echelon

He took note of the sun, bright and high and the way that the light hit the colors, hit his eyes and for a moment he was glad to be alive. The contrast between the soft reds and blues of the walls in front of him and the hard grey of the pavement; the way the breeze blew cool and soft against his face; the pulse of the music from his headphones – every breath he took was magic, every sensation he felt was awe inspiring. His hands shook a little as he reached to brush against the wall; he felt so full of life. Like he was brimming, overflowing with the secrets of the universe.

He was happy.

And then suddenly, footsteps, and he looks away. Sees someone running toward him with something he doesn’t quite catch in his hand. They stop in front of him, and he can’t deny anymore that the person is holding a gun.

Holding a gun, and pointing it at him.

And then it’s happening so slowly. He swears it’s been days, months, years. The sun is behind the clouds now, and the colours all seem dull and empty. He can hear his music still, a dull pounding in his ears.

He’s still shaking when the first shots are fired, and he almost collapses with relief when he realizes that they weren’t meant for him. And then it’s flight-or-fight time, and he can feel the adrenaline pumping through his body. He should run, he thinks, and he will. But then the person is looking at him again, not past him, and he knows he’s screwed.

Another shot.

For a moment, he’s flying. He feels free and then he feels light headed.

And then he feels nothing.

He wakes up in the scramble crossing, alone, and with a pounding headache. The ground is hard, hard and cold. He marvels at how he’s managed to avoid being stepped on; marvels at how out of all the nattering people above him, not a single one has looked at him.

He pulls himself up angrily, tempted to cuss them out. And he would do so, if it weren’t for the freaky frogs. He’s running again, running like he should have back then – but he doesn’t remember, of course – and no one is paying attention which makes him want to scream. Are people blind, or are they really just assholes?

This is how he meets his first friend; fighting freaky frogs, amongst other things, and when the week is done, he realizes that he doesn’t mind her. In fact, he kind of likes her.

And then she’s gone, and he’s stuck in this stupid game again and he reaches towards her, hoping to at least brush her hand before she’s gone, hoping that she knows that it was hard for him, that he doesn’t hate her, that she’s his friend-

and then she’s gone.

Week two leaves him less fortunate. Again on the scramble, and again with the headache. The ground is still hard, still cold, but at least it’s familiar. And then he meets his new partner and his headache nearly quadruples. How so much arrogance and smugness could be packed into one person, he’ll never know.

When he finds out how he died, it’s hardly surprising. He should have seen it coming, he thinks, but at the same time, he’s freaked out anyways.

And when the second week ends and he’s about to be erased and he feels his heart thumping in his chest (is that even possible? here?) and he knows he’s screwed yet again, something happens.

It’s almost weird, how little he had known about his partner. The bright white light that surrounded him made his eyes hurt, but he stared fervently. He reached his hand out yet again, desperate to place it on his shoulder – but he had to pull back when he felt a burn racing up his fingers. Wait, wait, he thinks desperately. Don’t disappear yet, I still have things to say-

and then he’s gone, too.

Week three is his last; he can feel it. The scramble again, but the ground isn’t as hard or as cold and his head hurts a lot less. When he finally manages to partner up with someone – surprised at who it is, but grateful – he feels a flood of relief.

Together they make their way through the third week, the strangest week of all, he thinks, but by now, he should be used to it.

But the end of the week is by far the strangest part of all, with old friends popping up and he finally is able to remember and to see his death again. He’s so full of rage at first, and then sadness, and then a mixture of both, as he struggles to raise the gun.

But he can’t shoot.

And so for the second time there’s a bullet in his head but he reaches out subconsciously anyways because he can’t bear to let go of Shibuya. Not yet-

and then he’s gone, this time for good.

He’s standing at the same place again, which is maybe stupid of him, to go back to the place where he was killed. He can’t quite recapture the feelings he first felt here – the safety, the happiness, the peace. He knows that CAT is changing the mural here – heard it from CAT’s mouth, in fact, although he’s not supposed to tell. Soon it will be gone, and he wanted to visit at least once more.

It surprises him to see Joshua there. But then again, Joshua shouldn’t surprise him anymore, so maybe that’s his own fault. His first reaction is to yell; his second is to throw something at his head. But he doesn’t do either. Instead he takes a deep breath, and goes to stand next to Joshua.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, and neither does Joshua. He watches Joshua out of the corner of his eye; Joshua’s hand is curled beneath his chin, and he looks thoughtful.

Finally, he clears his throat.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you, Neku.”

He chooses to ignore that, settling for an eye roll instead. Joshua smiles – not smirks, but smiles.

He has a lot of things he wants to say – a lot of angry words and questions, but he feels as though asking would be pointless. Joshua isn’t one for straight answers. Or answers at all. So he stands, glowering, and tries to ignore the fact that Joshua is watching him now, not even bothering to be subtle.

