#mentioned: akashicmuses → yoshiya

[abstractreign]

❯ quality time.

ft. heavenshot ( kr/km )

❝ Shibuya's Composer spins a keychain by the ring around his finger. "No returns to the RG. No Ascensions. One new Reaper with a propensity for playing tricks on others." He then leans back on the plush velvet couch, crossing his legs. "That work?" "It works." Sanae pivots in his place, reclining in kind, propping his legs above Joshua's. ❞

6024 words • mature warnings: sex mentions / suicide mention / suicide ideation special thanks to: @ catncore for helping with fact-checking and figuring out details + @ hopeful-hugz (& friend) and @ akashicmuses for giving it a look over !!

"Had the Reapers run a Game the week leading up to the thirty-first of October."

"Halloween: when the ward plays host to thousands of festive revelers dressed-up in all manner of costumes, triggering a bump in Imagination— what with all the cosplay events encouraging creative spirit. And on top of that, the frenzy of it all can generate quite the amount of Noise. The week's Game Master was encouraged to organize and conduct its missions with these circumstances in mind, and was satisfactorily successful in doing so."

Shibuya's Composer spins a keychain by the ring around his finger. "No returns to the RG. No Ascensions. One new Reaper with a propensity for playing tricks on others." He then leans back on the plush velvet couch, crossing his legs. "That work?"

"It works." Sanae pivots in his place, reclining in kind, propping his legs above Joshua's.

And ever so typically — ever so familiarly — he kicks one leg out and over Sanae's, pincering them between his thighs.

And as always, afterwards, the feline purrs, snug in the tangle of limbs. "...Ah— anything you got planned for us on your special day?"

Joshua halts the keychain's revolutions with a snatch of the hand. "Nothing especially fancy, but you know full well that I know how to make do with what I have. You won't mind, would you?"

"J, I'd be ecstatic wading through mud if it's with you."

Joshua cocks his head, casting Sanae a knowing glance. "I know some people who'd enjoy that sight— though, if we're wallowing in something I'd rather it be chocolate. Or oil."

He returns with a raised brow. "Oh? In bikinis?"

"What do you think?"

"Birthday suits! In light of today's occasion."

"Your impeccable reasoning skills are why I count on you, partner."

The remark has him writhing with palpable self-satisfaction. "Exactly. Can't find anyone wiser than me." Sanae shakes his head. "But sincerely, J? I'd appreciate some kind of elaboration."

"We're picking out new jackets for me to wear."

Sanae snorts. "That's it? That all you got?"

It's the first time in four years that they're celebrating his birthday— and that he's celebrating it with anybody at all. Of course it isn't.

Predisposed as he is to errors and personal faults — such as the ones that have brought them to their current situation — the day's agenda won't be one of them.

"...I do have other things in mind."

"Do you, now? Let's hear them."

Joshua's lashes flutter. He parts his legs.

5 hours remain.

He tosses the collar and leash to the side of the bed— where they disappear before hitting the floor. The pillow faces the same treatment.

After peppering his face with kisses, Joshua coaxes his Producer to lay down, and lay within his arms, pressing his face into the dip of Sanae's collarbone.

Sanae likewise buries his in the tousle of Joshua's hair, one hand bringing his head closer, stroking a thumb over, and the other doing much the same with the small of his back.

Unmistakably damp warmth blooms from the corners of his eyes. 

And ever perceptive, Sanae notices— strokes of the thumb turning into combs of the fingers. "We doing alright down there?"

He snatches up the words — I despise this. I miss this, being able to lay together for hours on end. I miss you. I wish you could stay here. I wish I could destroy what fetters you away from me. I would destroy everything, just to return it to how it was. I — before he blurts them out, and swaps them with a strained, "Doing wonderfully, if just... feeling a lot, a-at the moment."

It's absurd just how much he used to take moments like these for granted, just because they happened so often as every day. Now he knows how painfully precious it is, to have his person for any substantial amount of time; to have him at his side, day and night, to be able to talk with him about anything and everything, as they both please. 

For them to have all the time in the world.

Sanae exhales deeply. "...Same here."

His voice wanes to a whisper. "...Pull it up?"

"Here." The comforter, set at the foot of the bed, unfolds and flits out to wrap them both.

"Thank you."

And nothing changes, for a few yet endless seconds, until Sanae draws him even closer.

Joshua repositions his face, not only to avoid getting cramped, but to nuzzle it against Sanae's skin— treasuring its feel. Its warmth. Its presence.

How could he have forgotten how dear this feeling is?

Joshua breathes in deep, once more cherishing the scent of sun-warmed fabric that ever pervades Sanae.

He's always been the best with his hugs and timing both.

This is far from the first time he's felt Joshua's tears on his skin, nor is it the first time he's held Joshua this tenderly. It's also far from the first time he attempts to guide Joshua out of his despair with a voice so gentle— so full of love that it draws forth even more tears: "...Anything on your mind right now?"

Said mind springs right to the root of this pain. "...How many of Them are with us now?"

"I can't tell you exactly... but the number's more than two."

 Joshua represses a scornful huff. Just what threat could him knowing the exact number even pose? It's so strange to hear Sanae say it like this— he's always been precise with his numbers, far as Joshua can ever recall.

