summer ended. It was the last day of camp and that dreaded blooper reel was playing on the projector, which had amazingly survived the gulag days. Not too keen on seeing my folks and spawn of Satan little brother laugh their butt off at my expense, I’d slunk off to that hard, concrete, chlorine scented cell that was the camp bathroom. There, wondering what creepy crawlies might be going about the unclean ground, I heard a voice in the neighboring stall.

“Hey, Wonky Watt.”

It was a good five seconds before I made my reply.

“Hi, Hilda.”

“Now, I-I know I’ve said this before, but I’m sorry. And goodbye.”

My heart clenched. Yeah, Hilda had done some dumb crap, but hadn’t we all, during that crazy summer?

“Goodbye, too, I guess. Where are you going, now that this dumb camp is over, anyway?”

“Well, I’m no longer chained to Bob-Sardoth, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do without him always being on my case. Can’t go to school, being a space fart and all that.”

“Lucky. School sucks.”

“And maybe one day you’ll see how amazing it is you get an education at all. As for me, I gotta figure myself out. Probably someplace far away from here.”

“New Jersey?”

“I was thinking Jupiter.”

“How are you gonna get there?”

“I’ll walk.”

I shrugged. Made about as much sense as anything else that summer.

“And what about you? What’s your big plan?”

“Video games.”

“Knew it.”

For a spell we sat there in silence, not quite sure what to say. She broke the ice.

“How’s Shatner?”

“Still angry I left him for the tigers.”

“Figures.”

Now, the Shatster and I became friends again eventually, but for the time being, he wasn’t too keen on talking to me.

“Well, I guess this is it. Have a good rest of your summer.” She said.

“Have a good summer.” I replied.

And that was that.

Well, not quite. Before she left, I snuck back to my parent’s car, where my reward for good behavior, the one, the only, the Nintendo DS lay waiting. Returning to the bathroom, I split that thing right down the middle!

Well, Hilda did. My arms were too weak.

“Here. I know things are weird now, but maybe we’ll get over this when we’re old. And when that happens, we can play together!”

Hilda just stared at the gift I’d given her. Probably shocked I gave her the lower half of the DS, which as any kid knows is the best part.

Then she started laughing, and kept laughing until I figured her lungs might jump out her throat.

You ever heard a sentient fart laugh? Like a big bang of electric joy on a Ferris wheel. Something that feels like forever, but is gone in an instant.

Kinda like the summer, really.

“See you too, Watterson!”

One puff of smelly, smelly smoke later, Hilda was gone.

It was weird. Barely knew the girl, yet something clenched in my heart on seeing her go. Something that made me stay in the bathroom for hours, staring up at moths beating their heads against the flickering light above, until a counselor barged in looking for me.

I guess it’s’ time I told you a little truth about Hilda: that’s not her actual name. I forgot it awhile back; Hilda is just what I remember it sounding like. Yet every now and then, I’ll be sitting in my room, or riding my bike, and I’ll wonder what she’s up to, going to Jupiter and all that.

Barely even noticed when Mom pulled me to the car. I just stared out the back window as camp shrunk into a little dot on the horizon. Funny thing is, only as that wretched gulag sank out of sight over the horizon did it strike me I’d probably never see the place again. That all my crazy adventures over the summer would be forever be buried at there, never to return. Or would they? Because maybe camp wasn’t just singing outside the mess hall, or arts and crafts, or mosquito bites. Maybe it was the memories you made going through Hell with other people your age, memories that lasted long after the Salisbury Steak was chained back to its frozen tomb in the basement. Maybe people spent too much time chasing the DS at the end of the rainbow and forgot the friends right in front of them until it was too late.

Woulda made me right sappy, until I realized that there was a valuable lesson about friendship.

The exact kind of thing Hoebag woulda wanted me to learn.

I got real red in the face right then and there, let me tell ya!

That stupid bi-!

THE END!

(To all of you who’ve read this far, thank you. Nature Trail to Hell has been a passion project I’ve worked on on and off since 2017, and while this might not be the last draft, knowing people stuck with this to the end makes me really happy. That being said, this is not the last we’ve heard of Watterson Tostig and Friends, or even this story. Expect some more stuff coming in the future!)

#My writing #Nature Trail To Hell #thank you

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subasekabang · 4 years

Text

One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed

Title: One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed Rating: T/PG-13 for swearing and bloodless violence Word Count: 13,700 Pairings/Characters: No ships/Genfic. Neku, Joshua, Hanekoma as main characters. Appearances by most everyone else from TWEWY including Beat, Rhyme, Shiki, the reapers Warnings: brief mentions of past trauma/death (some of the Reapers discuss why they died), angelic/eldritch body horror (no blood or gore), imprisonment Summary: Neku’s in college now, and other than passing through Shibuya’s subway station to get to other parts of the city, he doesn’t really stop by much anymore. But when he gets a serious case of artist’s block before a gallery show, he decided to go back to his old stomping grounds to get inspired. Partner: @soundofez and @songsummoner Author’s Note: This was a fun, super weird piece. I also did some art for it on top of my partner’s work; all the art from me and my partners will appear in the correct parts of the fic on my AO3 link, which will go up Oct. 2. I’ll link in reply to this post with it when that’s up so you can see some really weird stuff (my own art is included below, though!!). Special thanks to Fez for designing college-age Neku’s clothes.

Also, Neku fights (and apologizes to) a building.

Enjoy!

XXX

Neku sighed. Squinting, he rolled up the blinds on his studio apartment a little, taking in the view. One window, the Skytree. The other, he could glimpse the top part of Sensouji’s pagoda. Asakusa was no Shibuya, but it had lots of car free pathways, quirky art stalls, and lots of tourists to draw. And it was a heck of a lot cheaper than living in Ueno.

He could walk to campus in about half an hour on a good day or take the subway just one stop to Tokyo University of the Arts on a bad one. It was convenient and, while a touristy area, surprisingly quiet.

Too quiet today, though. Neku fired up his tablet, pinging his friends. They always called everyone in a big group chat, though there was no obligation to answer.

“Sup, Phones?” Beat grinned into the camera, a giggle heard in the background.

“Beat, are you ever going to actually use his name?”

“I am though!” Best objected. “Neku’s tag is a pair of headphones. It’s practically his name at this point.”

“You’re not going to win on a technicality,” Rhyme chirped, turning the camera so she was in frame. “We’re between takes, anyway. What’s up, Neku?”

“Shit, did I interrupt a shoot?” Neku hovered over the hang-up button.

“I just said we were on break!” Rhyme reiterated, flailing her hands in front of her. “But Beat is shooting with your deck!”

His friend, who had only grown more muscular with the past five years, hefted up his skateboard, showing off the art of a flying squirrel on the undercarriage. “It’s still the sickest one I’ve got. You’d better have another one in the wings when it gets decommissaried, yo!”

“Decommissioned.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever, Beat,” another voice popped in, the newcomer’s eyebrow quirked in a hint of static as the visual flickered on.

“Sup, Shiki!” Beat said, waving wildly.

“Meet me for drinks when you’re done shooting? I can hop on the subway. It’s only a stop.”

“How’d you know where we are?”

“Beat, you always skate in Ikebukuro,” Shiki said matter-of-factly. “And I’m at school, so I’m only a stop away from you.”

“Oh. Right. Sometimes I wish we kept our mind reading powers,” Beat said with a pout.

“Noooooo thank you,” Shiki said with a grin. “Anyway, what’s all this about? I’ve got ten minutes ‘til my Fashion Sales class.”

Neku scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepishly at the camera. “I… er. Kinda needed some advice. I’ve got a gallery class where my one assignment is supposed to take the whole semester and I’m a bit stuck. I need to hand my draft proposition in by the end of next week.”

“What’s the topic?” Rhyme asked.

“That’s the thing. The art—even the medium—is up to me. Every fine art track has to take this thing. So, it doesn’t need to be painting, but I have to secure a space and create a work to match it. Like, get permission to paint a building, or something like that. Private or public property, just no vandalism. Street paste or yarn bombing is OK in public spaces. Basically, as long as it’s non-destructive; otherwise we need permission from the owner.”

“So, you need to scout out a place and make something that compliments it?” Rhyme asked.

“Yeah. And we can work together if we want. I don’t know my classmates well enough to know if our styles clash though.”

“Sounds tough.”

“That’s why it’s my whole assignment.”

Beat frowned. “I’ve got a good sponsorship going with Wild Boar. Could see if you could tag one of their shops.”

“Maybe,” Neku said. “But I want to step out of my comfort zone a little if I can. It’s a good backup.”

Shiki bit her lip. “Maybe you just need a little inspiration.”

“Little is an understatement.”

“What about that tag mural in Shibuya? Would that be fair game?”

The chat went silent. That wall in question was public property. It was absolutely not game—not for this assignment at least.

“Why?” Neku almost whispered, hoarse. “Why’d you even bring it up?”

“Because it’s been five years, Neku, and you haven’t gone back. CAT did what you’ve been assigned; he was a street artist who also did all these kinds of hired art too.”

“Hanekoma’s gone,” Neku reminded her. “I stopped trying. The shop was destroyed. If he ever came back, he’s not in Shibuya.”

“Then… ignore my bad idea,” Shiki said, not meeting eyes with the camera. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“No! No,” Neku reassured her, forcefully, then quiet, as if he were a deflating balloon. “Sorry if I snapped.”

“You didn’t snap,” Rhyme offered, before changing the subject. “I’ll think on it though; there’s gotta be some struggling coffee shop that could use some art, or something. Anyway… we need to get back to work, now.”

“And I have class. Neku, let’s chat tonight, after dinner? I can swing by your place. We can go get conveyor belt sushi over by Nakamise.”

“That… sounds pretty good, actually. Yeah. Let’s.”

“Later, alligator!” Rhyme said, chipper.

“Yeah! Later!” Shiki added.

“Let’s bounce!” Beat snuck in as Rhyme ended the call.

Neku was left alone to his thoughts.

Shibuya.

He and his friends romped through the city almost every weekend after they were all brought back—at least at first. Eventually exams took over for Shiki and Neku, both hell-bent on getting in Bunka Fashion College and Tokyo Arts respectively. Beat slowly got more and more skate sponsorships with Rhyme as his videographer, making her new dream to shoot the world’s best skater: her brother.

Neku closed his eyes, imagining the gleaming, ad-drenched skyscrapers, a far cry from the view from his apartment window.

Maybe.

Maybe it was time to finally go back; maybe Shiki wasn’t wrong. It was his old stomping grounds, his old home. And it was only a few hundred yens’ ride away.

Neku pinched his forearm once to ground himself, grabbed his wallet and a scarf (courtesy of Shiki’s weaving class, in a sturdy textured purple crepe) and headed out the door.

Xxx

Neku’s palm touched plaster and concrete. Slowly, he slid his hand along the wall, breathing out an exhale. Even in his high school years, when his friends would regularly bum around Shibuya after school and on weekends, he avoided the mural. It wasn’t that he stopped liking it; just… He felt he didn’t need it anymore. He had plenty of CAT’s art to keep him company, from the pins in his pocket to the billboards throughout the city.

Maybe he was young and naïve back then, but looking at the faded piece, partially obscured by other, less impressive tags… well, it didn’t seem very impressive anymore.

“‘Course it isn’t, you brain-dead binomial,” a familiar voice sneered from behind him. Neku whipped around to see Sho Minamimoto, cat whiskers and all, grinning with fanged teeth.

Sho put up his hands as a peace offering, sensing Neku’s hackles rising. “I’m not attacking the living; don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’d really rather not get divided by zero. Again.”

Neku relaxed his shoulders a little but said nothing.

“You’re a leaky faucet, you single-digit integer,” Sho explained, as he pointed to a vending machine, sending a pair of CC Lemon bottles flying out of it and at the two of them. He leaned against the mural, back to it, sliding down to sit and sighing with his drink. “I miss CAT, too, you know. Been the square-root of 25 years since anyone’s seen a new piece of his. Some of the reapers actually thought it might’ve been you.”

Neku laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Me?” he asked, plopping down next to his former enemy, accepting the citrus-flavored peace offering. “I was fifteen. And CAT had been active way before I was born.”

“Thought it was a title, you dumb fractal. Like Pope or Emperor.”

“Expert street artists are called Kings and Queens, you know.”

“And dead ones are Angels,” Sho added with a sage nod. “Trying to one-up a Reaper on art is like trying to find the cube root of i.”

