Three Stages of the Collapse

Fandom: The World Ends With You

Pairing(s): Neku/Joshua, one-sided ?/Neku (try to guess the identity), past Joshua/Rhyme and Neku/Shiki, mention of Shiki/Eri.

Setting: AU

Summary: He feels like he had been abandoned, and yet he remains ever trusting of Him. He told him to wait for Him, and so he waits… and waits… and waits…

Writing style: Third person thought perspective. Present tense, no names mentioned unless spoken. (Style first used in "Once Upon A Me")

Stage alpha - The Setup

A pair of quiet, forlorn blue eyes carefully look over his appearance, making sure there is absolutely nothing out of place, because he wants to look his best, as he does every day of his almost never-ending cycle of university days. He will never admit to anyone who will ask that he wants to impress someone, and no one knows that he is, because to them, he looks anything but perfect. His hair is always spiky, even after being thoroughly soaked and then dried, and he blames that on a genetic trait even if he does not know if it is, in any way, true, his frame is wiry at best, though he does have some impressive muscles according to his ex-Stalker, as he calls her behind her back, though he does not see what she defines as muscles, always covered by dark blue and purple with black and gold from his favorite brand, and he always carries a large set of headphones with him, which rest either around his neck or over his ears, where they belong.

He thinks he looks presentable, but he spends a good few minutes standing there, absently smoothing out his clothes a few times, until his phone beeps to let him know he has to leave immediately before he is late. As he leaves his tiny apartment and locks the door, he, once again, feels his stomach begin its routine twisting and knot-tying, always so badly that sometimes he thinks he may throw up, but he always swallows it down. He does not want to appear as weak, so he always ensures he gives no one reason to call him thus.

He takes his bicycle and begins the ten-minute sprint to the school building, doing his very best to ignore his horribly knotting stomach and the increasing urge to wretch. His face never displays any of his inner turmoil, as he has schooled himself not to do over so many years, even if he wants to so badly…

He reaches the building soon and he soon spots them, talking and laughing, and he cannot help but wish he can be truly part of that as he parks and locks his bike. He walks to them slowly, and he hopes that they will notice him before he gets to their side, but no one does. He wonders, with a terrible twisting in his stomach almost making him groan in pain, how long it will take them to notice his presence, so he stays still and waits.

They do not even notice him and merely talk and laugh and he sees that everyone is already there as they always are because they seem to always arrive before he does, and that includes Him…

He is different from him and not merely because of His hair color, which is such a beautiful silver color that he often wonders if it is not dyed, or because of His deep violet eyes, such a vibrant color unlike anything he has ever seen, even though these are all things that make Him and he so different from one another. He loves to watch Him, and he has never truly understood why, since for all his unrivaled beauty, He is both annoying and persistent in pursuing His goals without any regard to the thought or feelings of others, so why does his chest ache so much whenever he sees Him anywhere? He does not know, but he believes to know one thing; He does not notice the long stares He receives from him, and if He is aware, then He makes it a point to not let it show.

He waits… and waits… and waits…

But no one notices him, not even Him, and soon the bell rings and everyone begins to file inside, but he still stays there, waiting for someone to speak to him and say something, anything at all, but no one does so, and so he finally moves as well. He is now fighting against tears, because big boys do not cry, and he is already twenty-three years old, so he should not be crying like he so wants to, and so he does not. Even if his heart screams and cries out, he will not let even one of them escape his throat as he traverses the halls to attend his classes.

His classes are not difficult to him, and he barely has to think, for he knows and understands most of what is being taught immediately, so much of the day he spends looking outside, staring to the horizon and dreaming. He dreams often, almost every night, and he recalls them all in perfect detail if he so wishes to do so, but more often than not, he chooses to forget, for they are most often dreams of one of three kinds.

It can be the type where he dares to confess his childhood crush that has grown into a pure, absolute love for Him, and then He tells him, a soft and tender whisper in his ear, that He loves him in return after he is pulled into an oh so gentle hug. If it is not that, then it will be a dream where he confesses, but where He cruelly rejects him, pushing him away and threatening to never approach or to even speak to Him again, before He leaves him utterly alone. And if not that, it will be the one he fears to see the most, for it is a dream that is so hauntingly close to reality, that he sometimes fears that what he sees is actually real, for it is a dream of Him and her getting married, having children, and growing old together, in which he can only watch from a distance, forever silent and heartbroken.

There are only a few times where he dreams of something, anything else, and he uses that for the art he makes here at university, art that people believe will someday hang in a museum. His art is unique, is what they say, and this has earned him a scholarship here so that he can properly pursue what they believe is the best path for him to take, but he disagrees that his art is unique, for it is based off a style of street art that existed until his seventeenth year, when it was all washed away. While he has his own style as well, he does not claim it to be his, for what he draws here at school is based on an art that he has long since admired.