As a matter of fact, Sanae's declaration is fresh in Joshua's mind, as if he'd only heard it a second ago, instead of fourteen years:

"Yes. I promise you. I'm going to get you to your next birthday, at least."

"That's—" 

"A hundred and eighty-eight days away. I promise, I'll get you through one hundred eighty-eight days."

If Joshua hadn't plummeted off that ledge... would he have made it to that hundred and eighty-eighth day?

"...Anyway, give Them my regards." A hand rises above the sheets to languidly wave— an attempt at appearing amiable, given Their overhanging presence.

...Ah. That's right.

Joshua's embrace slackens, sickened by the awareness that whoever's on watch can feel his embrace as much as Sanae can, if they so please. 

"Mm? Feel like eating already?"

Fucking yes, "I do."

Sanae smacks his lips eagerly. "Alrighty— what'd you prep for today's post-sex bento?"

Much as he loathes to do so, Joshua pulls away, and pushes himself to sit up. "You'll have to find that out yourself, when you pop the lid off yours."

4 hours remain.

A brisk autumn gust rushes against them, sweeping Joshua's bangs back and skimming the small scars that skirt his forehead and hairline.

Tokyo's skyline ravels out around them, the shadows of high-rises running counter to the clear, early afternoon sky. Leaves waft past them, as they head out of Yoyogi Park's bounds, racing towards the crossing over the adjacent road.

One hand acting as support — and keeping balance from his place at the bike's rear — Sanae uses the other to fish one such leaf out of Joshua's hair.

Likewise, Joshua's hands tense around the handlebars. "Thanks."

"It's nothing— say, why'd you insist on pedaling this time?"

He bobs his head, bike swerving smoothly with the motion. "Felt like taking them for a change."

Sanae had always been the one pedaling back then, while Joshua'd have a recorder in his grip, voicing his moment-to-moment observations into it, as the two of them followed Games taking place— Joshua out of insatiable curiosity; Sanae in the role he was literally made for.

They haven't ridden together like this since Joshua became Composer.

"I see, I see...." Sanae rests his now free hand over Joshua's shoulder. "So where we headed next?"

Joshua pulls the brakes and they skid to a halt, a few steps short of the crossing over Yoyogi Park Street. "Mm... not sure. Any suggestions?"

"Don't think the folks in Akihabara hate me that much... ah, but it'd still be rude to enter without some prior notice."

"So we keep it in-house, then." He glances at the tower from across the junction. Until a couple of years ago, joined to the structure within the outer frame were four analog clocks, one for each face, with brass and red accents. Now, an LCD bar wraps around the outer frame, displaying the time, the date, and the weather— all of which Joshua is already keenly aware.

So much has changed over the years. But Joshua knows there are still things from the past that persist to this day.

Drumming his fingers over the handlebars, he looks over to Sanae. "How about we pay Inokashira a visit?"

Sanae lists his head to one side with a devious "oh?" And lists it back to the other. "How about sliding in a... fun lil' detour through Spain Hill?"

Joshua's eyes crinkle with the smile that creeps in. "I'll see what I can do."

With that, they zip on ahead, moving onto Koen Dori.

They stay to the right, whizzing past Shibuya Public Hall — or whatever brand name's been slapped onto it for the time being — then several storefronts, a few of which have stood there since Joshua was alive, with nothing exchanged between the two of them.

That is, until Joshua glares at the Denny's branch he used to work at.

"Was there absolutely no friend you had at that place?"

Joshua's gaze darkens for a split-second. "The Dennyas were my only friends."

"Right."

"Them, and that one housewife. From the Philippines, if I remember correctly." Joshua juts his chin in thought. "You know, they have this superstition surrounding ninth birthdays: you're supposed to avoid celebrating them, lest you attract awful luck. It's why she spent her birthday working, and requested we not host a party on her behalf."

"Huh. Neat."

Their focus is overtaken as the turn around PARCO comes up. And it comes up sharp.

Joshua steps up the pedaling, building up momentum.

Sanae grips his seat, leaning to the right—

and with the combination of past experience, coordination, and heavy assistance of Psychs, they manage the first drift.

Joshua pedals some more, cutting through the air around them with thrill alone.

The turn to Spain Hill is just seconds ahead.

Sanae leans to the left—

and they launch themselves over the steps, soaring over people's heads as they used to, years ago.

The first time Sanae took them airborne, Joshua screeched.

The second, he barked at Sanae.

The third, he was rendered speechless by the way his hair flew in the wind, and the way his heart went into free fall.

And Sanae ever so shamelessly bellows out, "Excuuuuuse us!"

They land hard, with a bounce, but Joshua keeps on. They speed down the alley, stairs, signboards, and passersby all a blur until they reach Inokashira, stopping with brakes and a synchronized stomp of their feet.

Once he's caught his breath and his bearings, he twists to face Sanae. "Well? How did I do?"

Sanae holds a crooked finger up to his chin. "Could've used more power. If we were in the RG, you woulda knocked that guy's cap off and smeared it."

Joshua rolls his eyes, though his grin stays intact. "Harsh criticism to deal out to a greenhorn— besides, I'd be doing them a favor. Sequins, with that top?"