Neku stared down at his soft drink, thinking of Hanekoma. The title suited him in more ways than one, thanks to a little packet he’d found in Mr. H’s shop back when he and Beat snuck in to see if there was anything they could save. Since Hanekoma was CAT, there had been a pretty strong likelihood some of his art was still in the ruined café, but sadly there wasn’t any evidence in there at all. Neku saw faded marks where canvases and an easel had once been stacked in a curious empty back room; someone had beaten them to clearing it out.

Sho pulled Neku out of his thoughts eventually, after one intrepid skater ate pavement attempting to grind the Cyco Records railing.

“What’s eating you, pain-in-my-vector? Well, former.”

“You don’t hold a grudge?” Neku asked curiously.

“It’s a long afterlife. Grudges are useless.”

The two sat in silence for a while, watching the skaters try their new decks outside the Wild Boar at the midpoint of the T section.

“You gonna ask me why I’m here?”

“I know why you’re here,” Sho replied testily, tapping his temple. “Was waiting to see if you’d give me the proof out of your mouth.”

“Right. Mind reading.”

“I can’t see every piece of the equation; that’s not how it works and you know it. But I can solve for x and fill in the blanks.”

Neku sighed. “What can you see?”

“That you’re stuck on a hard problem and you’ve been staring at your homework too long.”

“And by problem you mean—”

“I can’t tell—just some big project is eating you up. At least it’s not Higashizawa. That hectopascal can eat a man whole. I’ve seen it.” Minamimoto slung back his drink. “So, what’s eating you?”

“I mean, other than you being alive again?” Neku asked, eyebrow raised.

“Still dead as I was last you saw me.”

“Last I saw you, you were crushed under a vending machine.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse days.” Minamimoto shrugged. “That infinite asshole of a Composer fixed me back up and sent me right back to work. Now stop stalling, you obtuse angle. Out with it.”

“Artist’s block,” Neku admitted sheepishly. “I’ve got a big project coming up and I just can’t think of the right thing to do.”

Sho laughed, his head flung back and whole body shaking with the action. “Artist’s block, you dithering digit. You don’t think we Reapers never deal with that shit? At least for you, it’s not fatal.”

“F-fatal?” Neku asked, almost dropping his bottle.

“We run on Imagination,” Sho said, chucking his emptied-out drink with force, sending it flying halfway down the alley into a recycling bin attached to a vending machine. “No Imagination, no power. No power long enough and poof, divide by zero. Crunch. Drop a vending machine on me? I’ll walk it off. Go too long without making something…”

Sho went uncharacteristically quiet, running his fingers through a hole in his jeans.

“So, what do you do when you’re stuck?” Neku finally asked.

“I raid the trash. Something always finds its way to me.” Sho pulled a loose thread and threw it to the wind. “I don’t just mean the garbage; I mean the rest of us. Talkin’ it out’s helped. I used to think I didn’t need anybody else. But then I got subtracted out so many times by you ‘n Prisspants, well. Don’t want to admit it but dividing up the work’s helped solve the harder equations.”

Neku smiled, offering a hand. “I can leave you my number if you ever want to talk shop.”

Sho blinked twice, confused. “You’d… help me? I was an irrational digit.”

“So? I was an asshole teenager. I pass through often enough. It’s not much trouble, especially if you’re feeding me,” Neku admitted, shaking his now empty bottle. “You try keeping on weight on a college art student’s budget.”

“Yeah, all right,” Sho said, standing up, swiping Neku’s empty bottle to shove in one of his myriad pockets. “A balanced equation—I dig it. I’m using this in my next piece,” he added, tapping the bottle with a hollow thud. “Thanks… Neku.”

Before Neku had a chance to even realize it was the first time Sho called him by name, the Reaper had vanished back to the Underground, out of Neku’s reach.

Xxx

Neku stood at the mural a few minutes longer, rolling the plastic bottle cap in his fingers. If Sho was alive, well, less dead, then Joshua was still haunting Shibuya from somewhere—Hanekoma, too.

So why was the mural so worn out? Had Mr. H run out of new inspiration himself? Neku sighed, no more ready to tackle the assignment as he hoofed it back to the station, tossing the bottle-cap into the recycling as he passed.

The CC Lemon Sho had expertly pitched was mysteriously absent from the top of the pile.

“If Sho went dumpster diving to make recycled friendship bracelets, I think I’ll actually bust a rib laughing,” Neku muttered to himself.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Neku whipped his head around to see a Reaper in a basic hoodie. A faceless grunt, one of at least tens, if not hundreds, patrolling the city. No visible wings, so at least Neku could remind himself he hadn’t gone sliding into the UG. Just another Reaper coming up to the RG for air. Or to pester him.

Or both.

“Do I know you?” Neku asked, eyeing the teenage-looking apparition in oversized clothing.

The boy huffed. “The Reaper Review remembers you.”

Neku laughed and relaxed a little. “At least you’re not the Reaper who made me show up in all Mus Rattus to break their barrier. Or the other one who made me get them a chili dog.”

“When you’re a minor officer, you’re allowed to send Players on wild goose chases,” the Reaper said with a shrug. “I’m just happy I was allowed to block mine with trivia. I hate fighting.”

“You and me both,” Neku grumbled.

The reaper tipped his hood back slightly, enough to show Neku his ethereal looking eyes. “I overheard you had artist’s block. Er, sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. It’s the worst.”

“Great. Is my mind safe from any of you?” Neku groaned, though it wasn’t in anger. He couldn’t complain. Hearing the livings’ thoughts just happened when you were dead.

“Actually, I was guarding the mural and overheard your chat with the Lieutenant.”

“Oof. Minamimoto got a demotion?”

“He seems happier in the field, anyway,” the Reaper replied with a shrug. “More time for his sculptures and harassing players.”

Neku looked at the Reaper curiously. “Sho mentioned you all do art. Have to keep your Imagination up.”

“That’s… not entirely true. I mean yeah, gotta keep the creative juices going or we stop existing. But it doesn’t have to be through art. Cooking, dance, whatever goes. When I’m stuck, I usually learn from another Reaper. Gives me some perspective.”

Neku’s smile widened. “You’re right, you know. I need to broaden my horizons. What do you do?”

“Me? Uh… I design puzzles. The player traps and stuff.”

“Ugh,” Neku groaned.

“You paint, right? I remember seeing some of your tags under the Miyashita Park underpass a few years ago. You’re pretty good. Maybe… try heading over near Shibu-Q? The Reapers that dance usually practice that way—sidewalk is wide enough. Loosen up with some life drawing or something.”

Neku smiled. “I have to do an installation project, but you know what? That’s not a terrible idea. Thanks.” He looked to the corner where Shibu-Q stood and then back at his nameless friend, but the Reaper was already gone.

Xxx

Neku didn’t know what he was expecting to find outside Shibu-Q, but a pair of Harrier Reapers doing acrobatic dancing was not it. Neku smirked as he watched the reaper woman with electric purple lipstick—Uzuki, if he remembered correctly—pirouetting before using her friend as a vaulting block to spin up and over his back.

The two continued their routine, the man—Kariya, Neku remembered after a few embarrassed moments of mental fumbling—seeming lazy and unmoving but carefully and precisely supporting his partner’s flashy moves. The two continued for another ten minutes or so, then each held out a hat for change.

Neku patted himself down for his wallet before dumping three 500-yen coins in Uzuki’s hat as it passed around. She glared at him a moment, then pushed the coins back in his face.

“Not taking money from you,” she snipped. “I already owe you enough. Shoo.”

Kariya looked over his shoulder at Neku, momentarily confused. After all, the two of them hadn’t aged a day while Neku was now a lanky, slightly scruffy young adult. Realization crossed the Reaper’s features slowly, eventually tugging his mouth into a half grin. Kariya offered Neku a backwards half-salute and went back to waving his hat around for change.

Eventually the crowd dispersed. Kariya loped over to Neku and Uzuki, clapping Neku on the shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. You’re as tall as I am now. Good on you. How’s life treating you?”

Neku couldn’t help but laugh at the double meaning behind the words. “Busy. College.”

“You know, I wondered when I would stop seeing you run around the RG so much over here.”

“Never mind me,” Neku said, sloughing off Kariya’s friendly gesture and looking at the two of them. “How are you holding up?”

“How do you think?” Uzuki spat. “There weren’t many powerful Reapers left after that mess—at least for a while. So, some ass went and got themselves promoted to Conductor.”

Kariya looked down at his feet, blush going all the way across his face. “It’s not like I asked for it; I wasn’t given a choice. At least I negotiated that I could do things my way. Uzuki’s my GM.”

Neku frowned. “So… then you know the Composer.”

Kariya’s eyes went uncharacteristically fierce. “That’s on a need to know basis and—”

“Read my mind then,” Neku countered. “There’s something I do need to know.”

Neku closed his eyes and thought of Joshua. What he really wanted was to talk to Mr. Hanekoma, but the only way he was going to be able to do that would be going to Joshua first.

Kariya whistled low. “Okay. Fine. Kid, come here a sec.”

“Kariya, come on. Why are you even telling this kid anything? He’s alive. And—”

“He knows about Josh, Uzuki, I’m not giving him anything new. Just… maybe pointing him in the right direction.”

Uzuki pushed a loose strand of burgundy hair from her eyes. “Fiiiiine, whatever. You’re the boss.”

“You’ve seen him?” Neku asked quietly.

“’Course I have. He’s my boss,” Kariya said with a sigh. “Though he only comes to speak if he feels like it. I’ve caught him sulking over past the Miyashita Park underpass though. No clue why. Out there is just a bunch of sporting goods stores and Josh and physical activity mix like oil and vinegar. Hope that helps. What do you need him for, anyway? You’re alive.”

“It’s not him I’m even looking for,” Neku admitted. “I want him to tell me what happened to an old friend.”

Kariya relaxed a bit. “If said old friend has anything to do with the UG, might as well ask me.”

“I’m looking for CAT.”

Kariya frowned, scratching the back of his head in contemplation. “CAT was a Reaper? He— or she, I guess— stopped doing anything new after I became Conductor. Yeah. You’d have to speak to Josh. That’s before my time and below my pay grade.”

“Thanks anyway, Kariya,” Neku said, genuinely appreciative. “It’s better than nothing.”

“Anytime. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Neku closed his eyes a moment, sighing quietly. “Hope so too,” he muttered, opening them to an empty sidewalk.

Xxx

Neku headed eastbound towards Cat Street, passing Stride on the left. Gone were the Tin Pin banners, long since replaced with whatever new plastic toy battling fad that had taken hold of the local kids.

“You know, I heard a commotion from some of the older guard that a carrot was running around Udagawa.”

Neku had whiplash. Poised behind him with a cigarette loosely held in between his middle and ring finger was a face Neku couldn’t believe he was seeing.

“Seven?” Neku asked incredulously. He reached out his hand for the bleach-blonde, swaggering musician’s to find it cold as ice. Neku frowned. “Smoking kills, you know.”

777 played with the cigarette between his fingers. “How d’you think I died?” He gave a cocky grin. “Actually, I fell off a roof rigging an abandoned warehouse party. This is why you do safety checks. Tenho still gives me grief about it.”

Neku smiled weakly. “That bites.”

“The dust? Oof. Yeah. But hey, all three of us went down at once. The party scattered and when we showed up to play a new set a few weeks later nobody realized we weren’t exactly alive. They probably thought we broke a bone or two at worst and hid to lick our wounds—not cracked our skulls on the sidewalk.” Neku winced. “Er, sorry, Orange. Didn’t mean to dredge up anything bad on your end. Just odd, seeing you back.”

“Looking for someone,” Neku admitted. “The owner of the café that used to be on Cat Street.”

“Hanekoma? Stopped in there for coffee sometimes. Bit odd. His shop didn’t have the Player decal, yet he definitely served stiffs. Reapers as customers is one thing—we can go to the RG—but… hell. What do I know?”

Neku flocked his eyes up and down the street. Not that it mattered; Reapers could be in the UG right next to him and he wouldn’t know. “Yeah, he could see the dead.”

“ESPer or something?” Seven asked, blowing out a smoke ring that looked like a bat. Now he was just showing off.

“Something like that.”

“Well, fat lot that did him. Shop’s been MIA ever since I got recommissioned—maybe earlier. All I remember is, I had a double shot espresso there the night before that gig you helped me with, got blown up like two weeks later, and when I’m back to my good old dead self, the shop looks like it got exploded too. What the hell went on in this city that week?”

