(no subject)
Title: Perspective
Fandom: The World Ends With You/SBSK
Pairing: Joshua/Neku
Summary: To change the perception of an object, you must change its circumstances...
Warnings: Freestyle, train-of-thought and without any capitals. Also, implied sex. Also, don't ever do this in real life, plz.
walking the streets at night was different from his usual. today, he had no purpose to be out. this wasn't for a trip to the combini done with a casual shuffle to and fro the residential district.
tonight, he heads toward the wider, bigger streets and he looks around with hidden interest. it's just as populated, just as busy as it would during the day. it looks different, murky darkness in the corners of his eyes punctuated and pierced by the harsh lights of signboards and often by the dimmer lights of cellphones.
he's careful not to brush against people or make eye-contact. not out here, not when there were so many unknown dangers that he isn't aware of, not personally.
neku's heard whispers of it sometimes, when he turns down the volume of his player in the rowdy cafeteria. no place better to hear about what rich boys did at night, their parents blissfully unaware of the mixers their young boys go to, the girls they invite to red-lighted establishments that say nothing, for a price easily, carelessly paid.
he walks past alleys that he often used as shortcuts and those that he didn't, even when there's no telltale flickers of orange fire. he's not interested in drugs or a casual smoke. he's not interested in getting mugged, either.
there's a well-trafficked area, filled with pedestrians but allowed him enough privacy. here he stands, head tipped up to peer at the starless sky, hidden away from the light polluting the evening and he listens.
this is shibuya. he breathes it in, the sensation and experience of it clicking into places that he didn't know was empty, was missing and he opened himself to it fully.
"beautiful, isn't it?"
the voice goes under the din, not interrupting his trance so much as adding to the moment and neku turns his head slightly to the side. there's someone there, standing at his height but not really, not quite. he squints a little against the light - he must have closed his eyes for too long for the light to irritate him and the other boy-man chuckles.
his eyes adjust but another hand finds his, dry and callused yet firm. he's tugged along, stumbling and he thinks he should refuse, should pull away. his parents have instilled in him not to trust strangers blindly lest he find himself in some strange alleyway doing things that no fifteen-year-old should be doing.
"trust me," the boy says with a guileless smile that neku doesn't trust, "let me guide you," and it doesn't seem like he has a choice.
he can back down now, at any time, really, but instead he peers into the eyes of his companion, pink-red-yellow-blue under the lights they pass by. violet, his mind supplies instead.
"teach me," is what comes out of his mouth instead of denials that seem farther and farther from his reach. this is his choice, this is what he wanted, though not quite what he expected.
the grip on his hands firm and he is led away into alleys and back alleys that no fifteen-year-old should be in, shortcuts only used in the safety of daylight, dodging men wearing midnight black and silver and shrouded with too many chemicals with the prowess of the inebriated.
funny, he thinks when he's brought to a bar next. he doesn't look legal, and neither does his companion but he's given one glass and he drinks it down, "for luck," watching that smile, that mouth with a frown but he drinks anyway. it’s not funny at all.
it burns down his throat and he blinks tears away and he's tugged away before he could even put his glass down, away from the mesh of dancers - "that can come later" - and back out into the street. the air seems fresher now, funny, so funny when shibuya isn't that clean. progress, he’s told often enough, is never clean business.
he's tugged along streets of his hometown and he knows it's supposed to be more familiar than this but it isn't - it's like discovering and exploring a whole new place, new shadows in places that were well-lit, light in places there shouldn’t be. like learning more about getting to know someone more than acquaintances only what you find is not what he expected.
he's pushed against a wall and he opens his mouth to complain only he's given another one of those looks -
"trust me"
"i don't"
“okay”
and he's handed something heavy and metal and he's staring down at red, bright red and dull red but definitely red.
there's that laugh again and his hand is taken and he has red over his hands and guided over to press against the wall. it's ridiculous, but even now the other boy - pale under the moonlight in this alley without any other lighting - is still holding his hand, tainted blue and he watches as they draw patterns on the wall. absently, he feels a bony chin rest on his equally bony shoulder and they keep at it, dipping hands and each other's hands into color that they spread and expand.