"Josh, just because their outfit's atrocious doesn't change the fact that they paid for the hat."

"Not for much, I hope."

"...Well. Far as I could glimpse, it did look like a bootleg."

"See?" He tips his head up, whipping hair away from his face. "I'm completely faultless."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Getting his feet on the pedals again, they carry on, albeit at a much more leisurely pace.

Just as they pass SBY BBQ, Joshua notices signage for a maid café, situated in the building across. He hasn't visited one in a while, and the first time he had after becoming Composer, was the first time he'd done so in sixteen years.

And the first time he'd done so without Sanae's company.

"Wonder how, ah, Fukuhara's doing these days." If it wasn't for her thinly-veiled passion for them, Joshua may have never realized his own love for tabletop games.

"She'd just gotten married, last I ran into her."

"Oh? Well, it'd better be to a man who deserves her."

"I knew you had a crush on her."

"I won't deny she's beautiful, and of lovely character, but you're mistaken."

"How so?"

"How else?" Joshua shuts his eyes, for just a second. "I was preoccupied with you."

Sanae only responds to that with a snort and a loving smack to the shoulder.

They cruise onward, the aromas of Castella cake and milk tea both tickling their noses.

Then the greens of Tokyu Hands' facade flash in the corner of Joshua's eye.

His ears remember the crackling plastic of the bag, his hands the weight of the purchase it held, and his legs the urge to cross the road before the traffic lights turned red.

He remembers the fibers of the rope itself, imprinted into his palms from clenching it much too tightly.

He remembers the creak of the door, the gasp, those hands clasping his, that trembling voice— 

"Yoshiya?"

"Hmm? Yes?"

"There more for us to see here?"

Spotting what's just ahead, Joshua puts on the brakes.

"No. There isn't." He presses his lips together, for a bit. "What say we turn around?" He dismounts the bike.

So does Sanae. "Say we pass by MODI next."

As they pivot the bike around, Joshua glances back towards the patent reason why Sanae spoke up.

Then, kicking himself back onto his seat, he rests his foot over the pedal. "Sanae?"

"Yeah?"

"Hold onto me."

And they take off, hurrying away from the alley leading to the Udagawa wall.

3 hours remain.

He sets down the coins on the tray with a soft clink, and accepts his order with subdued, yet polite thanks. Under the cloak of an approaching crowd, Joshua adjusts his frequency, returning to Sanae and the bike both propped up against a wall nearby.

Sanae cranes his head out, getting a whiff of the snacks in Joshua's hands. Slipping his phone down his pocket, he beams as he takes his serving. "Takoyaki. Timeless choice for a mid-excursion snack."

It's always been one of their shared favorites: Joshua's for the taste of the sea, Sanae's for the taste of his hometown— as far as Joshua figures, anyway; he's long stopped pressing for details about Sanae's past prior to his instatement in Shibuya as its Producer.

Tone ostensibly devoid of sarcasm, Joshua responds, "No, no— this is just a new, experimental kind of dango."

Unlike Joshua's, Sanae's irony is a lot more obvious in the way he holds the cardboard tray up to his nose with a grin— "is it? Smells like takoyaki—" and tilts his head at it with a squint. "Looks like it, too."

"Nope." Joshua flings a piece into his mouth, with which he closes in the savoriness of its fillings and the tartness of its sauce. "Dango."

"Dango." Sanae slides one off the pick with his teeth, chewing with a delighted, satisfied hum. "That tastes and yields an awful lot like takoyaki."

"Precisely. Amazing how far the culinary arts and sciences have come, isn't it?" Joshua leans against the wall as well, filling the space beside Sanae.

"You said it!" Sanae raises his pick in enthusiasm, before digging it into another piece, which he then digs into with teeth. This time, he consumes it a lot more quietly, and a lot more slowly— a lot more mindfully.

When he finishes, the murmur puffs out of his mouth— faint, yet perceptible, as the steam that rises off their food, "Probably why things always taste better than how I recall them tasting."

Overhearing it, Joshua turns his attention away from the reality of Sanae's worsening memory involving all manner of sense and sensation, and towards the people-speckled street.

It's a weekday, so many of the faces out at this time of day either belong to adults running errands, or to youngsters skipping class. There's no less stress than usual to go around, but the scarcity of Noise in the area — there's one stray Dixiefrog within sight, and that's it —  demonstrates how splendid a job the Reapers and Players have done this week.

Joshua bites into his second piece with a proud huff.

"They threw a party last night."

"Who?" Sanae presses his thumb to his lips for a moment. "...You talking about the Reapers?"

"That I am." Joshua twirls his pick. "I... might have somehow let slip the fact that my birthday's the day after Halloween." Then shrugs. "They would've thrown it anyway, just under a different conceit."

Now that has Sanae whipping his head around to regard Joshua with inquiring eyes. "Oh? How was it? Was there cake? Surely they got you a cake."

"Yes, there was cake. It was fine."

Speaking of Reapers....

Setting aside his pick in his tray, out of vacant space Joshua pulls a keychain, which he then dangles towards Sanae. "One of them gifted me this." As far as Sanae's concerned, at least for the time being: Star is just another Reaper.  