“War,” Neku said grimly.

“And you won, didn’t you?” Seven elbowed him in the shoulder. “You’d be one of my types now if you hadn’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” Neku said, throat dry. “Thanks for the chat.”

“You come to our next gig, you hear? You’ve gotta be old enough to drink now. VIP for you ‘n the cute chick you were with. Or, uh, anyone else. Don’t know if asking her would be awkward. She made it out, didn’t she? Please say yes.”

Neku smiled. “She did, and we’re still friends. I’ll ask. She won’t look like how you’re expecting though.”

“Neither do you, not-so-short stack. Now get outta here. I’m gonna finish my drag and get back to setup before Beej screams me out. Later.” Seven snapped his fingers and the cigarette exploded in a puff of blue fiery smoke. “Open invite, Orange, just tell the bouncer ‘golden bat’ at the door.”

Xxx

Neku inhaled. He knew past here was Cadoi, then Miyashita.

Then Cat Street.

Neku passed a small spot under the park underpass where Beat and Rhyme’s flowers had once been placed, leaving behind a tiny finger skateboard. Beat would probably punch him; Rhyme would find it hilarious. He did it to honor his once dead friend. Some kid would probably see it, and abscond with it, and play with it till it broke. Beat’s skateboard, in the hands of some kid passing by—it was fitting.

Neku let his memory walk him the rest of the way to WildKat. It stood as it had since the incident: a broken front window, a door barely hanging on its hinges. How it remained like this almost half a decade without developer intervention was shocking, honestly. Or maybe not, if divine intervention was involved.

Neku inhaled and took a step forward.

Again.

He carefully swung the door, afraid the whole thing would come off the frame in his hands. It squeaked something awful but hung by a thread.

The inside was worse. Neku should have brought one of his paint masks with him. The place was a fire trap of chipped plaster, dust, and mold. An old safe in the back corner was open on its hinges. The only things that looked clean were the sink, two sealed jars of whole coffee beans, and a single drip carafe, the rest of the row shattered beyond recognition.

Neku’s sketchbook and a mechanical pencil set still sat atop the dust-crusted counter. He’d left them there when he and Beat had returned— the only time Neku stepped foot in the shop when he was alive—to check on the shop.

To check on its owner.

Leaving the sketchbook behind seemed fitting. It was half full of random crap, and half empty, nothing but open promises in the end.

Maybe Neku didn’t need Hanekoma, or CAT, or the old shop. Carefully, he made his way around a splintered bar stool, sidestepped a broken glass pitcher, and hauled himself up on the only stool left in sittable condition.

Reverently, he opened the book. He almost laughed at his fifteen-year-old self’s sketches. The first three pages were ideas for tags around the city. He actually cringed at one.

Then a page of Shiki—a quick sketch, half likely from stolen glances and half from memory, because it was her as herself on the left, and as Eri on the right.

Ideas for Beat’s skateboards.

Architecture sketches

An entire six pages of circles and cubes, shaded with hatching or a blending stump.

Neku turned to the next page.

In handwriting that wasn’t his, scrawled in large block print…

TURN AROUND, DEAR.

Xxx

Neku screamed. It wasn’t one of fear, but frustration. “You slimy, little—” he shrieked, as he spun around in the stool expecting to see a smarmy, fifteen-year-old-looking blonde, if the agelessness of the other UG residents was anything to go by.

Instead, a softly frowning man in his mid-thirties stood behind him.

With blonde fly-away hair.

And strange purple eyes.

And a blue-purple button down with white accents and charcoal slacks.

Neku bit his lower lip, holding back a fury he hadn’t had in years.

“You.”

“I come in peace,” Joshua offered, hands up defensively, glowing slightly. “I wrote that years ago. Now I kind of regret it.” Neku relaxed a little. Joshua would be dramatic enough to do that and scare him when he entered the shop, wouldn’t he?

“Only kind of, though,” Joshua added, pulling a broken chair from the rubble, fixing it with a shake and sitting down beside Neku. “It’s still Imprinted. I’m not in the RG. The note left a bit of me in it. You see it, you see me, too.”

“You been tailing me all day, too?”

“I felt you in the city, but no. Only when I got a text about it.”

Kariya. Of course.

“Your conductor rat me out?”

“He did say you were looking for me. So, might have imprinted on you a bit to push you here.”

“You could have come and—”

“—said hello? No, actually, I can’t. I’m on probation. Can’t enter the RG for a decade. Not the biggest deal for me, mind, but… humans don’t live near as long as things like I do. I needed you to come to me. Glad that thing still works.” He tapped the notebook, his hand clipping through a page or two like he wasn’t all there.

Neku exhaled. “I trust you, you know. Still don’t forgive you, but I do trust you.”

“I know. I appreciate you said it aloud, but I know.”

“You look better when your clothes actually fit.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve gotten better at keeping up with me,” Joshua said with a bit of a grin.

“You’ve slowed down in your age, you old fart.”

“Old? Fart?” Joshua pouted, and where there had been a well-put-together adult sat a petulant teenager in the same attire, now oversized to the point of baggy. He looked as the Reapers did—unaged.

“At least now you fit in with the rest of your underlings,” Neku huffed.

Joshua frowned. “I wish I did, honestly.” Quietly, he stared off, past Neku to the empty kitchen.

“Miss him too?”

“More than you,” Joshua shot back.

“Didn’t have many friends?”

“Comes with the job.”

Neku rolled a pencil between his fingers. He’d caught the proverbial tail and didn’t know what to do with it. Joshua was here and clearly knew just as much as Neku did about his former idol’s whereabouts. They sat in silence as Joshua’s likely million-yen watch ticked away.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Neku replied flatly.

“You’re no fun, Neku,” Joshua needled. “Fine. Look, Sanae liked you, more than just the fact that you were my Proxy. Hell, I’m surprised he helped you at all, knowing what you represented in my Game. You were the bad guy.”

Joshua slunk in the only-until-recently broken bar seat, kicking at a shattered tile with an awfully expensive sneaker. When he couldn’t quite reach, his form shifted back to that of an adult, flinging the chipped tile aside like a petulant child. “Neku, I need you.”

“Like you needed me to destroy Shibuya.”

Joshua exhaled, wisps of golden hair fluttering as he stared at anything but Neku. “I’ve been trying to find Hanekoma for years. Every moment I’m not here keeping the city together, I’m traveling to find him. You wouldn’t understand, but I need you to get a lock on him.”

“You’re dimension hopping.”

Joshua sat straight up, his too-long legs hitting the café bar as he did so. “Fuck,” he hissed, rubbing at his knee. “Too tall for my own good. But how? How could you even know that?”

Neku pointed to the safe at the back corner of the café, still just as ajar as he left it when he found the key pin with Beat back in the game. “Mr. H. left me a book of notes: on the game, on angels, all of it.” Neku scrolled through his phone. “I used to keep it on me, thinking it would help me somehow, someday. Eventually, I just scanned it all.”

“Gimme,” Joshua demanded, and the phone was in his hands. Neku watched in awe at the Composer’s speed reading. “I know he kept notes for the Angels, but this wasn’t for them—it was for you. Where’s the real deal?”

“My apartment.”

“Address. Specific location. I’m talking ‘fourth floor, third bedroom, under the red futon next to my stack of- ‘”

Neku cut him off quickly, rattling off his exact address and where he hid the book. Joshua held out a free hand, and in a moment, it materialized with the softest of thunks, pages fluttering in Joshua’s fingertips. “Be glad I’m on good terms with the Composer of Taito Ward,” Joshua admonished, pointing with the small hand-bound journal. “Otherwise I would have sent you home to go get it yourself.”

“What, are you going to track down Hanekoma with this?”

“No, of course not,” Joshua snorted, standing upright, shaking himself once to completely dissipate any plaster shavings or broken chips from his clothing.

“You are.”

Xxx

Neku watched in awe as Joshua’s back bloomed with light, a pair of massive swan-like silver-white wings settling on his back, iridescent with hints of lavender as he shook them loose. Before Neku could think, Hanekoma’s journal was thrust into his hands, and Joshua had him in a position he’d later call The Little Spoon of Death. With a jerk backwards, the two fell through and landed precisely where they’d been before, except the shop was in clean, working order, jazz playing on the radio, and a familiar voice humming tunelessly along with the guitar.

“Heya, Josh. Back so soon?”

Neku blinked and almost cried when he saw the man behind the counter. “H-Hanekoma?!? Mr. H?”

“One of,” Hanekoma said with a shrug. “Not the one you’re looking for though.”

Neku tried to surge forward to give the man (angel?) a hug but was held firmly in place by Joshua’s murderous grip around his waist. “Let go,” Neku whined through gritted teeth.

“Not a good idea, Boss,” Hanekoma chided. “You don’t want to get stuck in the wrong place.”

Neku let himself slacken. “I can get stuck?”

“Sure as the rain ruining my day,” Hanekoma agreed. “When you’re in the right place, you’ll know.”

“Can you help?”

“Can I? Sure. Will I? No. He’s a hellion. You’re never going to find him anyway.”

“Isn’t he another you?”

“You wouldn’t say the same thing if you met you from this world,” Joshua said, exasperated. “I wonder why the book sent us here.”

“This is where you hid after Minamimoto tried to erase you, isn’t it?” Neku asked. He flipped through the journal. “He hid somewhere high to wait for you. Because he thought this Hanekoma would turn him into the Angel Police or something.”

“I did,” Hanekoma said proudly. “Can’t have me ruining my good name.”

“Fuck off,” Neku spat at the barista. “You’re not Hanekoma.”

“I’m the part of Hanekoma that actually follows our rules.”

Joshua squeezed Neku tighter. “Hold on and keep thinking of that.”

“What—whyyyyyyyyyy?!” Neku screamed as sound escaped him. The whole universe lurched underneath as Joshua resumed pinging around between alternate realities, barely stopping to breathe.

“Focus!” Joshua ordered him through the din of dizzying WildKat cafes, Shibuya skylines, and for a brief moment, possibly the cold depths of space.

“THERE IS NOTHING TO FOCUS ON YOU DAFT ZOMBIE!” Neku shouted back, feeling his insides out and outsides in before the two bounced off a massive plate of glass and went rolling out to nowhere. Joshua pulled his wings around them, breaking the fall as they bounced a few times to the sounds of shattering glass.

They stilled. Neku could hear his own breathing and feel his heart jumping in his chest. Disquietingly, Joshua had neither breath nor a heartbeat, his torso flat against Neku’s back without any noticeable sign of life. Neku quietly filed that part under “disgusting, do not remind” and wiggled a little to loosen Joshua’s grip on his midsection.

“Hang on,” Joshua hissed out. “Easy does it.”

“That was easy?”

“You should see hard,” Joshua said, smirking as he raised an eyebrow. “And it might surprise you but… I think we’re here.”

Joshua rocked on the shoulders of his wings, pushing them both upright and parting a crack for them to see from.

The world consisted of a single, stained-glass building in a shattered-glass sky. The ground crunched with hardened paint beneath them.

“Somewhere high, following the rules… and nothing to focus on. Neku, sometimes, only sometimes, am I reminded of your genius.”

“I am in elbow-to-face range,” Neku reminded him.

“Yes, dear, and you’d best stay that way unless you want to swallow glass,” Joshua pointed out. “I’m too concerned about flying through that with a passenger, let alone someone alive, so we’re going to walk in tandem to the entrance and pray there’s no tricks along the way.”

Neku wanted to argue he wasn’t much for prayer but being cocooned in angel wings wasn’t doing him any favors in that department.

“Well at least I’m getting the inspiration I was looking for,” Neku muttered as he marveled through the tiniest of openings in between Joshua’s feathers. They both shuddered as pellets of colored glass dogged them like rain, Neku grimacing with each step.

“I think that is this world’s rain,” Joshua said aloud. “What? You’re thinking too loud. Either shut up or I’ll nitpick your thoughts. Last you want to do is swallow glass talking out loud, anyway.”

They walked in silence for what felt like eternity, roughly matching steps so their wing-cocoon tank didn’t topple. Peppered by the shards of rain, Neku was slowly getting a better view of the world outside his feathered umbrella.

The tower reminded him of Pork City, though it stretched upwards through molten clouds that burned red hot like liquid glass being worked at a forge. The whole thing was stained glass of infinite color—giant, angular panes crossed and reinforced by black, wrought iron-like supports, with sharp points sticking out at odd angles from the structure.