And, sadly, it is also something that will take his mind back to Him, regardless of his initial thoughts. For it was He who had first shown him the art style he so loves, and he supposes, that if it had not been for Him, he might have never come as far as he has today. Yet it is also because of this that he comes to adore Him, slowly but surely, yet his feelings have steadily grown out to the point where merely hearing His voice over the phone sends his heart aflutter. And now, he can no longer ignore what he feels…

He loves Him…

…and yet all of His attention is focused on her…

She is the younger sister of one of the friends he made through Him, but he knows very little about her, only that she also likes Him and has long since confessed that she does so. She is not a bad girl, but he cannot bring himself to like her, like a friend, or anything else, for the fact will always remain that she has taken Him away from his side, and he cannot forget or forgive… yet he cannot do anything else about it, either.

Because while he is in love with Him and wants so badly to be with Him, he places the highest priority on His happiness, for that is all that matters to him, as well; he wants Him to be happy, and if she can make him happy, then he will accept that and give them his blessing when that dreaded time comes. And yet a small part of him, squashed out by his own mind, wants to fight for Him, wants to fight so long and hard that he is willing to suffer through any sort of punishment if it will mean being together with Him.

But he knows, has known for a long time, that it is a lost battle.

He turns his head then, and looks to Him as He is feverishly taking notes of what is said, for math never was something He was good at. Long ago, he would have offered to be His tutor, but now that privilege is given to her, for she is also good at math, though he does not know if her skills are of the same level as his own.

As he watches Him, he pulls out a small notebook, places it on his desk and begins to search for an empty page to use. When he finally finds one, he discovers that he will need a new notebook soon, for he is on the last few pages, making this the twentieth notebook he has filled the way he has. He makes a mental note that he will stop by the shop to get a new one as he takes a pen and starts.

He watches his own hand listlessly, as though the hand is moving on its own without any orders from his brain, as he pulls a curved line and then another and he makes small strokes as he draws, slowly but surely, watching as the image that appears is that of Him, as it always is, in a style that is truly his, and not a copy of the style of someone else. He watches the image take shape, no longer paying any attention at all, and he merely draws, lost in a world where only he exists and where he can dream what he wishes to dream.

He finishes just as the bell rings and he closes the book before anyone can see it, tenderly placing it back into his bag along with his other books and supplies and he hopes and prays that today, that He will approach him again and ask him for help…

But the result of his prayers is the same as it has been the entire week already, for when he looks up and gets up from his seat, He has already left the room. And once again, he has to fight back against tears as he walks out of the room, his shoulder bag resting securely under his arm, his hand clinging to the strap in a desperate attempt to calm his inner turmoil. He just cannot escape the feeling of abandonment he has been having for so long, for his friend, Him, her, and even his ex-Stalker have not so much as glanced his way even once this week, let alone spoken to him about anything, and the week is already nearing its closure.

He cannot help but feel like they have all forgotten about him, like they cannot even see him, and he wonders sometimes if perhaps, just maybe, he has died and he is actually moving around as a spirit, haunting his own friends. But if that was the case, the teachers would surely not call for him every morning, and scribble down that he is present when he raises his hand to confirm he is there, nor would they give him back the tests he has made in their classes or his homework.

But then why…?

Why do the people he considers to be his friends no longer acknowledge him?

Why have they abandoned him?

These questions and so many more tumble through his head as he goes through the routine that school always brings every day, and by midday, he is sitting below one of the many staircases of the building, a half-eaten bento in his lap and a second, unopened one lying beside him. He is waiting for Him to join him, but he already knows that He will not come like he would have done before. Because His mother always makes His bento's, and she is not a good cook in the least, anyone can agree to that, for many years, he has offered to share his bento with Him, before he began to make two when He said He could not rob him off his own food.

But ever since she came into the picture, He has been eating with her upon the roof, sharing only a single bento, and not even bothered by the fact that He is sharing it with another.

And he does not understand…

What is so different with sharing a bento with him and sharing one with her?

Why is He okay with having half of her bento, but He cannot bring himself to accept half of his?

He plays a bit with his own food, his prodding and pushing with his chopsticks unfolding the rice balls he has made that day, and finds that he is not even hungry, as he has not been for a long time, yet he forces himself to eat, knowing that he will waste away if he does not. So he scoops up his food and shoves it into his mouth fighting back his tears still as he comes to the realization that He will not come today, either.

He does not know why he even bothers to make a second bento every day still, because every day, he has to throw the stale food away, and every time he does so, he feels like he is throwing a piece of himself away, because he always puts everything he has and more into it, just for Him. He does not know, and yet he keeps doing it, praying and hoping every day that things will go back to how they once were.

As he force-swallows the final part of his bento, he fools himself into thinking that the force of the gulp knocked loose the single tear that rolls down his cheek, but he does not wipe it away, and no more follow it down. Boys do not cry, after all… and even when some part of him asks if it is all right for a man to cry, he refuses to shed even one more tear.

People eventually begin to move down the halls, to do whatever they intend to do before their next class, but he does not move from his spot, waiting for someone, anyone, to take notice of him, but no one does so and he eventually gathers up his belongings to head to his own class. He feels like his body weighs five times more than he should as he walks, and he finds it difficult to breathe around the pain in his chest, but he forces himself to breathe slow and easy and his legs to move and take him up the stairs and to his class.