"Seems like you let slip your penchant for board games as well." Sanae handles it between his fingertips: tracing its silhouette, thumbing over its surfaces, and probing its textures, in dear need of all the stimulation he can get both his figurative and literal hands on.

When Sanae's through examining it, Joshua spins it out of sight. "I might have suggested a week modeled after one once... or twice."

Joshua's gaze wanders again, roaming across leftover posters and signs promoting Halloween-themed offerings, and settling on one featuring a donut decorated like a black cat.

Sanae rises towards him, purely out of habit, since there's no need for the whispering he makes. "Hey... that's Gatto Nero, ain't it?"

He pinpoints the ensemble Sanae's referred to in less than a second. "Mhm. Part of this year's autumn line."

Sanae hums. "The choice of leather for the bomber jacket gives it sophistication. Pairs wonderfully with those dark skinny jeans and that oversized, pale turtleneck top. The tote and beanie keep it from feeling too haughty. Though those shoes look—" he squints― "like Jupiter of the Monkey. Sports sneakers... so the fit's got some spunk to it as well."

"High praise, coming from you." While Sanae's specialty lies in designing the graphics — especially the type — that adorn them, the CAT knows their way around clothes.

"And it's deserved!" He waggles his pick high. "The young lady and her friend have done a superb job, if those pieces are anything'a go by. She's come such a long way...."

In the ensuing lull, Joshua's mind succumbs to remembrance, dredging up instances of a friend bemoaning the rising rarity of Gatito designs. It ruminates over how CAT hasn't put up so much as a tag in years, or how their remaining works continue to be painted over, or how speculations of their silent retirement — or passing, even — have sprung up online.

Sanae sighs, and the corners of his lips droop.

Joshua snaps his fingers.

"I'm thinking of getting another piercing done." Then he tosses another takoyaki into his mouth.

"Yeah? On what, this time?" Sanae's eyes lit up anew, he raises a brow. "Nip, clit, or dick tip?"

"Those piercings will be for you," Joshua almost retorts, before he silences himself by means of self-inflicted, takoyaki-induced asphyxiation.

Perhaps it's paranoid, but he can't risk implying that he believes Sanae will ever get the chance to leave their world at all, lest They catch on to his plans.

"Oi!" Sanae's hand instinctively reaches out to rub Joshua's back, even if the Composer of Shibuya actually has no airway to free, and even if he can't actually be felled by something so ridiculously inconsequential as a single, miniscule ball of battered cephalopod.

Yet somehow, as it always has, Sanae's touch helps it go down easier.

"Easy does it...."

Once he's done picking a fight with his snack, Joshua smacks his chest with a loud clear of his throat.

But before he has a chance to clarify himself, Sanae asks, "You'll have, ah, Ink, pierce you again?"

"Mm? If he'll be up for it, yes."

Sanae nods as he rests against the wall again, resuming his meal. "You trust him that much?"

Now, how does Joshua best answer that without implicating himself— or worse, implicating Ean—

"To poke holes in you, I mean."

"That I do."

"He a good host?"

"Wonderful host." His mouth flattens. "If maybe touch-deprived. Sometimes he'll just... hoist me up, without warning. As if I'm just some sack of flour."

"Perfect host, then." Sanae's about to bite into another piece when it hits him. "Correction: purrfect host."

"Uggghhhhh— you're insufferable."

"Even more than the guy who keeps putting one over you? You know, the one who duped you in'a visiting Shroombuya?"

"Much more so."

"Ouch. You're mighty cruel, J, you know that?" He clicks his tongue. "Maybe he'd appreciate my gift for wordplay."

Joshua rolls his eyes. Oh, he'd appreciate it, alright.

"Oh, lighten up, Ojii-san!"

"Ugggh."

"What? Not like it's inaccurate."

"I'm thirty-nine," he talks through his next piece, chomping, "ergo: an Oji-san."

"You're too much'a a hard-ass to qualify as one, though."

Joshua calls to mind a suggestion he'd offered a certain musician some time ago, realizing if he could manifest in the Realground as old as he truly is, he'd be able to offer his company as one. Perhaps then, can he prove that being a hard-ass and being an ossan don't have to be mutually exclusive.

...Wait. Why is he arguing for this stance again?

He shakes his head. "Anyway...."

And he looks down at his food, fixating on a bit of green onion that pokes out of the batter.

"You suppose the youth's more gullible these days?"

"I'd say less so, given all these means to verify the facts at their fingertips. But... that leaves a lotta them foolhardy. Unbothered'a check their shit, so it all evens out." 

"Well said." And, well, in the defense of the youngster he dubs Spring Leek: it's not as if he can look up information on his unique ability. Joshua recalls the conversation he had with him over the counter, and the teen's abounding interest... as well as the praise he had for Joshua's cooking.

Truthfully, he's still unable to fully process that part of last year. Or at least, that temporary compulsion to keep prepping food, even if he remembers its cause strongly. Fondly.

"There are kids who'd believe oranges are rhinoceros droppings."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He can't elaborate. Not when it comes to his sprout.

Even if he wants to.

There's so much Joshua just can't talk about. Acquaintances, individuals he dares call friends, and some he dares even more to consider loved ones— that he can't speak of beyond the superficial. There are even a few individuals he can't speak of at all.