“I think so too,” Joshua agreed with Neku’s wandering thoughts. “That’s Pork City, all right—made from Reaper wings. It looks like a gorgeous prison. A prison all the same, though,” he added, sighing.

Soon enough, the entrance loomed overhead, its maw of black webbing haphazardly stuffed with angular pastel glass. The tinkle of the rain bounced off the overhang as Joshua ever-so-slowly folded his wings behind him.

“I think you’re safe, for now,” he said, with the authoritativeness betraying his true age. “I promise, I’m not going to let you die here—you’re still holding Sanae’s book.”

“Because that’s all you care about,” Neku grumbled, to Joshua’s pout. “Oh, come off. I’m going to make up for all the teasing you did to me. Now let’s hope there’s an elevator in there or you’ll be flying us up the stairs.”

Xxx

“Lights are on; nobody’s home,” Joshua said, looking around as the two shuffled inside. “Okay, I’m letting go.”

“You’re what!” Neku shrieked, breathing heavy as Joshua smirked, unhooking his hands from around Neku’s waist. “Didn’t that other Hanekoma say it was a bad idea?”

“Oh, it’s a cataclysmically terrible idea. You’ll be trapped here forever now.”

“Joshua–I—you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“I mean, of course. I’m an ass, but nobody’s that heartless.”

“You murdered me. Twice.”

“I also brought you back to life, so no complaints,” Joshua snipped back. “Now, what have we here?”

Neku sighed, reminded of exactly how aggravating the little god could be. He looked around the entry foyer. The walls inside the building were a blinding white, almost piercing in their contrast to the stained glass on the outer walls of the monstrous tower. “I think this thing is alive,” Neku muttered.

“It’s not,” Joshua said, almost too quickly. “Or, rather, it’s as alive as Sanae or I am.”

“So it’s, what, an angel?”

Joshua kneeled down to touch the floor, a soft white abalone with a pearlescent sheen. “Yes. And we just entered the mouth.” Neku shuddered. “Oh, it’s not really that big a deal, Neku,” Joshua said, standing up and tsk-ing him with a finger. “This building is no more going to digest you than a wooden one; though I’m sure you’ve seen trees grow around and consume cars and houses.”

“Not helping,” Neku grumbled. “Hey, I’m not sure if it’s the retina damage, but are the walls bleeding paint?”

Joshua tucked his massive wings up high on his back, where they still trailed behind him like a couture dress, and shimmy-hopped over to the interior wall. “Oh, it’s probably retina damage,” he said cheerily, “you’re looking at pure light after all. But you’re not wrong.” Joshua swiped his hand along the wall, coming off it with a smear of mustard yellow acrylic paint. He blew on it, drying it immediately, and peeled it off like a face mask. “Must be the elevator hidden in the wall and… here we go.”

With a squelching sound like wrenching a tooth out of its socket—Neku wondering with a shudder that if that actually was a tooth—Joshua dislodged the panel, revealing a plush, red-velvet-lined elevator speckled with flecks of paint.

“If that’s a tongue, I’m out of here,” Neku complained.

“It’s not a tongue,” Josh said with a suspicious grin, stuffing himself inside with his wings still exposed. Neku shuffled and squeezed in, a massive feather poking him in the backside. The doors closed. “It’s the esophagus, Neku.”

Xxx

“Can’t you put those away?” Neku asked, after what felt like an eternity of being smothered by a giant chicken.

Joshua sighed, looking more serious than Neku was ever used to. “Yes, but I won’t.”

Neku expected him to elaborate, but Joshua merely went silent, hands out and open and feathers fluffed up.

Quickly, Neku understood why. It started quietly, a ping and a plop and a hiss, and became louder and more intense with each passing second. A few moments later, Neku was positive he wasn’t hearing things; it sounded like rain pouring from a gutter except… the rain was a stream of fire-engine red and the gutter was the walls of the elevator. The liquid pooled in the velvet flooring like blood matting the fur on a wounded, furry animal.

“Neku, move in before I make you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as Joshua threw his wings up around them again, reaching a hand out of the fluffy shield to pull the emergency stop on the elevator panel. Neku didn’t even realize how fast they’d been ascending until they screeched to a halt.

“The walls are bleeding.”

“Paint,” Joshua replied. “It’s just paint.”

“You also said the building was an angel,” Neku reminded him testily. “What’s to say that this isn’t—”

“Angel blood melts like acid,” Joshua replied flatly. Neku didn’t know if he were telling the truth or not, but the soles of his shoes, now caked in it, weren’t dissolving.

Joshua pulled him close, wrapping his left arm around his shoulders and left wing over that like a shield. Neku couldn’t see anything but white, but he felt a jolt of exertion and heard Joshua swear low.

“Neku, dear, stay close and don’t scream.”

In the time it took him to blink, the Joshua that Neku was familiar with vanished. Every pore of the elevator was leaking paint in gushes now; thankfully blues and greens and hot pinks, to put Neku slightly more at ease, balanced evenly with the remainder of the free space taken up by living, swirling paint.

Noise.

One giant one.

It was silent and snake-like, and it dug its claws into the elevator door, wrenching it open without a sound save the rushing air.

The elevator had stopped between two floors, and the Noise slipped out the bottom to slide down to the floor below.

Move, it demanded of him. Drowning in paint doesn’t belong in your obituary.

Neku more or less knew the beast had been Joshua, but the voice in his head finally cemented it.

“I’ll break my legs.”

“I’ll catch you.”

Neku didn’t even register the response said aloud, slipping down the paint-soaked velvet and landing in a nest of color-streaked feathers.

“See?”

“I’m drenched,” Neku grumped, and then realized he wasn’t. His and Joshua’s clothes were pristine again, though the wild streaks of paint still covered Neku’s arms and Joshua’s feathers.

“Not getting rid of it all. I don’t know if the building is trying to attack us and I’d rather we still smell like it.”

“You think?” Neku asked sarcastically. He looked around the room. Paint had pooled in oil-slick puddles on the floor and was leaking out cracks in the walls. Neku heard dripping from overhead, looking up to see globs of color slowly plopping from the ceiling. The acrylic paint’s own drying-to-plastic properties were likely the only thing preventing a flood of multicolored rain on them.

Carefully, Neku hot-footed around the deepest puddles and made his way to the stained glass on the perimeter.

“We are really high up,” he breathed out, looking at the world below.

Joshua fluttered, and landed gracefully next to him. “We are. Care not to break the glass.”

“I’m not that—”

“—without me,” Joshua continued, barreling for the window, grabbing Neku as he shattered an entire pane.

For a moment, time stood still, not that it mattered much in this place to begin with. The triangular pastel shards exploded out with them on the side of the building and Neku swore he heard it scream. The shards from the broken window floated around them, glittering against the glass rain pelting them from above. Joshua pulled Neku in tighter, wings curled.

“Duck.” That was Neku’s only warning as Joshua opened his wings to propel them up against the pellets of crystalline rain before hurling himself sideways, crashing into another exterior wall.

“Human bodies are too frail,” Joshua tsk’ed at him once they finished rolling in a 20 centimeters deep pool of paint. With a hand wave, Neku found himself as clean as he could be, and free of scratches.

Paint sluiced down from their entry hole, likely streaking the outside of the building as the room began to drain. Neku shook the stars from his eyes as Joshua flicked his fingers across his button-down shirt, sending the liquid colors away as he did so.

His wings were still streaked with neon.

The room had no stairs, no elevator shaft, from what Neku could see. It was just glass around the outside and a concrete floor and ceiling. Scattered about the room were pillars and flat concrete pieces, some wall-to-ceiling, but most about half height—like an art gallery.

The entire room, save the glass, was completely covered in art.

Graffiti.

Classical.

Renaissance.

Ukiyo-e

Cubist.

It was one step short of being an eyesore. And as the paint drained out, pouring down the exterior side of the building, Neku could see the floor, too, covered with incredible works of art. He felt almost embarrassed when he moved his foot, leaving behind a hot-pink footprint on impressionist lilies.

“They’re just copies,” Joshua said sternly, looking around. “Technically precise, but nothing original except in how it’s all mashed together.”

Neku nodded. “I just stepped in Monet.”

“Well, a good copy. Poor Sanae. Stay on your guard, Neku; he’s up here somewhere. And he’s probably not going to look like what you’re used to.”

“Like how you were a dragon?” Neku asked.

“His street art handle isn’t CAT for nothing.”

“I’m assuming it’s not a housecat, then,” Neku hissed back, suddenly concerned. Both of them winced on hearing a howl.

Quiet, Joshua ordered inside his head. And stay behind me.

Neku nodded and the two wove their way through the gallery, following the sound of growls and irritated hisses. Joshua slowly peeled around a corner, motioning for Neku to follow.

A great graffiti-winged panther that Neku could only assume was Mr. Hanekoma glared back through acid-paint eyes.

Xxx

Joshua shoved Neku roughly aside, striding confidently to the massive graffiti beast.

“Hello, old friend,” Joshua said, tired and aged himself.

The creature screamed. The concrete half-wall Neku had been cowering behind exploded into fragments of color and shrapnel.

The beast froze, sniffed. It took one step, then another, leaning its gargantuan head over the broken divider to look down at Neku.

Neku had never been terrified before. Even in the Game, he’d had periods when he was scared, adrenaline coursing through him like the drug it was. But this abject fear to witness a man he trusted—who he might even consider a friend—be reduced to a mindless abomination drooling tempera paint overhead was sobering.

The beast opened its maw wide. Joshua jumped to his side in a flash, throwing up a wing to protect him.

Hanekoma tilted his head a little, reminiscent of a puppy. “Ne….ku?”

Xxx

Neku and Joshua watched over the next…however long it took. Hanekoma paced, occasionally knocking over a bucket of paint or, in one case, slamming into one of the concrete half-wall dividers with his flank as his graffiti form jittered and convulsed.

He’s coming back around, Joshua hissed in Neku’s head. At this point, we just need to wait.

Neku nodded. Joshua still held a wing up and an iron grip on the other’s arm and waist, but it was with good reason. Hanekoma screamed again, rupturing the concrete and Neku’s eardrums. For a few moments, Neku saw nothing but static, before the searing pain faded.

“—Sanae, Sanae, come back to us,” Joshua pleaded in croaking whispers as Neku’s hearing returned. “Please. Your attacks are only hurting him, see? I just had to completely repair his eardrums.”

The cat-beast howled again, knocking Neku utterly unconscious this time.

Xxx

Neku came to on the floor of the gallery, slowly taking stock of the room around him through hazy peripheral vision. Most of the dividers were at least punched through, if not entirely destroyed. A cold hand covered most of his forward vision, however.

“Neku, can you hear me?” Hanekoma’s gruff voice was twanged with concern.

“He should; I fixed his eardrums twice in one eternity,” Joshua grumped.

“Mister….H?” Neku croaked.

“J, make him some water.”

Slowly, a sturdy arm pulled Neku to sitting, leaning his body back into something warm, but lacking breath and a pulse. It was too broad to be Joshua, confirmed when the other hand slipped away to take an offered bowl of water.

Hanekoma was in human form again. Human-ish, at least.

“Drink, kiddo.”

“I’m twenty,” Neku protested before coughing up a little blood, realizing that was the first full sentence out of his mouth to the former barista.

“Hey, all humans are kids to me,” Hanekoma laughed. “J, he needs his throat patched up too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joshua whined, leaning forward to place three fingers against Neku’s neck. Immediately, Neku felt a wave of calm wash over, and his throat felt clear. “Now drink, before I whip you up an IV. I can patch you up, but I’m not magically refilling you with lost fluids. I don’t have the brainspace right now for that.”

Neku slowly downed the water, leaning heavily into Hanekoma. “I don’t have the brainspace to brain for at least a week.”

“I don’t think any of us do,” Hanekoma added. “I’m not even sure how I’m back to any kind of sanity as it is.”

Joshua rolled his eyes and refilled the water bowl with a gesture. “Enough of you was sane enough to be worried.”

“You brought a living human as bait, J! Of course I was worried.”

“It worked.”

“That doesn’t make it—” Hanekoma hissed, squeezing Neku’s shoulders a little too hard.

“I missed you,” Neku cut in. “It looked like all of Shibuya did, even though they never knew who you were.”

“Of course they knew,” Hanekoma said gently. “I was the local barista, ready with a good cup ‘o joe. I was the artist that painted the town red.”