Does anyone even take notice of him? He wonders about that as he steps into the room, only a minute late. The teacher looks to him with a glare, then tells him to sit and be quiet, and then he goes back to his teaching. A few people snicker as he walks to his seat and sits down, but he ignores them and he only pulls out his books and pens. He listens silently to what is said, as he always does, and when they have time for themselves, he looks to the outside world again, wondering, wishing, praying, and waiting. He does not know what it is he is waiting for; perhaps for his life to turn around, but he is certainly not expecting it, despite how badly he wishes it to be true.

He turns back to his notebook and once more begins to draw, despite how his source of inspiration is not in the same room, for he knows every detail he needs from the back of his head, and he can summon it to the back of his eyelids at will. And again, his hand begins to move as though it has a mind of its own, and he only watches in utter silence, his eyes wistful and a little longing.

The day continues on like that, and no one speaks to him, not even the teachers to lecture him about how he is not even paying attention or doing something he should not have been doing during class. As he leaves the building behind, he looks around in an attempt to find his friends, but no matter how he looks, he cannot spot them so he thinks that they have all gone home already. And that is why he walks quietly to his bike, pulling out his keys from his jacket.

He is not expecting to be stopped in any way, so imagine his surprise when he walks to his bike and finds Him leaning up against it, a soft hum resonating from His throat as He taps His foot in a steady beat, waiting patiently, he knows. He has not been expecting this, for He has not spoken to him all throughout the week, nor approached him, so why is He standing there, waiting?

He waits a moment, waiting for Him to notice, but when He does not, he approaches further, and finally He looks up. A small smile that is more of a smirk is shown, a few of His pearly teeth visible in between His lips as He pushes Himself back upright.

"Hello, Sakuraba-kun."

"…Kiryuu-kun…"

When have they reverted from calling each other by given name to using their family name? He does not know, but he has always gone along with it, despite how his voice is always begging to let out His given name, or even the nickname He has allowed him to call Him by.

"You made it quite late again… busy with your last work again?"

Late again… so He has noticed that he stays late after school, if only so that he can work in peace on his small, private project. But why does He bring it up now, he wonders, and he wants to ask, but he fears to know the answer, so he decides to leave the question unanswered.

"…Is something wrong? You don't usually wait for me…"

Usually he says… but He used to wait for him a long time ago, he still remembers, no matter how long he stayed at school, He would always wait. But that has all stopped long ago, and he has long since given up on a chance for them to go home together like they have done so often when they were younger.

"Hihi… always getting right to the point, hm?" He giggles, for he cannot call that sound a chuckle, there is just no way he can. "But since you asked, we've been discussing about going to this new karaoke place that recently opened up. Care to join us?"

The invitation is a surprise, and he is not sure what to think of it, for it is the first time he has spoken to Him, or anyone, in almost a week, if not more, he has lost count long ago. The offer to join them is tempting, and he wants nothing more than to say yes and to join them once more, but he cannot say it as he wants to.

"…When did you want to go?"

"Around 8:30 tonight. Shouldn't be that much of a problem, ne?"

As He says the time and day, he wants to cry, he wants to scream and just shatter something, for it is a time he cannot make even if he so dearly wishes to.

"…Sorry. I'm afraid I can't make it tonight…"

"Oh… is that so?" He sounds almost disappointed, but His face shows nothing of it. "Well, maybe next time, then, alright?"

"…Sure…"

He wants to cry so much now, for He does not even question why he cannot make it or when he can make it so that they can make a new invitation. No, He merely says those words he has heard so many times already that they make him want to retch from how badly his stomach twists and knots itself.

Maybe next time…

"Well, don't let me hold you up any longer. Ja ne, Sakuraba-kun."

And He is gone, walking past him and not even waiting for his response, and he can only stand there, silently, wishing for the words he needs, but they do not appear, and then the moment is long gone and he is alone once again. He clutches the strap of his bag, as he tries to control his breath and his emotions, before he walks up to his bike and unlocks it quietly.

Once he is done with that, he climbs on and starts off quietly for his part-time job, since that is why he was unable to go with his friends to the karaoke bar, as he cannot take a day off on such a short notice if he intends to keep the job. And as much as he wants to spend time with his friends, he needs the money to keep the pitifully small apartment he lives in, so he cannot afford to miss even one day.

And so, when he arrives, he again locks up his bike and hurries inside, already in the middle of changing as he walks inside. No one looks up as he comes in, and as he finishes getting changed in his work uniform, he places his belongings into the small locker he has been provided so that they will be safe, before he goes to work wordlessly.

He does not think much as he works, for he knows that when he begins to think now, he will possibly break down, and then he will more than likely lose this job, too. He cannot afford to lose that, and so he works mindlessly, paying no heed to the people around him much and merely does what he is required to do.

School always seems to go so fast to him now, and work seems to go even faster, as though someone has struck the fast-forward button, but that is perfectly fine with him, for he just wants the week to end. And so, when evening rolls around, he heads for his apartment, though not before he gets an offer from his crazy math-addicted co-worker to go to some bar down the street. He debates, as he drives home, if it is a smart idea to do so, but he supposes it will be all right, because it is already weekend, so he does not have much to worry about when it comes to absence from a hangover at school.