He has company whose safety and wellbeing he can't put at risk. He has company he can't afford to lose.

Joshua gulps down another piece, as he does the idea of losing Yoshiya.

"...You know, you never told me where you got those fish."

Goodness: it's as if he can always tell when Joshua needs a distraction. 

"Have I really not?" Joshua holds his tray over the chest that lifts with pride.

"I caught them."

2 hours remain.

"There." They drop the picnic mat over the concrete, following with a mattress of equal size and a couple of pillows that nearly tumble off its limits.

Joshua's the first to plop down, gazing up with a slow, swelling sigh.

Sanae, after an affectionate prod to Joshua's side with the foot, lays down as well, using one of Joshua's sprawled out limbs as a bolster for his neck.

Winds roll by them. As do the minutes.

The sky's as persimmon as it was when they first spent time together over 104's rooftop like this.

When Sanae, with their foreheads pressed together, vowed this, hushed words soft against Joshua's chest:

"This time I'll do better. Do right by you. I promise you: never will you have to face anything alone, ever again. Never will you want for love, never will you be without support. And never, ever will I stand against you."

"All I want is to be by your side, no matter what lies in store for us—"

"Yoshiya."

"Yes?"

Sanae swallows hard. "I'm sorry."

"For?" Joshua asks, if he doesn't already have several ideas as to what.

"Breaking my promises."

Promises? "Which ones?"

"The one I made when I caught you with that rope and... the one I made, when you made Composer."

Ah.

"Haven't we already had this conversation?" Several variations of it, in fact, during the week following the Game against Executor Kubo. Back then, it was barely any time for anything at all. Now, it's an eternity they may never get back.

"We have—"

"So why have it again?" Joshua huffs. "We can't change what's happened. And we both understand why we did what we did."

"I know...." Sanae turns his face away. "Guess it's just easier to sit with, if I keep blaming myself."

"...ah. That's fair." Joshua understands, all too familiar with that urge himself. And it's evident in the way his voice lowers. "So you're only saying it now to help yourself feel better."

"Mostly."

Joshua chuckles dryly. "Mostly."

Total silence falls between them.

And time— precious time, it slips away.

"You only broke one of those promises, you know— and given the stakes, it was right of you to do so."

Sanae shoves himself upright. "I promised—"

"And was too ambitious." Joshua gets up as well. "Don't you know when setting out, you start with simpler, more manageable goals, and work your way up from there?" He takes Sanae's hands in his.

Sanae's lips part, jaw hung ajar. His brows furrow. His eyes crinkle, and start to glisten.

"So, this time, we start small." Joshua strokes his thumbs over the backs of Sanae's hands. "How many days until your birthday?"

"Huh?"

"How many days until the fourth of march?"

"...One hundred and twenty-two."

"Promise this, then. Promise me you'll make it to a hundred and twenty-two days from now." Promise me all of this effort means something.

"Joshua...."

"Promise me that much? Consider it your gift to me."

Sanae hunches forward.

Unmistakably damp warmth sprouts in blooms over Joshua's hands.

"Can't be by my side if you're not around. Nor can you give me reasons to keep going if you're gone."

Sanae's shoulders sag. His mouth wavers; he cuts himself off with stammered scraps of nonsense for the better half of a minute— until he draws in a shaky breath, and smiles.

"...I promise."

"Thank you." Joshua reaches for his cheek, fingers brushing over indisputably wet streaks. "...Seal this with a kiss?"

Sanae nods once.

They close the distance: arms sliding to bring the other within reach, eyes closing. Lips seizing each other as they always have, kisses firm with their combined longing, and pliant with overwhelming affection. They connect, again and again—

vow themselves to one another, again and again.

Once they manage to pull themselves apart, Sanae removes his shades, wiping off tears and clearing his throat. "I... I already had something for you, though...." Hanging the shades over the collar of his shirt, he seemingly plucks something from his pocket, and presents it.

In Sanae's cupped hands is a chrysanthemum blossom, one that shimmers in the way mist does— iridescent and airy.

Joshua's fingers reach out, and when they come into contact with its petals, it dawns on him what they've been fashioned out of.

Though he hasn't seen those wings in years, and touched them more so, he still recognizes Sanae's feathers for what they are— especially when they're imbued with thoughts, emotions, and memories, as feathers in their spot of the universe often are.

One such memory overtakes his consciousness.

Bolting down the pavement, he stumbles to a stop, looks to his side, and sees himself.

Locks of hair drape across Joshua's face, and sweat plasters strands to his cheek. He shields his sight from the sun's glare with slender fingers, his lips quirked ever so finely; stance ever so dauntless.

Sanae blinks, and he's down on the floor, sketchpad out on the table, when something bumps into his legs from under it.

Joshua's laid halfway beneath, reading a book with rapt attention. One can tell what sort of paragraph he's on, by watching the way his eyes widen, or how his brows crease. They can tell when he's pondering a passage he's just read: sometimes he'll suddenly pause, rest the book pages down over his chest, and look up for a while, before resuming. 

He blinks again. They're in bed, and he's curled up, settled in the gap between Joshua's folded legs.