“All the Reapers I spoke to had nothing but praise for you,” Neku continued. “I ran all over the city today finding that out.”

Neku felt the single loud thump of a heartbeat from the ethereal body keeping him upright. “Really now?”

“None of them knew you had a connection to the game either,” Neku continued, getting a second wind. “They just praised CAT’s art and WildKat’s coffee.”

“Hmph.”

“Won’t you come back, Sanae?” Joshua asked, a pleading smile on his lips. “It’s been too long.”

“I wish I could, J.”

“What do you mean you wish? You’re an Angel, for Someone’s sake!”

“Er, about that,” Hanekoma said, scratching the back of his head. “I’m… well. I’m not not an angel, I guess. But this is my punishment.”

“You’re definitely under supervision,” Joshua said testily. “Your warden was more annoying than anything else.”

“I take offense to that,” Hanekoma’s voice reverberated through all three of them.

Joshua nearly growled. “You know, you could have skipped the theatrics. If you wanted us gone, you could have Erased us, or just booted us out.”

Neku blinked the last of the daze away. “Hold on. I’m missing something here.”

“Remember how we passed a million billion WildKats and Sanaes and Shibuyas trying to find this place?” Joshua grumbled. “And how Sanae knew what we were doing? Angels have a singular hive mind. Mostly. I’m not actually an Angel, mind you—sort of just a hatchling, an infant. But he’s a real-deal Higher Plane beastie.”

Neku frowned, putting up a finger, lost in thought. Hanekoma went to speak, only for Joshua to shush him.

“Neku’s smart enough to put the pieces together. Give him a moment.”

“I gave him at least a concussion, if not brain damage, J.”

“Which I fixed.”

“The building.” Neku’s face sharpened into a frown.

Joshua and Hanekoma turned their heads to Neku, now sitting upright unassisted as he bopped his finger to his own internal music, slotting what he knew in place. “You said the building was an angel. This building, this whole thing, is this dimension’s Mr. H. All of the other yous are mad at you, aren’t they?”

Hanekoma nodded, exhaling a sigh. “I’m… sort of still an angel. But they cut me off from the Hive and took my inspiration. I can’t leave until I have them back.”

“I’m going to have a word with Management.” Joshua hoisted himself off the shrapnel-pocked floor, stomping a foot. “Elevator, if you please.”

“J, you’re crazy.”

“Aware. So?”

The three heard a ding as a concrete cube rose from the floor, the elevator with it. It opened with a smooth motion, the door already fixed but the interior still caked in paint.

“Am I the hostage negotiator, or can all of us go?” Joshua asked the elevator, irritated, arms crossed and wing-feathers fluffed in annoyance. In response, the elevator ballooned sideways, expanding the interior to accommodate three adults and one massive pair of wings.

“All right,” Joshua sighed out. “Everybody in.”

Xxx

The elevator hummed pleasantly and dinged, opening back up to the pearly-white entryway. The large front doors—triangular shards of crisscrossing stained glass—were blocked off by an aggressive black chain and padlock. A gleaming solid front desk sat at the entryway with a bored Hanekoma flipping lazily through a completely blank magazine. He shot them a grin; Neku noticed he was missing a tooth.

“Ah, hello. Thanks for giving me one heck of a sore throat, J.”

“Can it. I’m busting him out,” Joshua snapped, straight to the point.

Hanekoma put down the magazine, all high-gloss and solid-white pages. “Oh? How?”

Joshua pointed at the door, the chain and lock melting like acid under his gaze. “The front door, how else? Unless you want a few more teeth popped out.”

“That isn’t what I meant, J,” Hanekoma-behind-the-counter said simply. “Your me isn’t an angel right now. You take him out of here and he’s a mortal. I give him a few decades, tops. Stay and he’ll pay his price eventually; won’t you, you sorry excuse for a me?”

Joshua’s Sanae wrung his hands. “I’ll head back up. I did say you didn’t need to come for me, J.”

“If you leave before your sentence is up… you’re mortal?” Joshua asked, his voice cracking a little.

“Yeah, sorry Boss. I’ll take the long way ‘round.”

Neku frowned, scratching at some dried paint on his cheek. “Hang on. What is his sentence exactly? Josh, you said yours was being banned from the RG, but nothing stopped you from letting me see the UG.”

Joshua broke out into a nasty grin. “Ohhhhhhhh Neku, dear. I need to have you get brain damage more often.”

“No,” Neku interjected flatly.

“Aw, it was only a temporary inconvenience. Anyway, Sanae—either of you—what is his exact punishment from the Higher Plane? I want the full contract.”

The glass world’s Sanae slid him the blank magazine. “They were pretty thorough.”

Xxx

When Neku turned his back on the front desk, a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table, all in different shades of blinding alabaster, existed under the overhang just to the side of the entryway. The tinkle of stained-glass-shard rain peppered the overhang roof and a rainbow of garish light streaked in between the storm clouds outside. Joshua lifted his wings, draped them over the back of the sofa, and got to reading.

The only sounds were the tinkling of the rain, Joshua’s ever-ticking watch, and the occasional turn of a page.

Neku tapped his fingers on his jeans. “Can I do anything?”

“No,” muttered Joshua, half in thought flipping through the plain pages.

“Haven’t you done enough?” asked the bored warden, slouching at his desk.

“I could… clean the elevator,” Neku offered, trying to figure out something to do. He was definitely caught in some sort of celestial war, played out in miniature. Everything was over his head right now as he looked sideways to the glass-world Hanekoma. He looked the same as all the others—rolled-up button down, slacks, waistcoat, watch, sandals, sunglasses, messy hair—though he did seem a bit more… shiny, like light was reflecting off of him. Neku didn’t want to consider what it meant for him to both be standing at the front counter as well as being the entire building.

“You’d do that?” the glass angel questioned, confused.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m just standing here. And it’s partially my fault that happened. More so if it’s hurting you.”

“Angels aren’t people, Neku,” he replied, handing him a bucket of soapy water from nowhere. “We don’t feel pain.”

“You’re clearly in pain,” Neku shot back in a whisper after Joshua rustled the magazine loudly, clearing his throat in a way reminding Neku to not disturb him. “Let me help.”

“Help, huh?” The glass Hanekoma smiled, the missing tooth returning to its space after a moment of static. “That’s a new thought.”

“Nobody’s ever helped you before?” Neku asked, concerned, as the elevator dinged and opened. He walked to it, both Sanaes following. One handed the other another bucket, then made one for himself. The three went inside and Neku took to the floor, carefully washing down the carpeting. The door slid closed and the three worked in silence.

“Not me, no,” the glass one admitted. “Not most of us. Angels don’t interact with your kind, or they really aren’t supposed to. I think some of us are jealous of the us from your world.” Another beat of silence. “I know I am.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” Neku asked.

“The other mes would make me a traitor, same as that one.” He jabbed his thumb at his duplicate. “In all honesty, I think it’s better than wasting away with only our own thoughts for company. All of us know it too—only that one said the quiet part out loud. There’s a small and finite number of angels, but an infinite number of each of us. One broken hive is a massive blow to the higher plane—kind of contradictory when you realize we run on Imagination. Think about it for five seconds and—”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Neku cut in, satisfied with the state of the floor, moving on to an aggressive teal spot on the wall. “If you run on Imagination but you’re made up as a ton of fragments that all have to think alike, any dissent and your own self turns on you. Seems a bit counterintuitive to have it that way.”

“The only possible outcome is to break apart from within,” Hanekoma agreed, but Neku wasn’t sure which one of them said it. Inside the elevator, the glass one didn’t have the odd shine he’d had in the foyer. At this point, he wasn’t sure it mattered.

Xxx

Neku and both Hanekoma exited the elevator, Joshua still pouring over the magazine. “They really did try and close every possible loophole,” he muttered. “I can’t see a way out… shy of killing you,” he added, looking up at the two angels. “And now I can’t even tell you apart.”

One of them smiled. “Neku just opened one up for you.”

“Oh?”

“Clause 16b.2.”

“Yes, ‘should the warden be unfit for service, Hanekoma is to serve the remainder of the sentence under a new warden.’ I was going to kill you and claim myself warden.”

“There’s no way the Higher Power would allow that. He’d just be transferred,” the other one said. Joshua raised an eyebrow to the first one—his Hanekoma. He slid his eyes between the two of them and the glass one scratched the back of his neck.

“Sit. I’ll get us something to drink.”

Neku shrugged and practically threw himself into one of the chairs, sighing as he sank into it. It was soft and warm and the light pinging of the rain overhead was lulling him to sleep.

“Stay awake,” Hanekoma ordered, pinching his elbow. “You started going see-through when you passed out last time—it’s what jolted me to consciousness. You aren’t coming all this way just for me to see you fade to nothing, Neku.”

Neku jolted upright, just as a steaming cup of coffee was placed in his hands. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” the glass Hanekoma said, determined. A third settee appeared between the other two; their captor-slash-host sat in it, placing a tray of coffee, tea, and snacks on the table between them. “And anyway, I’m unfit to be Hanekoma’s warden now. The Higher Plane may come for me soon. Though, soon here could be eons off. I know my time doesn’t run at the same pace as most of the other dimensions; that’s why I was picked to watch him. Joshua, they would never accept you under probation, but… Neku—you seem to be a favorite of upper management. Transferring to you shouldn’t be a problem. Hand him the contract, J.”

Neku blinked a bit of the daze from his eyes, downing the beverage. It felt like more than mere coffee, a solid glass of liquid courage, emboldening him.

Joshua hesitated, but passed the blank, glossy magazine sideways to Neku. He then stared down at the tray of offered snacks and carefully picked out a chessboard cookie, frowning at it, before biting the head off the knight’s horse.

Words swirled on the paper in Neku’s peripheral vision before he could see them straight off. “Can I get a translation?” he asked meekly, looking at the mess of block print before him.

“Did I not write it in Japanese?” Glass-Hanekoma asked.

“That’s not what I meant,” Neku sulked. “I can’t read lawyer.”

Joshua craned his neck sideways. “It’s a transferal of ownership contract. Standard language, except… hm. Neku, would you want to be an angel?”

Neku scrunched up his face. “Seeing what you deal with? No. I have enough trouble with artist’s block as it is. I’d rather it not be fatal.”

“Take out paragraphs eight and twenty, then.”

“Wait, this would have…”

“Made you one of us, yeah,” Joshua cut Neku off. “It does mean that if Hanekoma didn’t finish his sentence before you died, he would be mortal; so some sort of transferal clause needs to be added.”

Hanekoma snatched up the magazine, flicking it. “Consider it done. Sign and get out of here before I’m taken away too.” He grinned slyly. “Maybe I can keep the domino chain going. Wouldn’t the upper management just love that?”

Neku flicked his eyes to Joshua. “I still trust you, Josh. How’s it look?”

“We can take him with us. You’re his warden ‘til you die or his sentence is done, then you can renegotiate angelhood if you want.”

“But… what is his sentence?” Neku asked, looking between the now indistinguishable Hanekoma.

“I have to re-earn my Imagination: the human way.”

“No magic?”

“Some magic. About as much as Josh has. Which is a lot compared to you. Very little compared to before. And none at all when I’m not near my warden… though I’m not sure how near near is.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the second Hanekoma said, squeezing the first’s shoulder. “I’ve given you a little extra juice on your way. I’m sure they’ll take mine from me anyway. It’s enough to manifest your wings again, at least. Now get out of here, before there’s bigger problems. All of us is already tattling.”

“Bunch of assholes,” Hanekoma hissed under his breath.

“We both were, too. Well, me at least. Think you were always the black sheep. Now, sign and get.”

Joshua plucked a pen from nowhere, handing it to Neku who turned to the angelic twins. “You trust me?”

“With your life,” both Hanekoma said with a nod.

Neku signed with a flick of his wrist, the pull of slumber taking him again. He could barely hear Hanekoma and Joshua shout something as they hauled him upright at the torso.

With a jerk that felt like someone had tied a rope around his waist and then yanked on it from behind, Neku blinked his eyes open to Hanekoma’s shop, as destroyed as it was when they’d left it. He gasped for breath, completely winded and woozy, the world spinning around him until he succumbed, sliding out of Hanekoma and Joshua’s shared grip to bounce on the cracked tile floor.

