#the first time kiryu has gone out with him.... my chest hurts i love them so much

[kamuro-junrenka]

Tiny daigo is so cute im going to die

[composereggwrites]

Fear not the Song (Consume the Love it Sings to You)

Fandom: The World Ends With You (TWEWY) Rating: M Warnings: Author Chose Not To Warn Characters/Ships: Joshua Kiryu/Neku Sakuraba Additional: Mind Control, Dubious Consent, Unhealthy Relationships, Possessive Behavior, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Worship, References to (non-drug) Addiction, Implied Potential Sexual Content, Self-Harm, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

There is a pin in your hand.

There is a smile on Joshua’s face, as he gives it to you. Soft smile, words on his lips, “My own design, to keep you safe.”

A gift from the Composer of Shibuya. A blessing, one that promises you will always belong to him. That you belong to the city that sings you such sweet songs.

(Even if you don't know it yet.)

AO3 or Below

There is a pin in your hand.

There is a smile on Joshua’s face, as he gives it to you. Soft smile, words on his lips, “My own design, to keep you safe.”

It’s a pretty pin. A white feather against a purple background. Simple, clean. You can hear the echoes of Joshua’s Music on the item, intermingling with the ambient sounds of Shibuya to create a song of beauty.

Your smile matches his, soft at the edges. Josh is your friend, and maybe it’s those holes the bullets have carved through your head, your heart, but your care for all your friends has filled the empty spaces within.

-

There is a pin on your shirt.

Pretty and purple, placed over your heart, and you keep it there. Ensure it stays in its place each day, each new clothing change. It hums, and maybe there was more space in those holes to be filled, because the buzz reverberates in the cavern of your chest.

You’re hanging out with Joshua, and that feels right. You’re falling, you know, letting your thoughts wander to him even when he’s not near. Through the twisting tunnels of your synapses. Runaway melodies circling, circling, c i r c l i n g around him. Tracing the curves of his hair, the precise motions of his fingers as he tap tap taps the tune of the city out against his leg.

He smirks at you, all sharp edges, except they’re not pointed at you, just around you. Needles pointing out, and that infuriating look burns in the depths of your ribcage. Brings a metallic tang to your mouth, and you don’t know why, not really. But you like this. It buries itself in your bones.

Josh laughs, and your restraint almost wavers, as you trace his lips with your eyes. You do not act. Yet.

-

There is a pin clutched in your fist, as you browse the options for college.

It’s unconscious, at this point. Grasping at your anchor, your heart. The pulse within soothes your nerves. So many options, as you flip through the brochures. As you flinch away from the one that isn’t in Shibuya. Hiss at the pain in your fingertips, at having brushed against it with the intent to consider.

The idea roils in your stomach, naseauting, acidic. Leave Shibuya?

Absolutely not.

You don’t know why, why. It was one of your top picks, two years ago, when you fought and regained your will to live.

Shibuya protests, as you gingerly pick up all the fliers for outside schools. Your hand protests. Barely wants to go near them. But you have to, in order to toss them in the trash.

Don’t think about the way it unsettles you. Ignore the translucent barrier that keeps you from questioning this. Bask in the warmth the soft lavender shines in your mind instead, the gentle caress, the praise of choosing right. The beat of home in your blood.

-

There is a pin drawing blood from your skin.

You’re in the hotel, clutching at your one lifeline. A family trip to the beach, one last hurrah before you graduate. The idea didn’t settle right, when suggested, but you went along with it for them. It was so hard to be considerate of your parents, so hard to let them dictate this. You just want him. But it was only temporary, after all. One small vacation.

Instead, you lay in bed, fever burning in your body as emptiness claws against the inside of your skin. Against the roof of your mouth.

You are empty, and cold, and there is no Shibuya singing sweet melodies to you. No Music wrapped around your limbs, guiding you through her.

Shaking, shivering, unable to muster up any energy. Unable to eat, or drink. You need Shibuya. Need him. Need to bury yourself in his skin, or let him climb inside you. Play host to a god, because that’s the only way you’ll ever feel whole again.