Lovely, wrinkled eyes catch sunlight in sparks, and swirls of pigment highlight his skin and sweep across his collarbone, even more vibrant in the amber of the afternoon. His shirt hangs off one shoulder, baring a few marks.

And he's the most beautiful, most haggard, most clever, most idiotic, most passionate, most temperamental, most determined, most obstinate, most sublime, most flawed—

most human being Sanae's ever known.

Joshua blinks once more, and he's back above 104, and back to himself.

"S-Sanae...." He receives the blossom, holding in tears of his own. "Thank you."

He holds it close to his heart, as he does the oath:

I swear to you: I'm fighting for your right to keep that promise.

He breathes in deeply.

I'm fighting for our right to stay together.

1 hour remains.

They're seated at their spot over the rooftop's ledge.

And it begins— devastation claws into his chest, raking— harrowing and digging into it as beasts do their kill, stirring flesh and jerking out insides.

30 minutes remain.

Sanae takes Joshua's hand in his.

The awareness that this could be the last time he ever sees, hears, or feels Sanae— the last time he'll ever talk to his dearest friend— that these could be the last moments he'll have with his partner, never fails to rend his heart to shreds.

15 minutes remain.

"Look forward to seeing you after the next Game, J."

"As do I."

Every time he reunites with Sanae is the greatest relief. Every time he has to let him go is the most terrifying ordeal.

5 minutes remain.

The first time they had to part like this, Joshua couldn't help the dizzying shortness of his breaths.

He still suffocates; he's just learned how to avoid wasting what little time he has left by showing it.

59 seconds remain.

Joshua shuts his eyes. He squeezes Sanae's hand.

49 seconds.

With how tightly he's holding onto him, he can feel the rise of Sanae's chest. The hitch of his breath.

39 seconds.

He gives Sanae one last loving touch of the head with his own. "Thank you."

For today, and for all the days I've spent with you thus far. 

29 seconds.

I promise you we'll get to spend more together. 

"...Sanae?"

20 seconds.

"...Yes?"

15 seconds.

Does he dare say it?

10.

Is it true?

9.

Of course it is. If it isn't, why else would he go through all of this trouble? This frustration? This heartache?

8.

So why doesn't he say it? Why doesn't he tell Sanae? Just because it won't change anything doesn't mean he shouldn't try.

7.

Is it because he thinks he doesn't get to say it? That he doesn't have a right to feel the way he feels?

6.

Or is it because it's wrong? That it's not how he should feel?

5.

No. It is simply the truth. That's all there is to it.

4.

And any moment now, he can lose the chance to give voice to it. Even if Sanae could still hear it from the Higher planes... it won't be the same.

3.

So Joshua takes in a shallow, jerked breath.

2.

And here is the truth:

1.

"I love you, still."

0.

Opening his eyes remains as agonizing as ever. So does stopping himself from imagining that he can still hear Sanae's voice.

"...I love you too. And I always will, no matter what lies ahead... I hope you know that, J."

And it seems as if his imagination has only gotten more vivid, and more self-indulgently delusory; he's even able to impress the kneading of Sanae's hand into his own.

"This never gets easier for me. This always hurts like shit."

You and me both.

"Then I always realize: this is exactly what I deserve, after all I've done— or at least have been complicit in."

...wait, what?

"And I don't worry so much anymore, either. Because you're reaching out again. You have people who clearly care about you. Who love you, and whom you can trust. At least you won't be alone when I eventually fade aw—"

"What the fuck?!"

The imagined weight flits away.

Joshua's eyes shoot open, and he shoots his gaze towards his side.

And there Sanae sits, clearly as shaken as he is.

"Joshua?!"

Joshua takes Sanae's face between his probing hands. "What's the damn meaning of this?!" Is this some kind of depraved illusion? Some kind of taunt?

"J-Josh? You can still—"

"What's happening? It's been seven hours, hasn't it?!"

"It has! I don't know what's— oh. Oh." Sanae's pupils glaze over for a second, before his gaze comes back grimly aware.

"Well?"

"It's…." His expression contorts into that of pain.

Why is it like that? Why does it look pained?! "It's what?"

"It's because the ward's output has become optimal, better than it has been in years. They're calling it a—" Sanae's voice distorts into that of several, none of them his own, all of them sinisterly chipper as the expression he now wears— "birthday present, in return for all of your outstanding work! Thank you, Composer Kiryu! May you enjoy the fruits of your labor."

The Fallen Angel reverts back to normal with sharp, rattling gasps for air.

Joshua's lips are quivering. "Excuse me?"

"We... we have seven more hours." Sanae hand clutches his chest and massages it, still panting. "I... hah— I had no idea...."

"Is there a catch?" There must be some kind of catch. Some kind of con at play here.

"I... I don't know. I didn't know that this would happen, so I can't—" he wheezes— "I don't think we can know for sure," he looks to Joshua again, with a hardened stare, "until the time's up."

It's a reminder of the power they hold over Sanae's whole existence. A laughable attempt at gaining Joshua's favor, encouraging his productivity, ensuring his loyalty— whatever it is they demand of him and his ward.