Xxx

Hanekoma frowned, flapping feathered wings he forgot he’d missed. “J, you know you can’t throw yourself around the mortals—not like that. Not even to someone like him.” Carefully, Hanekoma pulled Neku out of the rubble, flinging his body over a shoulder. “Be glad he’s just passed out. If he stayed a moment longer in that dimension, he would have been gone. You could have killed him or worse.”

“But I didn’t,” Joshua insisted. “I needed him.”

“Did he know the risks?” Hanekoma asked roughly, finally free to yell at his former boss-and-ward without Neku overhearing. “He didn’t. You never told him.”

“You said in your notes that I’d be a strain on him. He had to know what that meant.”

“There’s a difference in knowing what your toned-down presence would do over a week versus what the full force of your power would do to him in a few hours,” Hanekoma chided. “He may have known the former, but you certainly didn’t tell him the latter.”

“What’s your point?” Joshua asked, watching Hanekoma shift Neku’s unconscious form into a more comfortable carry.

“My point is, stop breaking things, J. Stop treating everything like a broken bone that’s healing the wrong way. Not everything has to be shattered even more to fix it.”

“You were imprisoned by the Angels! All for trying to protect this city!” Joshua protested.

“I would have finished my sentence eventually,” Sanae countered in a calm and even tone. “I may have been in that place for eons, but it was—what? Three years here, maybe?”

“Five,” Joshua whimpered with a pout.

Hanekoma’s eyes flicked up and down Joshua, seemingly searching for something. “I’m putting Neku down in a room and warding it. He needs to recoup.”

Hanekoma turned on his heel to the shop backrooms, leaving Joshua standing confused in the mound of rubble.

Xxx

Whatever Hanekoma was doing, he was taking his sweet time. But Joshua heeded the barista’s words and waited, rolling his shoulders and slowly ratcheting his own wings back into the ether. Bored, he made himself a broom from Imagination and began idly sweeping up the chipped plaster and shattered tile. Eventually, Hanekoma returned to the shop portion of the building, eyeing Joshua.

“Physical labor? That’s a first.”

“I… I feel,” Joshua said, stopping to roll the broom handle in his fingertips. “I feel responsible.”

Hanekoma lowered his shades, peering over them. “Responsible. Who are you and what have you done with J?”

“I grew up, Sanae. Someone had to. You weren’t here. I have a new Conductor and Producer now.”

“What, so I’m outta a job?”

“I’m not kicking you out,” Joshua said, almost pleading. “You just don’t have any obligations. Other than your sentence, I guess.”

“With Neku as my warden,” Hanekoma sighed out. “You didn’t need to plan a jailbreak, J. You’ve waited longer than five years for things before. It’s hardly an eye-blink to people like us.”

Joshua slunk to the floor, defeated and boneless as he slid down the broom handle. A small cloud of debris puffed up around him as he went.

“Drama queen,” Hanekoma tsk’ed as he joined his former colleague on the floor, nesting his wings around himself. “I can’t say this isn’t nice though. Missed ya, J. Being honest, I don’t remember much at all from that place, anyway. Could’ve been a long time there before I became myself again without your little stunt.”

Joshua didn’t answer.

They sat in silence a few moments, then Hanekoma choked back a cry as his coworker—his friend—grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around him just under his wings. Hanekoma flapped them in surprise as Joshua buried his head in the down.

Angel and Reaper wings were their Soul; one didn’t just touch them—not without explicit permission. To touch someone’s wings meant someone else could feel what they did. Feel their joy, their disgust, their pain, or all at once.

Hanekoma didn’t pull away. He could hear—just barely, but it was there—Joshua sobbing silently into his back. Joshua was, for the first time in his so-called-life, showing Hanekoma a vulnerability he didn’t know the other even possessed. Slowly, the barista relaxed both sets of shoulders, taking on more and more of Joshua’s weight until his Composer was literally leaning on him as much as metaphorically.

Seconds ticked away from Joshua’s Pegasso crystal-quartz watch, which turned to minutes, then a solid half hour. Slowly, Hanekoma felt the weight lift.

“You let me,” Joshua said, a bit hoarse, patting the down where wing phased through clothes.

“You needed it, J. Pain shared is pain halved. I was happy to listen.”

“You didn’t want to be saved,” Joshua said sharply. “Forgive me for feeling like you were ungrateful. But… you weren’t. You were protecting me from the angels and a sentence like yours. You were a fall guy.”

“Yes,” Hanekoma said slowly. “I didn’t want you to suffer, too. Not being visible to the RG is hardly a penalty compared to what I have.”

“Pain shared is pain halved,” Joshua threw back at him, wiping snot off his face. If he’d been in his teenage form, he would have looked like just another kid. But Joshua was an ugly crier, and as an adult, he just looked silly—more so with a few errant feathers from Hanekoma’s back stuck to his dripping snot and hair.

“Wash up—the backroom sink works,” Hanekoma insisted, flapping his wings a few times to get rid of any other loose feathers. “I need to do some tidying, anyway.”

Joshua reverently ran his fingers through the shoulder of Hanekoma’s left wing. “Clean the shop all you want; you know all about me and dirt. But leave this part to me.”

Xxx

“I kinda expected more, Sanae.” Joshua leaned in the doorframe, pristine as her always presented himself to the public.

“I’m not exactly going to waste my magic, Boss.” Hanekoma went back to wiping down the countertops with a wet rag. The only change Joshua could see was all the broken furniture piled in a corner, with the floor debris in an equally uncoordinated pile.

“The human way?” Joshua asked with a smirk.

“If I’m not your Producer, I need a little art project to keep me busy.”

“Wouldn’t really call fixing a coffee shop art,” Joshua scoffed.

“It’s not not art, though,” Hanekoma countered, flinging the wet rag on a shoulder and smiling at the dented, but still functional, kettle on the burner, whistling away. “Tea?”

“Mm,” Joshua hummed with a nod. “Also, Neku’s phone was ringing nonstop.” He pulled his own from a pocket. “Oh. It’s past ten PM. Someone’s probably been wondering what happened to him. Least it’s still the same day we left.” Joshua cracked a small smile. “Gone for a week and the mortals think you’re dead or something.”

Hanekoma threw the rag square in Joshua’s face, storming past him to go retrieve the offending cell phone.

Xxx

Hanekoma sat on one of the two useable stools, Joshua behind him on the other, sipping tea from one hand while using the other to pull out stuck feathers. The barista unlocked Neku’s phone, scrolling through twenty missed calls. “Shiki. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

“You planning to call?”

“I should. Neku’s probably going to need a day or more to recuperate. And then you’re going to call his mother and let her know he’s sick with a fever.”

“Can’t. RG people can’t perceive me for another few years, remember? Phone calls included.” He grinned toothily. “You’ll just have to clean up the mess for me.”

Hanekoma sighed, stretching out his wings a little so Joshua could pull out all the powder down stuck from his eons of not taking care of himself, and pressed a familiar name in the missed calls history. “Hello? Shiki?”

“Oh my god, is this the police? Where’s Neku?”

“Shiki,” Hanekoma smiled a little, glad for a familiar voice. “It’s… Hanekoma Sanae—the café shop owner on Cat Street.”

Hanekoma waited patiently as Shiki processed what that meant. “If Neku is dead, I’m wringing a long line of necks. Joshua’s first; something tells me this is his fault.”

Joshua laughed hard enough to slam forward into the angel’s back; Sanae shot him a glare. “Neku is alive, but he’s taken a massive hit of Imagination. He’s probably going to sleep a day or two.”

“But he’s alive.”

“Alive and in no pain, with no injury. Mortals just can’t handle being around a city Composer too long.” Hanekoma glared over his shoulder at a snickering young-looking man in a lilac button down.

“I’m coming over there,” Shiki insisted. “And Joshua better be ready to take a knee to the balls.”

“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to see or hear him, but hang on,” Hanekoma said, pushing back on the deadweight behind him with his wings. “I’m putting you on speaker. Feel free to yell at him—I already have.”

Hanekoma clicked to speakerphone, maximizing the volume and holding the phone out behind him.

“Go ahead, Shiki. He can hear you.”

Shiki took in a deep breath, expelling a gasp of colorfully laced expletives so pointed Joshua’s hair began to catch fire. The moment she was out of breath, she slammed the end-call button with enough force that Joshua’s wings twitched, even within their aether.

“Josh, you’d better be out of my shop before she gets here or you’re going to be in deep shit.”

“I didn’t realize someone who played the Game before could deal that much splash damage,” Joshua complained, patting out the embers on the edges of his loose curls.

“You were human once yourself, J. Now bolt before she sets all of you on fire.”

“Good night to you too,” Joshua grumped, crossing his arms as he slid off the seat, leaving Hanekoma’s wings in a worse looking state than when he’d started. He saluted awkwardly to the sighing barista, disappearing out into the night.

Xxx

“How are you holding up, kiddo?”

Neku rubbed the crust out of his eyes. “What year is it?”

“Same one you were in before this mess.” Hanekoma smiled. “You slept away three days, though. I impersonated you on the phone to your mom and college—hope that’s alright.”

“So it’s…”

“Monday night. Six PM. Josh’s going to stay away from you for a while.”

“That why I feel like shit?”

“Mhmm. You want me to bring you in some food?”

“Bathroom,” Neku complained.

“Think mine still works.”

“You think?”

“Neku, I’m not human. I’ve never needed it.”

Xxx

“So now what?” Neku bit into his burger; nothing Hanekoma made, but then again, his kitchen was mostly still in shambles.

“I guess I rebuild. Maybe I take some art classes at community college.”

“Then I’m helping.”

“No, you’re-”

Neku glared up from his dinner. “That’s not up for debate. I’m your prison warden, remember? I help and in return, you let me paint in here.”

Hanekoma laughed. “You don’t even need to ask permission for that.”

“Oh, so I can tag every wall, floor, and ceiling in this bombed out husk of a deserted island?”

The barista frowned, leaning forward on the counter. “That didn’t get me any closer to having any inspiration, you know.”

“And I think that’s a lie,” Neku replied, crossing his arms. “Josh didn’t see it either. Maybe the individual components were copies, but that space you made in that other place was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Incredible doesn’t even begin to describe it. Nothing we do is truly unique anyway; we’re always working off the backs of those who came before us. It’s what voice we add to that conversation that makes our art what it is and… I should really be following my own advice. Hang on. I’m making a few calls, and you’re not stopping me.”

Neku pulled out his phone and rolled through his contacts list. “Hey, Sho. I’ve got a destroyed café here ripe for a giant-ass chandelier. You in?”

“Neku,” the other end of the line sounded annoyed. “I don’t do electrical.”

“So? You do the sculpture; I’ll get someone else to wire.”

“It’s going to be made of trash.”

“Why do you think I called your ass? Take notes; here’s the address.”

Xxx

“I haven’t done heavy lifting in… forever,” Hanekoma said, wiping actual sweat off his brow. It was a weird feeling, being sort-of human, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. The past six weeks had been a whirlwind with Neku in charge, directing a steady stream of ethereal beings— self included— into a massive renovation of his shop. The place was an explosion of color and life, an irony in real time to contrast the lack of both on the owner.

“Quit complaining,” Uzuki demanded, hauling the other end of the new bar counter. “If I can get Kariya to lift your tables in, you can help with your own damn high-top.”

“The one you danced on,” Hanekoma said with a grin, looking down at the hot purple and neon orange footprints crisscrossing the acrylic-sealed bar counter. The two had tangoed across a plank, then encased it for eternity in enough two-stage resin that it would never fade—Neku was particularly proud of that collaboration. Uzuki pushed the shop door with her shoulder, so both of them could bring the counter inside.

“—and you don’t need to hold that ladder, Neku.”

“I don’t want you falling,” Neku snapped back, looking up at the Reaper wiring in the shop’s new light fixture. It looked like a vending machine had exploded on the ceiling, and Hanekoma loved it.

“Neku, I can fly,” Triple Seven replied, waving a pair of wire strippers. He was flapping his wings to show those off as well, not that Neku could see them from the RG.

“My masterpiece can’t,” Sho grumbled from the corner, looking on in a mix of horror and awe as Seven worked his stage rigging magic to get the recycled-bottle chandelier hooked into the building’s wiring.

“Look, it’s way easier for me to do this if I’m not trying to balance,” Seven sighed out. “Sho, get up here and hold it in place, so I can finish. Neku, go help do something that doesn’t involve a ceiling or frying yourself on open electricals.”

Sho sighed, stood up, and vanished back into the UG, flapping up to hold the sculpture as Seven jumped off the ladder. Neku winced, unable to see either of them.