The pin is unclasped, needle digging into your palm. Into your arm. Anywhere you can stab, you do, painting your body with the blood. The blood isn’t as important as getting the Imagination and Music of that beautiful design into your body, though. Each stab brings a spike of relief, clarity in the haze of wrong you inhabit.

In the end, your parents end the trip early. Take you back home. Don’t see the blood hidden under long sleeves.

-

(You can tell, the moment you cross back into Shibuya. Back home. The Music coils around your heart, pounding a tune, singing you’re mine. Don’t leave, you’re mine. You belong here.

It’s right, of course. You were foolish to let your parents take you from this city. The notes flow through your veins, calling you back to health. The piece missing from you has partially slotted back into place.

But now that you’ve seen the acute emptiness in your chest, the return is only a salve. The void of need demands more than this.)

-

Shaking off the remnants of your fever, you slump into your room, the taste of sickness still on your tongue.

Until you see Josh standing there, worried for you perhaps, and you decide you want the taste of Shibuya on your tongue instead.

It’s sparks of bliss better than any drug, taking him by surprise, and claiming him as yours. Your god, your home. Or maybe that’s wrong? You’re the one that belongs to him, after all. You’d carve your body into a temple just to let him reside inside, fill the awful ache of need resting in your chest. In every inch of your being.

Or you could climb into him? Your tongue is doing a good job of that, as he reciprocates. Nails dig into your skin, yours into his. His grace filling your desperate lungs.

It’s sloppy. It’s your first time kissing a god, after all. But he just laughs, and Imprints the thought of Someone’s missed me, huh?

You’d respond, but the pressure of His Will in your head makes you melt. It reverberates to your core, deeper than you knew there was space in you to go. So much space, and it’s all so empty.

(He knows the answer, anyway. You’re His for the taking. Every inch of your love laid bare for Him to see, to know how much you belong to Him.)

-

Hours later (though it could be days, or an eternity for you all care),with Him laying against your chest, sprawled on top of you, contentment settles in your body.

It’s not enough, not really, but the demanding, burning need has dulled with Him at your side, blurring the edges between the two of you.

“Tattoo me.”

You don’t know if the words truly pass your lips, but He perks up. He gets the idea.

“Are you sure, Neku? It’ll hurt.”

Yes, you want to scream. He laughs, at the shout from your mind, and nods. Sits, straddled over your body. Your shirt is long gone, one less barrier between the two of you, and that makes it oh so simple for Him to place one hand above your heart.

It sears your skin. The stranglehold of Music increases tenfold. Chains and fishhooks tearing at your flesh. Convulsions through your nervous system. Pain, agony, flooding your system.

Your heart stutters as He brands you with His mark. The sigil He gave you years ago. A gift of love, a blessing, to ensure you would always be His. Had you known back then, surely you’d have denied it, turned away out of fright.

But now, as divinity devours you, the blindfold that once shrouded your eyes, made you fear such a fate, has been lifted. Your sight is clearer now than it’s ever been, able to so appreciate the luck you have, having gained the attention, the affection, of your God.

A thousand suns and neon light, stars bursting across your vision with enlightenment, as the power sinks into your chest. Into every empty nook and cranny. Replacings the pounding of your heart with the pounding of drums. It still moves the blood in your veins, thrumming with energy and the life He has granted you. Music is a form of worship, and your God loves the sound.

You’d never deny Him anything.

-

There is a design, resting on your chest as you rest at the base of His throne, waiting for Him to return. Simple, a beautiful, rich purple, with a white feather in the center.

It hums, a buzz of satisfaction in your Soul, tied so close to the City, to Shibuya. She sings to you, stories in splashes of color, and you move your body to fulfill the ideas She puts in your head, praising Her when He is not here to demand it instead. You breathe life into the shrine of your body, into the temple you inhabit.

The sole priest of your Gods, one as two as one, the one and both that have gifted you with the clarity needed to follow them. The songs in your head have buried themselves deep enough that there was never going to be another choice. Not for you.

This is where you Belong.