It's a message, however implicit, informing him that he can "earn" them more time, more opportunities to provide Sanae with the stimuli he needs to survive. That how long these meetings last, and in turn, how much longer Sanae can hold on, hinge on his output.

And should he underperform....

Joshua's jaw and fist clench; knuckles and the heat of his fury both white.

He's farthest from sure of what'll come at the end of these added seven hours. He doesn't know what it'll mean for his partner, for him, or for their ward. But he gathers up all of his willpower, because what he is sure of, is that at this moment, Sanae is still here with him.

And he's not wasting any time.

He shoots to stand upright. "We're leaving."

"What?"

"Seven more hours, right?" He holds his hand out to his partner, steeling his gaze.

"...Right." Sanae clutches it, strengthened.

"Do you have any ideas as to how we'll spend them?"

"Know what? I do."

Joshua brings Sanae closer to him.

"Let's hear them, then."

7 hours remain.

[abstractreign]

SLEEP  HABITS

NAME: yoshiya "joshua" kiryu.

RESIDENCE: shibuya, tokyo ; currently, he resides in the apartment above wildkat, albeit on a higher plane that only Composers and other higher beings can exist in. (in verses where he is alive, he still resides there— just within the Realground.) TYPE OF BED: wyoming king. sometimes the couch. NUMBER OF BLANKETS: one duvet and a blanket. NUMBER OF PILLOWS: at least eight at any given time. TYPE OF CLOTHING: loose and/or half-buttoned shirts and pajama bottoms.

DO THEY SLEEP WITH COMPANY? nowadays he sleeps alone, except for the reviewing times right after Games that he gets to spend with his partner. DO THEY SLEEP BETTER WITH COMPANY? depends on the company.

DOES IT MATTER WHERE THEY SLEEP? he can bear to rest in uncomfortable places if he has to, but he'd really rather not. WHAT DO THEY DO IF THEY CANNOT FALL ASLEEP? no longer of the RG, josh can't sleep in the sense that living people do anyway, but back when he was alive — or in living verses — he would read books, play video games, watch his favorite series or films, or otherwise pass the time quelling his boredom.

FREQUENT DREAMS, NIGHTMARES: until recently, he was often visited by a much younger version of himself capable of traveling to and altering people's dreams.

DEEP SLUMBER OR NAPS: since he can decide to rouse himself from "sleep" at any time: technically, naps. WHEN DO THEY SLEEP: he decides this more on a whim, really; if he feels his Soul is becoming too strained then he takes the time to rest it. WHAT COULD WAKE THEM UP: the use of Psychs to disrupt his own, basically. (for example, using a Light Psych to, in a way, obnoxiously shine light on him—) EARLY OR LATE RISER: alive, he had/has a rather irregular sleeping schedule for one reason or another.

[abstractreign]

IC WORD ASSOCIATION

ROUGH - life HIDE - intentions FOOLISH - me others SAD - people HATE - misunderstanding LIGHT - scorching DARK - stillness MOTHER - dear FATHER - gone CHILD - ingenuous MARRIAGE - nonessential LOVE - home SOFT - bed PET - cat DREAM - sprout DIVORCE - fair WATER - sea LOUD - thoughts ANNOUNCEMENT - terrified POWER - indomitable FIGHT - survive WHITE - blank SICK - Higher Plane KISS - loving HURT - betray HAPPY - content

[abstractreign]

( → bounced from @groovepawn !! )

He lets out under his breath, "heh. It's not for me...." His gaze then drifts to the doodle of a figure with a plushie.

A weighty pang drops from his throat down to his chest. See, Joshua's not even sure if the sprout will ever be able to come out of the dreamscape. And he's argued with himself over the likely futility of the endeavor— of this gift; argued over whether or not he was just having expectations too painfully high once more.

His full attention snaps back in, however, at the sound of Shiki's request. The proposition that he need not pay her at all.

He leans away, eyes narrowed and lips in a grimace. "Excuse me? I am many things—" Shiki of all people would know what said things are— "but a deadbeat I'm not."

He rapped the back of his hand against his other hand's palm, giving her a... rather stern look, as if he's about to lecture her.

Which he is. Does, "what, you don't think your handiwork is worth it? I'd be taking up precious time, energy, and resources that you could be spending elsewhere— on your brand, on your pastimes. You know, your finite life?"

Joshua huffs, shaking his head lightly. "Goodness. You're not just a remarkable seamstress, and a prodigious designer, but also a specialist when it comes to plush toy design." He motions his hand towards Mr. Mew, rising brand mascot. "You ought to be paid accordingly."

He then just stares at her for a couple of moments, before breaking eye contact, and breaking into a sigh. Years of ungrudgingly listening to Sanae's rants surely have rubbed off on him, huh.

But, Joshua supposes, that's not a bad thing. "...Besides, proper compensation helps ensure quality. You shouldn't have to worry much about your living expenses and such while working this one job, so you can focus on it to the fullest."

"I want this stuffed flamingo to be as soft as it can be, while being as resilient as it can be." And you, Shiki Misaki, are the best person for achieving that goal.

[abstractreign]

" You taught him to say what?? "

"Mm?" He blinks at his double for a good couple of seconds— before his eyes widen and he chokes.