“If you can hear me, I’m going to check on Shiki and her friends making chair cushions.” Sho rattled the ladder with his foot, and Neku smiled. “Hey, Mr. H, your shop’s haunted.”

“I’d be more worried if it wasn’t.”

Xxx

“So?” Hanekoma slid a ceramic cup down the acrylic to Neku. “Get your grade back yet?”

“Semester ends in January, Mr. H; it’s gonna be a while yet. How about your magic?”

“While this helped, no. It’ll be a while yet for me too. Can’t complain about the décor, though.”

Hanekoma and Neku grinned, taking in the space. Except for one section of wall painted with chalkboard paint for patrons to go wild doodling on, every square inch of the shop was covered in art altogether dizzying and explosively contrast in design.

“Opens tomorrow, right? My teacher is coming around again to see it.”

“Soft open today though.”

“Sign said closed,” Neku pointed out with his teaspoon.

“Maybe for the living.”

“Ah, a few reapers pass by?” Neku asked with a smile. “Hey, make a bet with you.”

“What?”

“How many days the shop’s open before a paying customer draws a dick on your wall.”

“Zero.”

Neku looked sideways as a handful of change bounced across the counter, Sho coming into view. He downed his already half-drunk coffee and loped to the chalkboard to vandalize it. Neku flicked his eyes at the empty tables and chairs, a massive grin breaking out on his face as every single one was filled in with a Reaper, raising glasses in toast.

“We all needed someplace to stay,” Hanekoma said on the room’s behalf. “Thanks for giving us a home. It’s still pretty broken and lopsided, but I promise we’ll keep the lights on.”

“Mr. H, this was already your home.”

He shook his head. “No, Neku. It was only a shop.”

“If its home, does that mean the drinks are free?” A few reapers turned to the furthest corner of the room—Joshua grinned, sitting backwards in his chair.

“J, what did I say about coming ‘round when Neku’s here?” Hanekoma scolded.

“…Don’t?”

“Short bursts only, lest you want to clean up the exploding brains on the wall.”

Neku shrugged. “It’ll probably add to the ambiance.”

#TWEWY #The World Ends With You #TWEWY Bang 2020 #Subarashiki Kono Sekai #divisionten #submission

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halictus-writer · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Seattle (Ch. 3 of 5)

Remus deleted Tinder the second the app finished downloading. He was sitting at the dining table/desk combination of his studio apartment, and, unsurprisingly it was raining just outside the window. Seattle felt so new to Remus, although it had now been months since he moved away from his previous life. It took a lot of journaling and time, but he had begun to feel like what had happened–– his ex breaking his heart an hour before his twenty-sixth birthday party–– was meant to happen. His life hadn’t been his own. It was full of so much compromise, as is necessary for a life shared by two people, but the compromises that were made did not further his growth. He was stuck in a rut in his career, he was still in his college town, and he hadn’t even written a word of the novel he told himself he would write after the next big thing––graduation, holidays, birthdays, travel–– finished.

And now, here he was. Living in a big city, alone, but doing it the way he wanted. He had a job that furthered his growth, he had supportive friends, and he had already filled entire notebooks with the ideas, character charts, and plot diagrams that would eventually become his novel. Suddenly realizing that no one was here to complain about the cold, he cracked the window open, letting some of the fresh, rain-scented air in, and shrugged on a sweater.

He was at peace with himself, and for that reason he felt he was ready to give dating another shot. He re-downloaded Tinder, chose a few random pictures of himself, and typed out the bio that Dorcas had helped him draft, cringing the entire time. He closed the app without viewing the other Tinder users within twenty-five miles and two years of his age.

As a treat for his bravery, he decided to get a margherita pizza for lunch. If he exercised self-control, he could save half for tonight’s dinner as well. It was really a matter of simple economics.

***

Remus immediately noticed that the restaurant looked a little different in the midday light, but he also immediately noticed that Sirius was not on the clock. He ordered his pizza to-go.

As he walked back to his apartment, one hand tucking the pizza close, the other brandishing an umbrella, he tried not to think about the fact that he had so far only received free–– and unsolicited–– dessert items when Sirius was working.

***

An hour later, Remus had made his first matches on Tinder. He had also accidentally “super-liked” a person named “DL Top” with a gray image as their only picture, frantically looked up how you could “un-match” with someone, read a very patronizing how-to article on basic Tinder functions, and decided to choose “block” for good measure.

One of his matches was a graduate student at the University of Washington, and Remus liked that his profile said he loved to read. They exchanged normal greeting messages, before the man asked Remus if he was “a LTR kind of guy.” Remus answered him by saying “Tolkien is an amazing writer, obviously, but I have to admit the movies were kind of long.” The man didn’t reply, and Remus figured that his opinions on the Lord of the Rings franchise must have been a deal-breaker for the other man.

Dorcas and Marlene were adamant about hearing his progress with Tinder, so he sent a group text to the two of them.

Remus: Tinder day one is a thing, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong yet

Dorcas: Yes! Proud of you

Marlene: what’s the weirdest thing that’s happened so far!!!!???

Remus: well, someone asked me what I thought about lord of the rings on the second message, does that count?

Dorcas: haha seriously? What did they even say

Remus: “so are you an LTR kinda guy or what?”

Marlene: HAHA

Dorcas explained that LTR in this context likely stood for “long-term relationship,” with intermittent texts from Marlene such as “how in the heck even” and “you are my favorite person oh my god.”

Remus decided to give Tinder a break for the rest of the day.

***

He made a good deal of progress within his first week of online dating, especially when considering that he started so low, with the misunderstanding of slang and accidental super-liking. It was now a Friday night, and he had a real-life, in-person date set for six o’clock. On Wednesday Remus had met a different match for coffee (but only after Dorcas had cross-referenced his story, friended him from a blank Facebook profile, and found pictures of him at his high school senior prom from nearly a decade ago. “You should be arrested,” Remus had said, horrified but a little grateful). Coffee had been perfectly pleasant, but both men agreed that they would rather be friends than anything more. They even friended each other on Facebook so that Remus could be added to his book club.

Meeting new friends was a welcome side-effect, but Remus was still in the market for a boyfriend. Hence, the anxious shuffling as he waited for the clock to get closer to six. Remus wished his apartment was larger, if only for the chance to have more space to clean. He had already Swiffered the floor, cleaned the bathroom mirror, and remade the bed, and it was still only a quarter past five. The cleaning was just for something to do with his hands and nerves, he knew that his date wouldn’t be seeing the inside of his apartment tonight. As per Dorcas’s prescriptions (and his own self-preservation), Remus’s first dates with strangers met online would take place completely in public.

At 5:45, a message from his upcoming date announced that he was being held a bit late at the office, and asked to reschedule for 6:30 instead of 6. Remus, wanting to be easy-going and amicable, kindly agreed, wishing him luck with his pressing work matters. Internally, however, he was frustrated that he had already taken the garbage out, since now there was absolutely nothing left to clean.

6:30 turned into 7:00, and by 7:15 Remus had taken his shoes off and was laying on the top of his neatly-made bed. The excuses changed from finishing at work, to a friend in need, to traffic, and Remus was beginning to consider just preemptively cancelling it himself.

At 7:45, the match asked if they could just skip dinner and maybe move straight into watching a movie “and cuddling” at Remus’s place instead. It was the final nail in the coffin Remus already saw, so he wasn’t even too disappointed.

Remus sent a polite but clear no, and knew that whoever this person was, he was not someone Remus would be building his life with. His stomach growled suddenly, reminding him that he still hadn’t eaten the dinner he was supposed to have hours earlier. Instead of going to all of the trouble to devise a meal at home, Remus decided that his troubles with the cancelled date warranted a very cheesy, doughy, and effortless meal. He quickly changed from his date clothes–– button down shirt, khakis, and tan buck shoes–– into a more comfortable, eating-pizza-alone-on-a-Friday-night ensemble: cozy sweatshirt, old blue jeans, and nikes.

When he got to the restaurant, he was still moping about getting blown-off from his date. He had sent a quick text to Dorcas and Marlene to let them know that his date was cancelled (otherwise they would have been checking his location religiously every fifteen minutes), but said he was doing okay since he didn’t want to interrupt their own date night plans with his sorrows.

Truthfully, Remus was pretty upset about what had happened. So far, online dating had not been a success, and Remus found himself returning to his secret fear that he wouldn’t ever successfully date again. Maybe it was because he was just too old, or perhaps he was out-of-touch, or it was simply because he had no real experience with dating since he had only ever had to go on one first date, and everything afterwards seemed to fall into place. If Lily was right, and he needed to meet someone organically for a relationship to work, he hoped it would happen soon.

Just then, his inner wallowing was interrupted by Sirius, carrying silverware and a glass of water. Somehow, Remus had forgotten that Sirius may be here, and hadn’t had time to prepare himself for the sight of the attractive waiter. His hair was swept into a loose bun, seemingly held together with a pencil.

“Hey there, how’s your Friday night going?”

Remus almost laughed at the question. Clearly, his night was not fantastic, because if it was, he would not be sitting in the booth of an Italian restaurant, alone, at 8:30 PM. He tried to shake off his own self-pity before answering. “Fine, thanks. How about you? Has it been busy tonight?” One of Remus’s favorite tactics when avoiding conversations about himself to his friends was to get them talking about themselves instead. Or, in the case of James, talking about Lily.

“It hasn’t been too busy today, or at least not since I got here at 5. Although,” he said, smiling almost conspiratorially, “I’ve had three different tables tell me ‘you too’ after I brought them their dinners.”

Remus laughed, and filed away the knowledge that Sirius remembered their inside joke from last time to the back of his mind for unpacking later. “I’ll have to see if I can get that number any higher then.”

“Oh, but you won’t be able to if I change up my script when I bring you your small margherita pizza. I’ll just say something like ‘here it is,’ no wishes of enjoyment included.” Sirius said, with faux sincerity.

“And what if I changed up my order on you?” Remus was surprised but pleased that Sirius remembered not only their jokes from last time about customers stumbling over words when presented with their food, but also the very food that Remus had ordered.

“I hope not, since I told the kitchen to start making it right after I saw you walk in.” Sirius grinned, but then suddenly looked almost bashful. “Although if you wanted something else, you still can order something else, that would be fine, I just thought, well, since it’s kind of late, we might as well give the ovens a head start?” His voice tilted up at the end as the statement turned into a question.

Remus liked this more approachable version of Sirius. He made him feel at ease. “No, you were right, I came here specifically for that margherita pizza. Thank you for starting it early for me.”

Sirius’s nervous smile turned soft.

***

The pizza was delicious, and succeeded in making Remus feel slightly better about the cancelled date. After all, he wouldn’t have been able to eat this much on the date, hindered by an abundance of good manners.

When Sirius dropped off the check, he also let Remus know that they would be closing soon. “You’re welcome to sit as long as you like, but the kitchen did just close.”

“No worries, I’m ready to head out. Thank you!” As Remus signed the receipt, a small to-go box was placed in front of him.

“Kitchen is closed, but you may want that for the road.” Sirius smiled warmly at Remus. “Have a good night!”

As Remus left the restaurant, carrying the small box, he reflected on Sirius’s parting words. He did have a good night, all things considered. Comfort food is one for addressing his emotional turmoil, but having a light conversation with a few inside jokes with another person is another thing entirely.

He also happily noted that he would get to bring the enclosed tiramisu with him to his breakfast with Dorcas and Marlene tomorrow. Pawning off the soggy dessert on them would be good for both reducing food waste and generating karma.

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brokenmusicboxwolfe · 4 years

Text

I have a ton of insomnia writing in the drafts, so time to start unloading some of it. The usual “as is” rules apply, and I’ll try to keep most of it under the cut,

It just occured to me that I actually have one piece of good advice to give:

If you challenge someone to a duel, ALWAYS have a witness for the fight!

I learned this the hard way when I was a little girl. But to understand why I felt the need to even duel someone, you need to understand the background.

When I was a little girl my family lived in our house in town, which meant until I was 9 I was running around with a gang of kids. I say “kids”, but I pretty much mean boys. There were a couple of years during that time when a girl was inthe neighborhood, one being one of the best friends I had in my life and the other....not, but almost the entire time I was the only girl in the neighborhood.

Now some folks think being the only girl would be terrible, but in a lot of ways it was fine. Kids are kids, rampaging around the neighborhood, and thanks to my family I never felt things should be “girl stuff” and “boy stuff”. I just played.