He does not drink often, but when he does drink, he more often than not returns drunk to his apartment. Of course, he only goes when he is invited by his co-workers, because he does not have the leisure to spend his money on such things, and they understand that, of course, which is why they always pay for him, no questions asked.

And that is why he finally decides to go, after he makes a brief stop at his apartment and changes into something that is more suited for his nightly outing. It is black, all black, and it is tight, for he let his math-crazed co-worker talk him into getting it, but he has come to like it, the material is just so smooth, and sometimes he actually feels as though he is wearing only a second layer of skin, that is how tightly it fits him. He puts a single ring of silver through the hole he has punctured in his left ear, something he had gotten after a lost bet with his senior's girlfriend, and he applies a little bit of dark eye shadow, to bring out the dark blue of his own eyes, and he pours a little glitter into his hair, before he decides he is ready and he leaves, placing his keys in a special pocket in his pants that no one knows about for safe keeping. He also takes his ID card, but not his phone, for he does not want to be called by anyone when he is there, for it would certainly ruin the atmosphere, although he really doubts that someone will call him.

Finally, he walks out of the building and begins his walk down the two blocks it will take him to get to the bar. When he arrives, he sees his math-crazed co-worker standing on the sidewalk by the bouncer, tapping his foot rapidly and impatiently, possibly from waiting for him. Then his math-crazed co-worker spots him and immediately starts to shout, and he is glad is he not carrying the dreaded megaphone.

"SO ZETTA SLOW! What took ya so long ya zetta son-a digit?!"

"…sorry."

He does not want to fight, because he will lose, as he does not have the required volume of voice to match his math-crazed co-worker. His math-crazed co-worker snorts and adjusts his baseball cap, his bracelets making a quiet ringing sound as they clink together, before he grabs his arm and pulls him into the bar. The overly large bouncer with the goat head on his belt, who seems to be there every time they go, he believes, does not even look up, as he already knows them both.

Inside, the music he so loves to hear is already pouring from the speakers, upping the beat of his heart, the lights are dancing and flashing, people are mingling, laughing and dancing and sometimes even making out in some dark, shabby corner and he loves every second of it. It is a small little bar with little attention from large crowds, but the atmosphere has the regulars always coming back for more, himself included.

He is soon dragged to a booth where his other co-workers are already waiting, his senior's girlfriend is already downing her so manyth drink, as her cheeks are already so red, but his senior is drinking a simple cassis, so he is probably going to be driving everyone home today, even him, even though he lives so close by. Then he also notices a female co-worker he works with often, and also her boyfriend, and he is a little surprised, because they rarely come with them to drink.

She sees him too and she squeals and moves to intercept him and his math-crazed co-worker and hugs him tightly.

"Nekkyyyyy! I almost thought you wouldn't join us tonight!"

"…hello Nao…"

Her boyfriend laughs as he is released and then pulled to sit beside his female co-worker, but he shows no signs of jealousy, because they all know that he has no interest in his female co-worker, as his interests have always been elsewhere.

"Heh. Good to see ya could make it, Phones."

He does not remember when his senior started calling him that, but he supposes it does not even matter now, and he has already stopped long ago to correct his senior that it is not his name, for the call will go unanswered. He nods in response and accepts the drink that is slid to him from across the table, taking a quiet sip from the liquid, ignoring how it always seems to burn its way down his throat.

They start talking then, though his math-crazed co-worker is actually shouting half the time, partially because he is trying to overshoot the music, and partially because that is simply how he is, and he finds himself occasionally talking in response to certain quips, though never much, and he continues to drink silently.

One, two, three… how many has it been now, he wonders to himself, and he looks at the clock, but he finds himself unable to read the time. How strange, because he knows that he should have no problems with it, yet he cannot tell time at all…

When he looks, his senior has gone with his girlfriend to dance, and his female co-worker is also pulling her boyfriend off to dance. And his math-crazed co-worker has already drank so much that he is almost in a coma, or so he appears, anyway, and he sighs softly, bringing up his glass and downing the last drops of his drink. Maybe he can go get a new one… he is still feeling a little thirsty, so maybe he will do just that…

He gets up then, taking note to not disturb his comatose math-crazed co-worker, and begins to walk, though he is a bit surprised that his legs feel a bit weak, but he merely pinches his thigh, and forces himself to move to the bar to get himself another drink. His throat is so parched… he really needs that drink… he really does…

Somehow he is able to avoid most of the dancing couples, but a few bump into him and he stumbles into the wall a few times, but he keeps going on and on. But then someone bumps into him from behind and he loses his balance, trips over his own two feet and then pitches forward…

Yet somehow he does not hit the floor like he knows he is supposed to, and it takes him a few moments to realize that someone has caught him around his waist from the side before his face could hit the hard, cold floor below him. After a few more moments of him hanging in midair like that, which is quite a strange experience, if he does say so himself, he is pulled back up to his feet, though he is still a tad unsteady on his feet.

"That was quite a tumble, was it not?"