“Let’s play a game,” Joshua says.

“Another duel?” He shoots back, annoyed.

“Touchy, touchy,” Joshua giggles. “No, nothing like that Neku. Something much simpler. What is it that you want most in life?”

He’s taken aback by this and at first, he doesn’t know what to say. Somewhere above them, thunder rumbles; a breeze ruffles his hair, bringing with it the sweet scent of rain.

“I don’t know,” he answers finally, because it’s true. Joshua raises his eyebrows at him. “Is this part of your stupid game?”

“Yes and no,” Joshua answers, hand on hip. “Maybe I’m just curious.”

“And maybe you’re just an ass.”

“That too.”

The sunlight is blinding today. Brighter than before.

The mural has been covered over, painted a stale, slate grey. He has been invited to watch CAT personally, and so he’s here, at seven thirty in the morning, His hair is messier than usual, and he’s tired and cranky – but more excited than he has been in years.

When Joshua shows up, it doesn’t quite dampen his mood – it would take a lot more than that – but it still annoys him. But Joshua hands him a coffee, and doesn’t say anything, instead sitting with his back against the wall, pensive look on his face.

“What do you want most out of life?” He asks, and Joshua looks up at him, surprised. He’s never seen Joshua surprised before.

Joshua doesn’t answer, and the day progresses (almost) normally. He’s easily caught up in watching Mr. H paint and sketch and play with chalk and oils. Joshua is too, he notices, a smile curling on his lips.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he says at lunch.

“Careful, Neku,” Joshua laughs. “Get too close to the sun, and you might get burned.”

“It’s a risk I’ll take,” he says, surprising himself. Typical that Joshua would think of himself as the sun. Typical jackass Joshua.

It’s night and it’s cold and Neku is more than a little drunk. There had been an unveiling party, to celebrate the start of Mr. H’s work – an excuse to party if Neku had ever seen one – and then there had been the after party and Neku had never been very good at holding his alcohol.

“I’ll take you home Neku,” Joshua is saying, tugging on Neku’s wrist. In his drunken stupor, Neku notices how slender and pale Joshua’s fingers are. How soft his skin is. It’s all too easy for Neku to let Joshua lead him through the winding streets of Shibuya, finally arriving at Mr. H’s café.

This isn’t my house, Neku tries to stay, but he stumbles over his words, and Joshua laughs out loud.

“No, it isn’t. Mr. H won’t be back for a very long time,” Joshua explains, chuckling. “He won’t mind if we crash here.”

“We?” Neku asks, but he’s ignored. Then Joshua is pushing him up the stairs. It’s dark and Neku is having trouble seeing, let alone walking. They stop, and Neku hears Joshua pad softly away; then he hits the lights, and Neku winces, covering his eyes.

“Couch or bed, Neku?”

“Bed.” Neku says, making a split decision. His head hurts and his eyes burn from the glare of the light, but the alcohol in his system makes him both brave and mischievous. And it’s worth it to see the look on Joshua’s face.

“That’s right,” Neku gloats, slurring a little. “Couch for you. Unless…”

“Do you want me to join you?” Joshua asks, looking a little uncomfortable, much to Neku’s glee.

“Maybe,” Neku is trying to be smooth, but he’s having trouble getting his shoes off, and Joshua can’t help but laugh.

“You’re drunk. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you,” Joshua is smirking now, and Neku glares. “I’ll take the bed.” He starts to walk away.

“No sex,” Neku says boldly, surprising himself and stopping Joshua. He’s grabbing Joshua’s wrist, tugging gently. “Just sleeping.”

Joshua is speechless for a moment, and Neku lets go, feeling triumphant. Then Joshua turns around, still smirking, to face Neku.

“Alright. I doubt I’d enjoy it anyways. Not with you drunk like this.”

Sober, Neku would have punched him. But drunk – and shoeless – Neku wraps his arms around Joshua’s waist in what he hopes is a seductive manner. Joshua isn’t laughing, but he’s still smirking, and Neku is still feeling playful.

When he kisses Joshua, it’s half to wipe the smirk off of his face, and half because he’s drunk and it seems like a good idea. But Joshua kisses back and Neku is pleasantly surprised at how good it feels. Then Joshua is pushing Neku, and Neku nearly trips on his own feet, until at last Joshua gives him one more rough shove, and Neku finds himself on a soft bed.

“No sex!” Neku reminds him, and Joshua nods, looking thoughtful. He turns away, pulling off his shirt, and Neku feels obliged to do the same. Neku gets stuck halfway, and Joshua has to help him out, much to Neku’s chagrin.

Then Joshua is wrapping his arms around him, and they’re both snuggling under the comforter, legs entwined, and Neku catches sight of the bedside clock. 12:30 AM, he notices vaguely, and then he’s falling asleep, with Joshua’s breath hot on his neck.