they vary in size. wide, sweeping color offset by flicks of fingers, sometimes even a shoulder or an arm when they get into each other's way, but the boy doesn't seem all that inclined to pull away, pressed against neku's back and neku doesn't begrudge him for that, not when he finds himself leaning back when the boy pressed forward, their feet and legs tangling before they sorted themselves out.
he feels the boy laugh more than he hears it, the flutter of a chest against his back, feels the puff of air against his ear but hears no sound and he doesn't mind that at all. his lips curve in answer, air gathering at his chest and leaving like fluttering butterflies. laughter. his and his companion's and suddenly this doesn't seem like it's enough.
what this is is another question for another day, another time, when he's sitting in a chair in a room filled with black with with white lines on the green-black of the board - things that were meant to be important.
not quite as important as violet and red and blue and yellows. he turns his head to meet his companion's gaze, sure to find that focus on the colors but isn't all that surprised to see him meeting neku halfway. or maybe he was already there, has always been there, and was only waiting?
“now you’re getting it.”
he's drawn in so easily, there's no turning back now and he's more aware of it now than he is before. that smile returns when he realizes it and there's a brush of feathers against his jaw.
it was his imagination, just his imagination, only it's exactly that.
his companion takes one of the buckets in his free hand and he copies the gesture and it seems like they're done here, because he's tugged away again, off to the bigger, wider streets. he winces at the harsh lighting and the noise that suddenly crashes down on his ears - when did it get so quiet? but he trains his eyes forward while his companion carried him along the stream of blurred colors, standing apart and yet melding into the whole.
there's a monstrous construct in their path and it hurts neku's eyes more than the color or the light does, looming over them like an obstacle that they had to surmount but neku wouldn't know how to begin and there’s that smile again, the corners of those lips curled up with mischief and a hidden secret - just you and me, me and you, no one else - and once again, he mimics the motions that he only understands comprehends realizes in hindsight.
they're running now, buckets discarded at the installation - thrown, really, blue and red mixing like a stream of fresh water defying the unbendable yet crumbling mountain, curling into purple and violets and red-violets and they're laughing while an imaginary monster - dragon? witch? villain? something that fit the traditional standard of evil, perhaps - starts screaming at the distance, foiled in its plans and attempts at promoting the black-and-white.
he's laughing, perhaps it sounds insane or deranged and a touch confused because he's never had this much fun before, never felt more alive before. fire burned in his chest and his heart and at his throat, his head as clear as his vision, half-blinded by the haze of alcohol that made it all the harder to distinguish one bright light to another.
or perhaps its only bliss or euphoria or delirium, but he finds it a novel experience. he turns his head to the side and finds that he's not alone in this, that boyish-but-not-face that was turned toward him was laughing too, not quite as loud as he but also aware of the thrill of having someone to share all of this with.
he feels the brush against his lips, that's not all, and he knows it to be a promise.
he wakes to an empty bed - his own bed - and his head feels clearer than before. it seemed as if the night before was only a dream, fading from his immediate recollection like fog clearing. he remembers violet, though, violet lit with yellow and red and blue and a smile that would not quit and the only color in a dim room with tasteful but drab furnishings.
disappointment curls in his gut and drives him out of bed for school, obligations weighing heavy on his shoulders; euphoria passing like it was just a figment of his imagination.
he goes to shower only to pause in front of the mirror, fingers tracing the marks on his body - red and blue the shape of hands at his shoulders, chest, arms. his thighs are littered with them as well, mixed in with pink and white and brown and purple that ached - much too big and much too small for hands.
Some people wait for a lifetime to feel like this baby
They keep waiting
So let’s take a chance while it’s here
While we can, we can make it
So don’t keep me waiting for you
- Waiting for you, Jordan Pruitt
Inappropriate song, thx playlist
---
Bonus!Sho, Udagawa mural and sex, only I never wrote the sex.