He looks up at the voice, confused and a little disoriented, and his vision was actually not looking too nice, either, though he can still see just fine, really, and he finds himself more than a little more confused than he already is, as he is about to speak His name, until he realizes that what he is thinking is both silly and stupid, for He would never come to such a place, he knows… so who are they?

Their hair is the same light silvery blonde, but there are a few locks that stick up in waves and the ends are dyed a light purple, and two locks move along their cheeks and under their eyes, which are not the color he is used to but are instead a deep, deep green that reminds him briefly of the trees in the park near his childhood home. They are dressed in white, which is a little surprising, since usually those who come here are all in black, and not in such light colors, but it suits them, he supposes, and they have some purple-bluish lip-gloss on their bottom lip only. He does not know who they are, but surely, they are the most unique person here, he believes…

"…S'rry…"

He gets up to his feet but he almost stumbles again, yet they help him and keep him on his feet with a quiet chuckle.

"Goodness… I believe you have had quite enough tonight, have you not?"

"…di' not…"

"Oh? Do tell, how many glasses have you had already?"

He frowns a bit, and he tries to remember how many he has had, and he absently counts a bit under his breath, but he has forgotten entirely how much he has had tonight.

"…maybe… 5?"

They chuckle, almost kindly, and shake their head, disagreeing, it seems, but why?

"I believe, dear, that you've had quite enough tonight."

"…but 'm thirs'y…"

"Haha. I suppose tis difficult to argue with that. Very well. Let us get you something to drink, though I shall advise you to not have any more alcoholic beverages."

"…mmkay…"

He does not mind what he gets… he just wants to drink something, anything to get rid of his parched throat. It is so difficult to walk, though, and he finds himself leaning on their shoulder as they walk with him, though he is sure it is not that far that he needs to be guided like that, even if his legs feel like they are made of jelly.

When he blinks next, they are helping him to get on one of the stools, while he calls the man behind the bar and orders a drink, something like cinder and whatnot, but really, he does not care as long as it is a liquid. It takes a few moments, that take much too long for him, before he is given a glass with some kind of weird liquid that he has not seen before, but he is so thirsty, he really cannot care about its color, or its taste, really, so he takes it and drinks it all down in one go.

"Dear me, you really are thirsty, are you not?"

"…mhmm…"

"Haha. Very well then. One more?"

"…uh-huh."

He really does not care… he just wants to drink and, hopefully, that will help him to forget, or maybe it will knock him into a coma, too, that will be nice…

So he takes the next drink and swallows it too, ignoring how they are chuckling beside him, sounding almost amused, for that is not important now. He merely drinks and allows himself to forget about everything, or so he wishes, for he finds that, just as always, he cannot forget or ignore the pain in his heart, and that is why he finally stops, with only half a glass left.

"Hm? Is something wrong, dear?"

He does not respond right away, but he does turn around sideways so that he can look at them, and now he focuses on their face. He finds it to be very similar to His, but he can still tell it's not, because He does not have such thin eyes, though they are not overly thin, and maybe that only appears to be so because they have their eyes shut partially, or so he thinks. It is really strange… how much they look like Him, yet not at the same time.

"Yes? Is there something on my face?"

They say those words as they move aside a lock of hair, but it falls right back and he notices what long nails they have, painted black, which stand out a lot with their white clothes, but it suits them.

"…nah…"

He shrugs one shoulder lightly and takes a small sip from his drink, and he wonders, absently, if they would listen if he tells them about why he is drinking so much as he is, why he is trying to forget and whatnot. Maybe not, though, and they may just go away, leaving him alone again. Maybe…

"…woul' ya listen if I said 'm unhappy?"

They look at him quietly for a moment, head tilted sideways, but he does not mind much, for he knows it is probably a silly question to ask a total stranger, and he also knows that many normal people would not want to know when they are trying to have a good time and escape their own problems and worries.

"Truly? If that is correct, what cruel twist of fate has life given you, dear?"

…they will listen…? Really…?

"…jus'… lately… 's like ev'ryun's fergott'n 'bout me… 'm righ' there… but they dun notice me… dun talk ta me… nothin'… 'n' when they do talk… 's jus' ta ask me 'long ta somewhere I can' go ta 'coz I got work…"

"My word… and never a question about when you can go with them?"

He shakes his head, recalling how He had not even asked why he could not go and merely said…

"…maybe nex' time… tha's all they say…"

He runs a finger along the edge of his glass, listening to its soft hum and watching the small amount of liquid left in his glass, and he wonders to himself if it was worth telling them about it, but he has to say, he does feel a bit better now that he has been able to tell another person about his troubles and knowing that that person is listening and watching him patiently and is not looking through or past him. He blinks once, and he almost winces when he realizes he has accidentally let a tear escape from his eye.

"You poor dear…"

When the back of a finger wipes the tear and its track away, he looks over to them, confused, and he is a bit surprised to see them looking so… sad? He thinks they are sad, at least, since he is not used to be people being saddened by his problems, let alone a total stranger, although he has to admit, the thought is nice.

"You must have been so alone… however did you last so long without breaking down into tears?"

