Decided to cross-post this fic from my Tumblr. It's really an after-thought, because I wrote this a while back. (And um, apologies for the crappy execution of this fic also?)

.

It's a secret that he has told no one. Not his mother, not his father, not even his best friend. And after his friend's death, he had decided to never tell any one at all - slipped the headphones on permanently, ensuring music is always playing in his ears even when asleep. Ignored the passerby people and looked forward to nothing.

(There's a reason he dabbles in far too many bold and bright colors when doodling or drawing, if only because the world truly opens up when he uses everything he can get his hands on.)

His secret is a simple one. It hardly interfered in his isolated world, and even during the Long Game, with the amount of supposed 'socialising' he did, there was little damage. Maybe just some confused thoughts and concentrated moments to retain and recall the memories, but that was it.

Things were alright, even after those three weeks too, though a few preparations were required to not let things slip easily. Such as arriving at his weekly meetings with everyone rather early, pretending to busy himself unless it is crystal-clear if anyone is calling him, or by memorising certain facts - the last one is the easiest, though it makes him feel like a douchebag slightly for needing to memorise things about his friends.

(Her hair is red and she carries a plush toy. She says it's a cat. How is it a cat? It doesn't look even a bit like one to him - and he says so, even if accidentally. Here, her ignorance is bliss.)

It's about nine in the morning. Neku takes his time to reach the familiar dog statue, even if coming an hour early is still too much - though, it's routine for him. As it's a Saturday, the crowds are a little thicker than usual, and it's easy for the boy to bump shoulders and brush elbows with the people he passes by, muttering no excuses every time to them, since it's just too natural to not. He hasn't come out of his shell completely, though he has made progress, and that's what counts.

Soon, Hachiko comes into sight - the orange-head needs to squint a little to spot it through the bobbing heads of differing contrasts and heights, but he manages, and his pace quickens. His only thought is to get there, find a seat, and pretend to day dream, however boring it would be since he decided not to bring his sketchbook and pens along this time.

As he reaches the base of the statue, in his haste, Neku collides into someone walking the other way, though both manage to keep their footing to the ground - this time, he remembers his manners, speedily leaving an apology and moves to rush past him and sit on a bench. Until, that is, the stranger suddenly grabs him by the arm and calls, sounding familiar with confusion mixed in, "-Neku?"

The orange-head halts immediately, looks back, blinks, and stares long and hard. All he can see is too much light, and at the same time, too many shadows, with distinct lines and borders fading and re-appearing randomly like a mirage. But Neku still tenses at his recognition of the voice, feeling an irritable but anxious frown shakingly forming as he weakly tugs his arm free. "Joshua, let go."

"I would," the ashen-blonde replies, his confusion disappearing into an uncommon flatness. Not the sarcastic sort he would make at the sight of stupidity, for a serious tone mingled with his words now. "But I won't until you answer a question of mine."

"No." It takes all of his willpower to not scream the single syllable out. Neku doesn't want to explain anything - not here, not to him. Not to anyone, anywhere, at any time of his life. But here he is, being confronted in one of the worst situations to date. It's making him miss, for a first, the ghostly attribute of the UG, since at least, the conversation would be certainly private.

"I'm afraid you'll have to," Joshua comments, his free hand brushing some hair out of his eyes. "Though, I will give you a choice - we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Which one is it?"

"Neither," the boy hisses. He attempts to free his arm yet again, but all he learns is that the Composer is frighteningly strong when he's serious, keeping an unyielding vice-grip on him. The orange-head listens as the sixteen year old just sighs tiredly at his stubborn refusal, shaking his head as if he has given up, though it is really not the case.

Joshua lifts up his other hand yet again - fingers are held out to the fifteen year old. "Fine. Then, answer this - how many fingers am I holding up? Answer correctly and precisely, and you can go."

("How many fingers am I holding up, Neku?" - "Some." - "Tch. You always say that!")

The boy remains quiet - without his headphones, all he can hear is the city and its people, moving past with utter disregard for them. No one is paying attention, for now, and that's a little nice. A small comfort, though its overall effect is of no help really. "…Three," he mutters emptily.

At that, the ashen-blonde lowers his hand, not saying a word. Neku wonders if he guessed right.

("Yo, you dropped one of your pins." - "Huh? Uh, thanks, Beat. Where is it?" - "What'd ya mean? It's right in front of your feet, man." - "…right. Sorry.")

"-Wrong," the Composer states plainly. The words sharply sink in, deeply and coldly, burdening him with a depressing weight that the fifteen year old does not want to acknowledge - he takes an interest to the tiny veins of the concrete, not wanting to see what Joshua might be feeling, even if his face is likely a blank mask and that even if he does look, all he will see are vivid features. He does, however, feel the sixteen year old loosening his grip on his arm and letting him go, though the orange-head takes little comfort in that gesture now. It's a little useless, after all.

"You can't see anything, can you?" Joshua begins again after what seems like a lengthy while, his voice unbelievably soft. Neku raises his head and gives him an odd look, for it's a rarity to find the other so vulnerable, in a way, though the surprise is dulled by the overwhelming feelings of being exposed in turn. "To you, everything must be in white or black alone, with barely any lines or color to grasp shapes or shade - am I, correct?"

"…Yeah. Pretty much," Neku almost chokes on his confirmation. He wonders for a moment on how the other knows all this, but then realises - as the Composer, his former partner can be likened to the ruler of this city, full of worldly wisdom from his experiences. To an extent, at least.

"I see." Joshua glances away, musing on something with a hand to his chin, before looking back. "I suppose it should be no surprise. People with an overflowing amount of soul and brilliance, for their mental capacities, will be… crippled, in a way, like this. Their Imagination floods their vision, until it is put to use somewhere."

The orange-head doesn't respond, though he takes in the words, and easily pieces together the other, missing facts - the reason he was chosen as proxy, the reason he became an artist, the reason why he had started that petty argument that had led to his friend's death. Neku just feels like doing senseless things in order to get rid of those ugly, buried feelings that rise up at the very reminder of their cause and existence. But he doesn't, and continues to dwell upon them until a hand settles gingerly on his shoulder.

The lights shift around the ashen-blonde, swaying left and right. It takes no geniuses to understand that he's shaking his head at him, telling him to dispel the ideas - he can, after all, still scan him. Neku isn't carrying his player pin around these days, in case he dropped it somewhere and loses it, and that is the very last thing he wants now - before the hand falls and Joshua is moving steps away.

"Your friends will be here eventually," the sixteen year old remarks as his voice slowly disappears - the orange-head has always wanted him to join their get-togethers, though the Composer has vehemently turned down the invitation every time. Annoying, but after a while of thought, understandable. "Enjoy yourself - and do take care to not walk into a street light."

"You-! Argh." Joshua is already a part of the crowds, unable to be seen or found - it would be ridiculous to curse at someone he can't even see properly. Neku mutters some annoyed complaints and finally sits down on a nearby bench, his gaze turning upwards as his words and thoughts begin to trail off into silence.

He searches idly, and still can't tell the difference between the sky and the clouds.

.

.