Fandom: The World Ends With You/SBSK
Pairing: Joshua/Neku
Summary: To change the perception of an object, you must change its circumstances...
Warnings: Freestyle, train-of-thought and without any capitals. Also, implied sex. Also, don't ever do this in real life, plz.
walking the streets at night was different from his usual. today, he had no purpose to be out. this wasn't for a trip to the combini done with a casual shuffle to and fro the residential district.
tonight, he heads toward the wider, bigger streets and he looks around with hidden interest. it's just as populated, just as busy as it would during the day. it looks different, murky darkness in the corners of his eyes punctuated and pierced by the harsh lights of signboards and often by the dimmer lights of cellphones.
he's careful not to brush against people or make eye-contact. not out here, not when there were so many unknown dangers that he isn't aware of, not personally.
neku's heard whispers of it sometimes, when he turns down the volume of his player in the rowdy cafeteria. no place better to hear about what rich boys did at night, their parents blissfully unaware of the mixers their young boys go to, the girls they invite to red-lighted establishments that say nothing, for a price easily, carelessly paid.
he walks past alleys that he often used as shortcuts and those that he didn't, even when there's no telltale flickers of orange fire. he's not interested in drugs or a casual smoke. he's not interested in getting mugged, either.
there's a well-trafficked area, filled with pedestrians but allowed him enough privacy. here he stands, head tipped up to peer at the starless sky, hidden away from the light polluting the evening and he listens.
this is shibuya. he breathes it in, the sensation and experience of it clicking into places that he didn't know was empty, was missing and he opened himself to it fully.
"beautiful, isn't it?"
the voice goes under the din, not interrupting his trance so much as adding to the moment and neku turns his head slightly to the side. there's someone there, standing at his height but not really, not quite. he squints a little against the light - he must have closed his eyes for too long for the light to irritate him and the other boy-man chuckles.
his eyes adjust but another hand finds his, dry and callused yet firm. he's tugged along, stumbling and he thinks he should refuse, should pull away. his parents have instilled in him not to trust strangers blindly lest he find himself in some strange alleyway doing things that no fifteen-year-old should be doing.
"trust me," the boy says with a guileless smile that neku doesn't trust, "let me guide you," and it doesn't seem like he has a choice.
he can back down now, at any time, really, but instead he peers into the eyes of his companion, pink-red-yellow-blue under the lights they pass by. violet, his mind supplies instead.
"teach me," is what comes out of his mouth instead of denials that seem farther and farther from his reach. this is his choice, this is what he wanted, though not quite what he expected.
the grip on his hands firm and he is led away into alleys and back alleys that no fifteen-year-old should be in, shortcuts only used in the safety of daylight, dodging men wearing midnight black and silver and shrouded with too many chemicals with the prowess of the inebriated.
funny, he thinks when he's brought to a bar next. he doesn't look legal, and neither does his companion but he's given one glass and he drinks it down, "for luck," watching that smile, that mouth with a frown but he drinks anyway. it’s not funny at all.
it burns down his throat and he blinks tears away and he's tugged away before he could even put his glass down, away from the mesh of dancers - "that can come later" - and back out into the street. the air seems fresher now, funny, so funny when shibuya isn't that clean. progress, he’s told often enough, is never clean business.
he's tugged along streets of his hometown and he knows it's supposed to be more familiar than this but it isn't - it's like discovering and exploring a whole new place, new shadows in places that were well-lit, light in places there shouldn’t be. like learning more about getting to know someone more than acquaintances only what you find is not what he expected.
he's pushed against a wall and he opens his mouth to complain only he's given another one of those looks -
"trust me"
"i don't"
“okay”
and he's handed something heavy and metal and he's staring down at red, bright red and dull red but definitely red.
there's that laugh again and his hand is taken and he has red over his hands and guided over to press against the wall. it's ridiculous, but even now the other boy - pale under the moonlight in this alley without any other lighting - is still holding his hand, tainted blue and he watches as they draw patterns on the wall. absently, he feels a bony chin rest on his equally bony shoulder and they keep at it, dipping hands and each other's hands into color that they spread and expand.