"…dunno… jus' did…"

Is that his voice…? Why does it sound so… raspy…? More importantly… why were his eyes leaking so much? He does not recall giving them permission to do that, so why are they doing such a stupid thing?

"…nrgh… s'rry… I shoul'n't… shoul'n't be…"

"Ssshh…"

They interrupt him and put both their hands on his cheeks, using their thumbs to wipe away the tears that keep coming and coming and coming without end…

"There is no shame in crying over such sadness that lies in your heart… Tis better for you to release such feelings before it shatters your very soul."

"But…"

What they do then startles him into silence, for they move forward and begin to kiss his tears away, and then they kiss the corners of his eyes, as one of their hands move from his cheek into his hair, the fingers gently massaging his scalp. He does not know what else to expect, but he does not say anything, though his tears keep coming, and he does not understand why.

"Come… let's get you washed up a tad, shall we?"

"…sure…"

He finishes his drink quietly, and then he stumbles after them, even though they are still holding him up and walking so close that their hipbones almost appear connected. The sound of the music that floats around the bar soon dies and he winces at the brightness of the washroom, bringing up a hand to protect his eyes.

They lightly tug him over to the sinks and pull loose a piece of paper from the small dispenser set up, and begins to dry his eyes, wiping the long tracks away, so gently, that he begins to wonder, why are they doing this?

He does not know why, and he does not know how to ask it, so he just waits and stays there for a while, though he is a bit surprised when he realizes that, while he was not looking, he has been seated up on the sink. Yet he has no time to act on it, because when it dawns on him, they bring up one hand and thread those long fingers into his hair again, and he almost moans as they massage his scalp so gently. Their fingers are just so tender, and so warm, that he cannot help but lean into the touch.

"You poor dear… you have done nothing to deserve such pain."

He blinks once, unsure of what they mean, but then they move closer and place a soft, tender kiss upon the corner of his mouth, an action that should have made him flinch away, but he feels only a strange, fuzzy bubbling in his stomach that he wants to blame on his drinks, but he wonders to himself if that is really so…

And then they move closer, but not close enough, and they look deeply into his eyes, and he can only look back as deeply, even with his vision being so… blurry.

"I believe, it is better if you were returned home safely."

"…a'ready…?"

"Yes, dear, already. Come, I will take you home safely."

"…mmm… kay…"

Really, is it a good idea to go with them when he has only met them just tonight, he wonders, but maybe it is better if he does go back, because, if he is honest, he does want to go home and sleep, and then wake up and hopefully feel a bit better. So he slowly slips off from the sink, but his legs immediately give away and he falls forward into them, clinging tightly to their shirt with his face landing against their chest, which is a little painful because he hits his nose as he does so.

They chuckle softly, and he looks up slowly, trying to ask about what is so funny, but his voice will not come out, and even less when they crouch down and then gently loop one arm under his knees, before they stand and lift him up in their arms. Maybe if he was not so drunk, he would have made a fuss about being carried around like a woman, but he is drunk and very much so, and so he does not offer any sound of complaint with the exception of a slightly surprised gasp, his arms moving around their neck on their own just to make sure he will not fall on his rear if he does fall.

And then they start to walk, and he is a little startled at the rocking motion of their stride, but he has to admit that it is a soothing motion and he almost feels like he can go to sleep right here and now, but he is still not drunk enough to do that, because he knows that he has to go home, still. Gradually, they leave the bar behind, without even informing his co-workers in the least, but he cannot bring himself to care, and then they are outside, where it is quiet, and he feels a little relieved, because the noise was starting to hurt his ears just a little bit.

"All right, now, should I call a taxi to get you home safe?"

"…tax… no no no…"

A taxi is a definite no-no, because a taxi is expensive, and he does not want to spend too much money if he can do things in a much cheaper way, like a bicycle, or walking, though a bicycle will be an equally bad idea now… he probably cannot even hold the wheel properly and he could turn it so he goes backwards and that would just be a silly thing to do.

"No? Okay then, dear, how do you suggest we go, hm?"

He blinks wearily, and it takes a little while for the question to register, but then it finally hits him and he brings up a hand to point.

"…tha way… 's down tha way…"

"Hehe. Very well, dear."

He points them in the right direction and they follow his words without a word of complaint, or wondering how he can still remember his way home when he can barely remember his own name, but he does not care too much, because he just wants to go home and then go to sleep. He holds on tight and rests his head on their shoulder, watching quietly as the area around him becomes more and more familiar, and, feeling a little bit childish, he kicks his legs a little bit, and he hears them chuckle, but they do not say anything, and just walk, occasionally asking what way to go.

Finally, they reach his apartment building, and he wants to be put down because he is certain that he can walk this last part on his own, and they chuckle again, and do as he wants, though they do not let him go just yet, insisting that they do not want him to tip over and hurt his face, because, as they say, he has a very pretty face, which he does not quite believe, but he is a little too drunk to object properly. So instead, he only stumbles along, almost tipping over after only three steps, but they are there to keep him upright, and he starts to head for the elevator, because he does not want to go up two floors by the stairway, which is… about 28 steps straight up? No, definitely not…

He just wants to sleep right now, and he almost falls over a few times, but they manage to keep him awake, somehow, and he then finally stumbles out of the elevator and toward his little apartment, and he tries to remember for a few moments where he has hidden his keys, before he finally remembers where they are.

