calling

Koki Kariya has a visit to make.

The Sakuraba residence is located in a tall apartment building with far too many stairs for Kariya's taste. He supposes he should have expected that—she always did like the places that were high up—but the trek is nevertheless daunting, so he takes advantage of Uzuki's temporary absence and steps onto the elevator just behind an old woman with dark brown hair and warm eyes. She stumbles on the doorway and he catches her. "Easy there, honored grandmother."

"Ah, my apologies," she says, patting his arm when she's nice and stable and the elevator is en route. "I'm afraid I forgot my cane today. My grandson will be quite upset with me."

Kariya can sense the internal disappointment. The woman reminds him of his own gran, long since departed, and a little kindness never hurt anyone. He digs in his pocket and produces the plastic bag he keeps his unopened lollipops in, presenting it to her. Lucky for him—she smiles, free and wide, and takes the raspberry-flavored one. "Good choice. Happens to the best of us, honored grandmother—just the other day, I forgot this at home. Can't go without 'em. Will you be alright getting to your door?"

"Quite so. My thanks, young man." The elevator dings. Outside, a man around Kariya's physical age is standing by. His eyes widen when he notes the absence of the old woman's cane. Taking note of the way Kariya has positioned himself, he mouths his thanks as he rushes to take his grandmother's arm and ease some of her burden. "Oh, Akira-kun, he saved me from a tumble. Say thank you, won't you?"

Akira looks back at him. "Many thanks, ah..."

"Kariya," he supplies, waving as the elevator door closes again.

Uzuki wouldn't understand why he took the effort to help someone until she stopped and thought about it. Even then, she'd probably scold him for it. Don't you care about your job at all? We've got to rack up some points! You barely did any work last week! Besides, since when do you take personal time? And to help old windbags, at that!

He still hasn't gotten around to telling her that the rules are a little bent for him, being the Composer's eyes on the ground and all. It's been a few years; he should probably do that.

Nah. Not until she understands a few more things.

Another ding. Door number 358, she'd told him. Come by. It's been too long.

She hadn't been wrong. Kariya hasn't been around since Neku was born, in fact.

So.

This will be interesting.

He's proven correct when, upon answering his knock at the door, the kid takes one look at him and slams the door shut with a yelp.

A few moments pass. She opens it again, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Uh... what are you doing here?"

"Smooth," he says absently. "How are you holding up, kid?"

"I'm alright," she allows.

Another moment goes by.

She twitches, unable to take it. "Seriously, why are you here? Don't tell me the Reapers have some kind of post-Game check-up program going on—"

"Well..." Kariya starts. Her eyes widen in horror; he snorts, suddenly understanding why the Composer took to getting a rise out of her. "No such thing, Phones. I'm here to see your mom."

That doesn't make her relax. If anything, she tenses further. "You're not—? No, you can't be."

"What?" he asks, mystified.

She hangs her head and mumbles something.

"I don't speak Mumble, you know," he says with some amusement.

Her head flips up. She glares, face pink. "...My dad..."

"Hell no," he says, his own eyes widening. "Where'd you get that idea?"

Neku crosses her arms. "We do have similar facial features... and the same hair... and I know mine is natural."

"Neku, what are you doing?"

She jumps. Her mother is peering into the room; when she spots Kariya, her eyes brighten. "Koki! You came!"

"Hey, sis," he says, raising one hand in greeting. "Sorry. Some things came up."

"S-sis?!" Neku gawps.

Kariya shrugs. "Did I forget to mention that?"

"This is way too much bullshit," she decides, and honestly, he doesn't blame her. "Hey, Mom, I'm going over to Shiki's."

"Call when you get there." Her mother smooths her hair away from her forehead and presses a kiss to it; she waits with a remarkable patience for the energy he knows she has, lingering for a moment before pulling away, patting her mother on the shoulder. Kariya steps aside as she leaves, giving her a lazy salute with his lollipop. She gives him the middle finger.

Yeah, he probably deserves that.

He steps inside and pulls the door shut. His sister's eyes are a whirl of emotion. "Hey, Kiko."

"You don't look a day over twenty-three," she laughs, pulling him into her sitting room. "Imagine that! You looking younger than me."

Kariya flops down on her couch—dark leather, as expected—and gives her a crooked smile. "C'mon. You'll never look older than thirty, at most."

"No, I suppose I won't. But Neku doesn't know that yet." Kiko tucks her feet into her armchair.

"Oh yeah? Might want to let her know soon." This apartment is perfect for both Kiko and Neku, he decides, looking around. Dark shades of neutral colors painted on the wall, blackout curtains pulled aside to let the evening sun stream in, and evidence of their shared musical inclinations everywhere—absolutely everywhere. Kiko somehow managed to fit an entire piano along the wall next to the kitchen. Vintage posters of old musicians and bands are arranged in a sweeping curl of a score, stylized almost like graffiti. "She'll figure it out soon enough, having seen what she's seen."

She smiles, looking down, but her eyes are troubled. Neku shares that with her—the way her emotions splay out across her face, the easiest book he's ever read. "I know. But still..."

"Don't feel up to digging your own trauma back up?"

"Something like that," Kiko agrees. "Neku... she's grown, but there are some things she can't hide. An imaginary friend she narrates her days to. The way she feels about the scars. She needs me to be the strong one for a little while longer."

Kariya hums. "An imaginary friend?"

"Yeah. Calls him Joshua." He looks at her sharply and finds weary knowledge in the slump of her shoulders and how heavily her chin rests on her hand.

Well. Not too surprising that the Composer getting even more busy after the Long Game would entail a little personal business. He's noticed that the Game has changed—not in the rules, not in the cold, hard facts, but in the tone of it. The UG before the Long Game reflected the Composer's personal feelings: ennui, boredom, a classic piece in a minor key, no real heart in it. Now?

It's begun to hit all the right notes again.

"Guess she really did accomplish quite a feat," he muses. Shibuya's still standing, after all.

Kiko sighs. "When it hit three weeks, I knew something big was going down."

"You weren't concerned?"

"I was terrified. And heartbroken." They meet each other's eyes for a moment, then look away by mutual unspoken assent. Their own Game had been something of an affair, too. "But whether or not her imaginary friend remembers me, I remember what happened. And... I... I saw her, sometimes."

"Kiko... I'm sorry." Kariya sits up, reaches for his little sister.

She lets him. Gestures of affection are infrequent between the Kariya siblings, and if there's anyone else in her life who understands exactly what she's going through, he'd love to see it.

The Game leaves everyone with scars. Even when you become part of the system.