they vary in size. wide, sweeping color offset by flicks of fingers, sometimes even a shoulder or an arm when they get into each other's way, but the boy doesn't seem all that inclined to pull away, pressed against neku's back and neku doesn't begrudge him for that, not when he finds himself leaning back when the boy pressed forward, their feet and legs tangling before they sorted themselves out.
he feels the boy laugh more than he hears it, the flutter of a chest against his back, feels the puff of air against his ear but hears no sound and he doesn't mind that at all. his lips curve in answer, air gathering at his chest and leaving like fluttering butterflies. laughter. his and his companion's and suddenly this doesn't seem like it's enough.
what this is is another question for another day, another time, when he's sitting in a chair in a room filled with black with with white lines on the green-black of the board - things that were meant to be important.
not quite as important as violet and red and blue and yellows. he turns his head to meet his companion's gaze, sure to find that focus on the colors but isn't all that surprised to see him meeting neku halfway. or maybe he was already there, has always been there, and was only waiting?
“now you’re getting it.”
he's drawn in so easily, there's no turning back now and he's more aware of it now than he is before. that smile returns when he realizes it and there's a brush of feathers against his jaw.
it was his imagination, just his imagination, only it's exactly that.
his companion takes one of the buckets in his free hand and he copies the gesture and it seems like they're done here, because he's tugged away again, off to the bigger, wider streets. he winces at the harsh lighting and the noise that suddenly crashes down on his ears - when did it get so quiet? but he trains his eyes forward while his companion carried him along the stream of blurred colors, standing apart and yet melding into the whole.
there's a monstrous construct in their path and it hurts neku's eyes more than the color or the light does, looming over them like an obstacle that they had to surmount but neku wouldn't know how to begin and there’s that smile again, the corners of those lips curled up with mischief and a hidden secret - just you and me, me and you, no one else - and once again, he mimics the motions that he only understands comprehends realizes in hindsight.
they're running now, buckets discarded at the installation - thrown, really, blue and red mixing like a stream of fresh water defying the unbendable yet crumbling mountain, curling into purple and violets and red-violets and they're laughing while an imaginary monster - dragon? witch? villain? something that fit the traditional standard of evil, perhaps - starts screaming at the distance, foiled in its plans and attempts at promoting the black-and-white.
he's laughing, perhaps it sounds insane or deranged and a touch confused because he's never had this much fun before, never felt more alive before. fire burned in his chest and his heart and at his throat, his head as clear as his vision, half-blinded by the haze of alcohol that made it all the harder to distinguish one bright light to another.
or perhaps its only bliss or euphoria or delirium, but he finds it a novel experience. he turns his head to the side and finds that he's not alone in this, that boyish-but-not-face that was turned toward him was laughing too, not quite as loud as he but also aware of the thrill of having someone to share all of this with.
he feels the brush against his lips, that's not all, and he knows it to be a promise.
he wakes to an empty bed - his own bed - and his head feels clearer than before. it seemed as if the night before was only a dream, fading from his immediate recollection like fog clearing. he remembers violet, though, violet lit with yellow and red and blue and a smile that would not quit and the only color in a dim room with tasteful but drab furnishings.
disappointment curls in his gut and drives him out of bed for school, obligations weighing heavy on his shoulders; euphoria passing like it was just a figment of his imagination.
he goes to shower only to pause in front of the mirror, fingers tracing the marks on his body - red and blue the shape of hands at his shoulders, chest, arms. his thighs are littered with them as well, mixed in with pink and white and brown and purple that ached - much too big and much too small for hands.
Some people wait for a lifetime to feel like this baby
They keep waiting
So let’s take a chance while it’s here
While we can, we can make it
So don’t keep me waiting for you
- Waiting for you, Jordan Pruitt
Inappropriate song, thx playlist
---
Bonus!Sho, Udagawa mural and sex, only I never wrote the sex.