"…ah… so 'noyin'…"

"Hm? What do you me-"

He hears them gasp sharply as he undoes his belt and the button of his pants, to give himself some space to wriggle his hand down along the inside of the article of clothing, allowing him to slip his digits into the hidden pocket where he keeps the keys to his apartment, though it takes a little to get the keys out along with his fingers. He is glad he is able to do it alone, and he also praises himself when he manages to find the good key, even if it takes a little longer than it normally does, but he cannot get the stupid key in the stupid hole.

"Here, dear… allow me."

They gently take the key from his hand and slip it into the hole, showoff, and they try to twist the handle downward, but they look at it strangely when it does not budge, almost making him want to laugh, but he is just too tired to do so, so he reaches out and takes hold of their hand and the handle.

"…wrong way… like this…"

Up goes the handle and then slide goes the door into the wall, and he moves forward one, two, three steps and then he drops forward and onto his bed, allowing himself a small moan of appreciation as the mattress bounces him up slightly before he is able to settle.

"…this… this is your house?"

"…partment… 'n' yeah… close the door…"

Slide goes the door, and he hears them walking over, before the bed dips down to his side, but he does not look up and instead drags himself further onto the bed, until his feet hang over the edge and he tries to get rid of those annoying things with just his feet, because they are being oh so annoying now and he just wants them off so badly. It does not take long because of his actions for them to reach down and undo the laces and then slip the shoes off so that he can climb completely on the bed, so that he can bury his face into his pillow, and he allows a short moan of enjoyment as he gets comfy.

"…Already asleep, dear?" they chuckle out and he groans.

"…shush… wanna sleep…"

"Okay, okay, dear… but I have to ask you something before that."

"…what?"

"Why do you live in such a small… apartment?"

"…dun have much stuff… 'n' 's the most I coul' 'fford…"

Why is he even saying so to a total stranger, he wonders softly to himself, but he has no answer to his own question, and so he does not bother with it for long, and instead holds tight to his pillow, his eyes already closed and he has every intent of falling asleep. But when there is a soft touch to his head, he manages to open one eye and looks up to them, and they look down on him with a sad look that he does not remember seeing on the face of anyone he has ever known, and he wonders why they are so sad, because surely, he is not worthy of another person's sadness, is he?

"You poor, poor dear… You should not have to suffer so…"

He does not understand what they mean, for he surely does not suffer with the room he is in now, even if the apartment is only two rooms; the bathroom that doubles as washroom, and the bedroom that he and they are in right now that doubles as living room, kitchen and dining room, with the larger than normal double bed positioned precisely in the center of the room. Everything he needs is kept in the bedroom, for his clothes are placed in neat stacks under the bed in a large drawer, as well as the few pairs of shoes he owns and his ironing board. He lives alone, so he does not need to share, and in a way he is glad, because he has a feeling that not many could live with so little supplies as he can.

They touch his head again, and move aside his bangs, seeming to think, before they move down and place their mouth over his own. He is surprised, of course, and he moves back quickly and pushes up on shaky arms, watching them with a frown that looks more like a pout in his current intoxicated state, though he of course cannot see it.

"Wha was tha fer…?"

They smile in response, and he is not entirely sure if he should be afraid now, because he surely does not feel it, though maybe that is also because of the alcohol in his system. They reach out and gently place a hand on his neck, and he cannot help but shiver, though he does not understand why.

"Alone for so long… surely not even you could withstand such feelings for long… Do you not wish to be connected to another, to ward off those feeling of despair?"

The few sober brain cells he has left are now screaming at him, saying that what is about to happen is wrong, so very very wrong and that he should run away and hide, but his body refuses to obey his mind's command, and allows himself to be pulled closer, until his and their lips are only a breath apart.

"Allow me to help you… let me make you feel whole again…"

They kiss him again then, full on the mouth, and he feels his body shudder and he almost collapses, but they catch him and gently place him down on his back, those long fingers running over him and setting his skin on fire, and he breaks away with a slightly strangled cry. But they do not say anything about the outburst and begin to kiss and suck on his neck and he whimpers, feeling the small hairs at the back of his neck standing on end as his blood heats beneath his skin.

Slowly, gently, as though he is the most precious thing in the world to them, they slip his shirt up, bit by bit, until it can go no higher and rests around his collarbone, and he hears a low groan, and it takes a few moments before he realizes it is his own, and he wants to scream. His heart is beating so hard and so fast now, torn between wanting this feeling and not wanting it, for he had long since promised himself he would never give himself like this to someone he did not love, and yet here he is, his body betraying his heart and clinging to them like a baby clinging to its mother. He does not want to give himself away so easily, but he is in so much pain from being ignored for so long, that he cannot say no as they switch attention to his chest, licking and sucking ever downward, fingers already on his hips and rubbing the skin along the bone there, before they slip under the cloth of his pants.