Ah, fuck. "It was by accident. I didn't even know there was anyone else there." Well, anyone else besides Sanae, but that's besides the point.

"Wait— who told you about this?" It was Babyface Senior, wasn't it.

[abstractreign]

🍴

( → send🍴to try some of my muse's cooking !! still accepting )

"Better eat up while it's hot, Neku." He leans back against the kitchen counter, folding his arms and looking thoughtfully upon the dish he's just served his likely begrudging host.

It's Nikujaga, without any frills or apparent twists— just glisteningly tender pork strips, softened vegetables, and a hearty yet sweet aroma.

After spending several hours preparing dinner for many within a dream, Joshua woke up with the strange, strong compulsion to prepare meals from scratch, by himself. And, having already made himself and his Sanae more food than either of them could stand to taste-test, he's deigned to unload said compulsion onto others in the waking world.

And so, he is here— watching Neku with eyes weary enough that you could maybe squint and notice a tinge of darkness under them.

[abstractreign]

extremepath​:

Nor does Josh bother to shift his gaze towards the other, eyes focused ahead at what can be seen of the skyline, a smile made up of vicious playfulness curving his lips as it always does, “A patient senior can always withstand an infant’s cries for attention. Or,” He chuckles, “ — at least, a stubborn one.”

What he can’t stand - despite being more than used to Joshua’s lack of manners - is all of the obnoxious noises that Joshua fills the following silence with. Had he not already been on edge, they wouldn’t be filling his head like static, making his skin crawl and his ears feel sharp on the inside like they are now. Josh reaches up to toy with his hair to quell the need to smack Joshua upside the head, and he succeeds… but only just barely. He won’t give him the satisfaction of that much of a reaction.

Finally, the distasteful performance comes to an end and is replaced with a question, then two more, concerning their little dream-dwelling counterpart. It’s true that this is one of the few subjects that can put an end to their nonsense, even if only briefly. Yoshiya was becoming less and less of an amusement, after all, and more so something to be concerned about. He was special to them both, wasn’t he? They’d both gone and become more attached to their younger counterpart than they probably should have.

    “I’ve managed to sleep some.” It was never easy, and he always woke up at strange hours in the night. “So I have seen him recently.” On the subject of Yoshiya, Josh’s expression grows a little grim this time, settling in the intensity of his eyes most of all, though the tone of his voice is a bit flat. “Nothing has changed.” A short pause as his index finger begins to tap anxiously at the railing beneath it, his lungs getting tight in his chest, “Yoshiya is getting tired of dreaming, and our visits aren’t enough anymore.”

He looks over at Joshua as if to draw his full attention, slight tension in his brow, “But there is one thing I learned recently. There’s an Angel always watching him.” Josh looks away again, this time down to the street, idly watching the people go about their daily lives. An awfully casual contrast to the weight of the topic. “Although we can safely assume the reason, I can’t help feeling like we’re missing something — because it couldn’t possibly be that simple, could it? So, let me ask you this; What do you think they want with him?”

He chews on his straw as he does the intel.

"Getting tired of dreaming." "Aren't enough anymore." Fair enough, but Yoshiya's situation is beyond unprecedented for any impulsive interventions to be had. Now, does Joshua wish to see the sprout finally awake and able to experience the world for what it is, for the first time in heavens-know-how-long? Yes. Does he also wish for his safety? Also yes.

He grits his teeth down on the straw. Ah. You can only run someone's patience thin for so long, especially that of a twelve-year-old. Still, Yoshiya will have to wait for some time longer, until these two figure something out.

At the mention of the Angel — Yoshiya's own Producer, as he's come to understand — he reciprocates with a mere glance before piping in, "ah, yes— 'stupid' and 'boring' Irit, if I remember right?" Yoshiya's words, not his. His would be "heartless" and "stiflingly conformist"— at least, from what he could infer about Irit, based purely on descriptions and unintentional mentions of him by his ward.

Indeed, the extent of his own knowledge only goes so far as the following: that Irit had at least some hand in caring for Yoshiya, perhaps a bit more than his parents, thus knowing him even before his entrance into the UG; and that he was someone who 'lectured' the boy in the past, and ignores him in the present.

"Suspect" could be another choice to describe him. "Despicable" too.

Then, he's asked a question.

He swirls his cup, remnant ice and pearls lightly rustling about, and stares at it, watching the condensation dribble down and glisten under all the lights.

The first thing that comes to mind is that, unwittingly, Yoshiya's been performing reconnaissance for the Higher Plane. Truth be told, he's revealed way more about his life in the RG to Yoshiya than what's been going on in his present, and that suspicion is the very reason why.

The baby-faced geezer is right, though— there may yet be something more sinister taking place.

Alright. He'll have  to consider the functions that dreams serve. Hmm. Well, as the very sprout himself once put it: they help with processing recent events and current circumstances, as well as the emotions that arise from them. They help in addressing them, in considering them in new lights. They can both calm or disturb their dreamer. Dreams, by default, are reflections of their dreamer's present reality—

but they also have the power to shift their dreamer's perspective, don't they?

Fuck.

Joshua's eyes widen. His jaw goes slack for a few, good seconds.

"...You don't suppose They can extend Their influence through dreams, do you?"