In the beginning
The empty spaces, he just filled them with music.
It all used to be so simple — cutting out the noise and rewriting the world, on the rhythm of whatever would come up, with his headphones clicking back into place as his starting point. It was his world, and it had the only sound he cared about.
Each shadow covered by a note, chains of screams erased by the beat, and he believed even more — how he and Shibuya were bound to walk on without ever meeting, each trapped and enclosed by a different universe. The thoughts made him clutch his fists tighter around the fabric of his pockets. They had confusion, he had eternity.
And three weeks that came like a prison of silence are gone, fallen with the roar of thunder, and have dropped his crushed bones in the middle of a street. Three weeks that cancelled the sounds and built new rules, swallowed by nowhere.
In spite of all of that, when his tears dry, it takes him little less than a second to pay attention to the air. The vibrations running for miles and miles steal his words.
His eyes widen more when he feels a weight around his neck — headphones that suddenly turn into an obstacle, a meaningless buzz at the sides of his brain.
Neku lifts his head and lets them go.
A thud. Silence, then a growing sound.
It's a hushed, soft tune, one that he starts enjoying, for his music is too loud now. It's a symphony of a hundred thousand voices, made of rage and laughter, woven in all the things people call emotions. It's a huge radio channel, made of all the frequencies and wavelengths. Within it all, deep inside, there is peace; he knows where it comes from.
With such a beginning, Neku can't feel disappointed at all.
Yo, man. That sequence is one of the best surprises ever. 3