In fact, at times being the only girl even gave me a curious power position. I knew “girl things” they didn’t. I can still remember the shock on the face of one of the boys when I tried to explain that I didn’t just piss outside like them because of anatomical differences. He just assumed girls had dicks too.

BTW, groups of very little boys can get awfully competitive about their dicks. Not that they called them that. They honest to god called them “ding-a-lings”! LOL In fact, a few times they even had a contest where they would line up with their pants dropped wanting me (the only one that was exempt) to decide which looked “best”. Remember, at the time we were very little kids, so the concept of “best” was exceptionally vague.** I hope I didn’t give any of those boys a lifelong complex because of something I said in all innocence! But geez, they were obsessed with the idea that whatever hung between their legs was very, very important.

Anyway, running around playing being a girl among boys wasn’t bad all the time. Heck, while the boys could fight over who got to play Han and Luke when we played “Star Wars” or Mark and Jason when we played “Battle of the Planets”, I always knew I wouldn’t have to compete for my part in the games. Though I’m still a little irked to the way their only solution to Gargantuas in War of the Gargantuas being both male was I’d play “the green Gargantua’s wife, at least we always found a way even if what we were playing didn’t have a token girl.

All that being said, there were real disadvantages too, especially as the bots came to learn the rules around gender. I was a girl. They knew it and at times they would think it meant I was supposed to defer to them. This led to many a fight and tears.

For instance, once one of the boys got a BB gun.

Naturally we all wanted to take turns using it in a makeshift backyard shooting gallery. Trouble was, as far as they were concerned girls weren’t supposed to shoot. Now considering all the toy cap guns they borrowed from me when we played, and the gun I had that shot cork balls had been the envy of all the kids*** until this BB gun, it seems crazy they would think girls weren’t allowed “real” guns. I begged a turn, outshot them all, and never was allowed to touch the gun again. ****Having a girl be the best shot kinda stung for them! LOL

The boys would do this now and then, throw me for a loop with “you are a girl” as a reason I should or shouldn’t do a thing. Being a “sissy” was a common insult used among the kids. A kid should be tough and brave, try never to get crying or show weakness, or sometimes they would even use “like a girl” as an insult.

I learned that my “girly” side was more of a target, so I got so in the toy chest in the living room I kept the guns, cars, blocks, etc for the boys to use, but kept hidden away in my bedroom the girly stuff like dolls. In fact I kept things like play makeup buried in drawer where no one could find them...

Yes, I was a girl, both in my personal identification and as the whole world saw me, and yet I hid my “girl stuff” like a teenager hiding drugs or dirty magazines. It was the big drawback of usually being the only girl. The girly side of being a girl was something to be quiet about.

So grew up thinking that the way to impress a guy was to be strong, tough, smart, brave, and not at all squeamish. If boys admire each other for not being a sissy, then certainly they would admire a girl for being that way.

Oddly enough, never once did a boy reciprocate my crushes because I wasn’t a sissy. Oh, they would like me for it, but it was seeing me as one of the guys and never as romantic potential. Or maybe not oddly. I may be hetero CIS female, but the world sees me as not girly enough in my presentation to quite believe me.

TBH, I still have a problem with that. I never learned the rules of being girly. I never was taught how to put on makeup, do hair, know about fashion, move in that swaying hips and crossed ankles when you sit kind of way...

And down deep I don’t want to have to put on that act. I want to be me. I want someone to love me without makeup or styling, not because of the clothes I wear or because of skills with flirting games. I want to be loved for me, and girly is only part of me. Part of me is walks in the woods where I photograph snakes and spiders. Part of me is climbing in the roof to repair a leak or taking apart the hot water heater to figure out how to fix it....

I have always been a combination of things. Things like how I like romantic comedies and horror films, I picked out my antique sword because it felt like it would swing in my hand well and it had little flowers on the hand guard, or how I love classical and punk.I never wear dresses during the day, because they aren’t practical for my rough and dirty life, plus they can make you very vulnerable. And yet at night I always wear the prettiest nightgown I can find. I had a unique “Captain’s Canopy Bed” as a child, because I loved both the captain’s bed (a bunk woth drawers under it billed as a “boy bed” by people that gender everything) and longed for a canopy bed. My father sensibly combined the two for me. To me it has never been about a contradiction or conflict, but just that different aspects manifest under different circumstances.

I really can’t understand why people are expected to fit into catagories neatly, label themselves, force themselves to deny parts if themselves just to belong. Still, I expect I would be happier if I could have at least forced myself to fake it.

Anyway, the boys were learning girls were “supposed” to be a certain way, and I was constantly insisting this wasn’t true. They would pick on me amd we would fight. Oddly, this “girls can’t” attitude never applied to fighting. They never went easier on me because I was a girl.

Once they got me treed and the henchman boy was told to go get something to hit me with. I warned him not to, but he didn’t listen. As he went to get the weapon I lept out of the tree in a tackle, and began punching him. My grandmother ran out shouting for me to stop. “It’s not ladylike!!” she cried, while I shouted back in frustration “They were going to hit me!!”

Don’t worry, I wasn’t punished. Grandma..well, it’s complicated with her...and my parents would never punish me for something like that. Years later Mom would admit she and Pop were proud if me after that fight. “The boys picked on you so much I was glad you hit them”...

Hmmm, now that I think about it, Mom’s most common response to sexist attitudes in movies and tv shows is to grumble “Oh hit him!” Folks have no idea about Mom’s violent side, the part that watched Xena: Warrior Princess and sighed “I always wanted to be able to leap around and fight like that!” People think she is “sweet”, when Pop was always the family softie! LOL

As we got older, the sexism of the boys got worse and so did our conflict. One boy, a year older than me and the oldest of the usual gang, was the worst. His own mother was a rather strong and independent person, so it was almost confusing how he could be that way. As far as he was concerned the social structure was thatthe older the boy the higher the rank, and girls were at the bottom. It was inevitable that one day their would be an explosion.

The final straw came over, of all things, me wanting to make our gang of friends into a club. It was all the fault if a kids magazine called Dynamite, that put out a book on making your own club, complete with membership cards printed in a fold out of the cover you could cut out. It sounded like a great idea. It wasn’t.

To be honest, I shouldn’t have been at all surprised. By this point the oldest boy had gotten to be a complete pain about gender roles, but also about me in particular. My first day of kindergarten he’d been the only person I knew all day, so when I passed him in the hall I’d said “Hello”. The boy next to him asked who I was and he said “I don’t know!” right in front of me. I had started to consider our “friendship” differently after that, and his now increased insistence that boys were superior increased the rift.

To make matters worse, the boys had developed some sort of age based ranking. When I invited the oldest boy’s little brother to come to the club meeting too, the guy had been outraged. It had seemed natural to me, I mean I invited my little brother. I always wanted to include everyone. To the boys, the younger boys didn’t count and the older you were the more power you were “supposed” to have.

Now for the club I’d fixed up a corner of the shed out back. I put up posters, made a candle (I just loved making candles and melting wax when I was little...us GenXers lived dangerous lives!LOL), set up chairs and a table, had refreshments and, of course, the membership cards. I couldn’t wait for them to show up.

Once the boys arrived I said it was time to elect officers. Immediately the oldest boy announced there was no need and started to pass out the cards. He said he would be president because he was oldest, my favorite boy would be vice president, the thieving henchman would be treasurer because he was next oldest, the other boys would be just members, and I would be...secretary.

Oh he was glad to explain. Girls are always secretaries. Only girls can be secretaries. Girls can never be president. The other boys accepted this.

Naturally I was outraged. This was NOT right! We were supposed to vote! And we were supposed to vote for who would be best for the job, not who was oldest or a boy. Girls CAN be president! And besides, the club was my idea and the clubhouse in my yard so I shouldn’t be stuck being the stupid secretary without even voting!!!!

There was a lot of shouting after that. The boys stormed off, taking the cards with them. I went in the house to take the refreshments, and the boys snuck back to trash the place. They tore the posters, smashed my candle, and turned over the furniture.

I cried.

I was also furious.

I was beyond fed up with the oldest boy and his assumption of leadership. Now my favorite boy did apologize, but he was always the nice one. The others were unrepentant. The oldest boy insisted he was right that girls could never lead.

There was only one thing left to do: Challenge the oldest boy to a duel.

I went right up to him and said I’d had enough. I was challenging him to a fight. One on one, just him and me. No weapons, just our strength. The winner would be the leader of the kids.

I know it’s absurd, but since physical fighting is what they valued I figured I had to go with it. Actually, if anything, a fight would be skewed in my favor. While the boy was a year older, I was a head taller. Where he was lanky, I’d gotten to be a sort of muscular and agile fat.***** Physically the avantage was mine, an since refusing to fight me would be so embarrassing to him I knew I’d get the fight.

He agreed, and then I made a very stupid mistake. I decided to show him a bit of mercy. Since losing to a girl would be so humilating, I set the time and place where we would meet alone for our fight. I wanted to win, to make my point, but I wasn’t trying to shame him.

And so the time came. We met in a back yard, in clear area hidden from windows in case an adult was looking by trees. I wish I could tell you some dramatic blow by blow, but honestly I remember it as very quick. He fancied he knew fighting moves, got into a pose, and I flattened him. Almost admittedly I had him pinned to the ground where I sat on top of him until he admitted I had won.

I went home overjoyed. This lasted until the kids got together. I, oh so foolishly, assumed I was now leader. The boy, however, was not about to give up power...or tell the truth.

As an adult I realize my naivety, but at the time I was 7 or 8. I honestly had believed the boy would have been honest. I always told the truth, so why wouldn’t he? And since we had made a sort of “official” deal, he would be obliged to tell the truth.

He lied. Right there, right in front of me, he lied.

The boy announced he had won. I said he was lying, that I had won, and he laughed. Of course he had won. He was a boy. Did the boys really think a girl could beat him?

I offered to fight him again right there, but he refused saying he’d already won. I couldn’t get him to feel pressured to fight me again because now the boys wouldn’t really want him to. On some level I think they believed me and knew I would win if we fought again. As long as they didn’t see me clobber him they could pretend the boys “deserved” to be in charge. They needed the lie as much as he did.

And so I learned a lesson: witneses matter. People will almost always lie if the truth threatens them.

You know, I think this is why I have always been obsessed with watching when something horrible is happening. I always had this feeling that even when I can’t help, I can be there for the person in some way. I’d listen, watch, and remember. When I was 9 I stood in the snow, no coat and no socks, waiting until a man was removed from a crashed car because I didn’t want to “abandon” him. I would report teachers that did something incredibly wrong, even though I knew the teacher would deny it and I knew my classmates were too afraid to back me up, because the truth had to be known. I wanted to be the witness I needed for that fight, someone to back me up when no one wants to hear the truth.

As a footnote, after the duel failed I tried one more way to defeat the oldest boy: Voodoo!

Well, voodoo by way of a book I’d been reading. It wasn’t real voodoo, or probably like any realistic magical practices. In the book someone had carved a skull into a tree, written someone’s name under it, and the hammered a nail into the center of the skull with devastating consequences to the victim. I had a pocket knife and a nail, so I gave it a go.

Sadly voodoo didn’t work.

Even more sadly the boy grew up to move away from this hick town, get a good job, get married and have kids. In other words, he got a far better life than I’ve had. Oh well, the universe never cares about fairness.

** Actually one boy always won, because TBH I liked everything about him best.

***Hilariously, one of the boys tried to steal my cork gun, claiming it was his. Pop had engraved my name in the gun sight, and when my father pointed at to ask what it said, the boy claimed it was his name! That boy was never very bright, always dishonest, and a born henchman! LOL You know, I bet that toy gun would have been illegal to make just a few years later, just because it literally fired things. Heck, maybe it already was and had been sitting on the store shelf for years before I got it. We couldn’t find one like it a coulle years later for my little brother....

****I want to point out being a good shot runs in the family. Back in the 1960s when my family had to shoot for self defense (long story) Mom was apparently a crack shot. On one side of her family she has had relatives that were at times the official best shot for their branch of the military. One, even as an old man in poor health, liked to show off how he could selectively shoot off small tree top branches a long diatance uphill from him. Plus, Mom likes to mention she is distantly related to Annie Oakley, which is apparenty true.

*****Traumatic stuff happened when I started school, triggering a bunch of sudden changes with me. One was weight gain, but I had stayed strong as ever.

#childhood #gender #fighting #duel #sexism #children

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