His mind is wailing now, telling him to make them stop, to throw them out and lock the door tight, but his treacherous body will not let him, as they oh so slowly slip off his pants, those thin fingers with their long nails smoothing out his skin so gently, that his heart weeps from how badly he is longing to be touched like this, so much that it hurts, for the person making him feel this way now, is not the person he wants them to be.

He breathes out painfully, his eyes shut tight and his fingers clawing at his sheets and his pillow, seeking for something, anything, to grant him some kind of support as he steadily sinks down within a sea of pleasure, but then they touch him lower and he cries, as he begins to realize just how far this will go and he feels the tears pooling from his eyes and he is unable to stop them. He already knows this will hurt, hurt like nothing he has ever gone through before and he is not sure if he is ready for it, even if his body is saying he is.

"Ssssh… it's all right, dear, it's all right…"

They say so as they kiss away the tears so tenderly, and he slowly looks up, trying not to cry any more but finding it to be impossible, for their fingers do not move away and he wails.

"Do not fear, dear… I'll be gentle… you've no reason to be afraid…"

"…aahhhh… d… dun… dun call me… call me dear…"

He hates it, when it comes from the mouth of strangers, because he is immediately reminded of Him, the person who used to call him that long ago, the person he wants to be with so badly that it physically hurts him. It hurts so badly that he can barely breathe.

They pause for a brief moment, before they ask of him: "Then what will you have me call you?"

He almost speaks his name, but even when is as drunk as he is, he knows better than to do so, and so all that comes out from his mouth is: "…S… Sak… Saku… ra… raba…"

They repeat his name quietly, and then they smile gently before they move to kiss him again. They keep breathing into his ear to not be scared, that they will be careful to not hurt him, that everything will be all right, but his heart does not agree. He made a promise and he is on the verge of breaking it into a million pieces, and on one hand he wants to safeguard his promise with everything he has, but he has been alone for so long, and he cannot bring himself to make them stop to prevent his promise from being shattered.

He wants it, but he does not want it, he needs it so badly, but he knows that this is not what his heart truly needs and he is torn between what he wants and what he needs, and he cannot bring himself to decide which of the two is the most important.

A soft kiss to his lips, and they slip his arms around their broad, bare shoulders, whispering to him to hold on to them, and he knows that this is the final point, for after this is the point of no return. But he cannot speak about what he wants, as his fingers dig into those hard shoulders, praying and wishing for something to tell him if this is what he was meant to do.

But then they move and he cries.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts

He is crying now and trying to push away, but they hold tight, keeping him still even as he cries about the pain, and yet he knows he has only himself to blame, because he knew from the beginning that it would hurt, knew that he would regret it, he knew… and yet he still went through with it…

"Sssh… shush, Sakura… just relax… ssshh, it's all right, dear, I'm here for you… ssh… Breathe, dear, go on, deep breath, deep breath…"

He tries, heaven knows he tries, but it is just so hard because it just hurts so much, and he clings to them as they link their hands with his, letting him squeeze until there is no more feeling there, even as they move to lick the tears away.

"…it… it h-hurts… p-please… n-no more… oh god it hurts…"

"Sakura, dear, calm down… take a deep breath, go on… there we go… deep breath… that's it… just relax… that's good… just like that…"

He chokes on his own tears, even though the pain is now mostly gone, because he cannot help but be afraid, afraid of his own tortured soul as his body begs for more, his mind screams to stop, and his heart cries in agony. They run gentle hands through his hair, kissing away every tear and whispering sweet words of comfort into his ear that he cannot hear.

No more no more it hurts it hurts why why please please I want I need I can't I…

When they move back slowly, he whimpers softly, his body shaking as he clings tightly to them, and then he lets out a quiet cry that barely escapes his throat as they move forward again, moving slowly and so gently and holding him close enough to kiss him, as they continue to kiss away all his tears.

His body betrays both his heart and his mind, and he no longer has the desire to break away as a tingle runs through his back and along his arms and down his legs and it makes his toes curl into the mattress and his fingers claw at their back. They are so gentle with him, so careful and watchful of his pain, they look at him with care and concern, a look he has missed more than he wishes to admit, because it is a look that means without a shadow of doubt that he is loved and cherished and precious…

He has always been alone…

Always abandoned…

Always unnoticed…

Enough…

Enough is enough…

He wants… needs to feel loved… it does not even matter by who now… he just needs to know he is still alive… needs to know that someone out there cares whether he lives to see another day or whether he is to die overnight… that someone will cry for him if he is no longer there…

And yet… as his eyes close tight, the face that watches him, the hands that touch him, the voice that whispers to him, does not belong to them, he knows… and he cries soundlessly, because the person he so badly wishes to be with is not there… will never be there…

He sobs as he holds on tight, and he clings to them like a drowning man to a life preserver, for his chest hurts so much now, that it is almost impossible to breathe, and he chokes on a cry that he cannot even grasp the meaning of as they whisper almost continuously in his ear, a string of sweet words and endearments that seek desperately to soothe his pain in any way they can, their hands sliding over his skin so gently and caring and he knows that this is just too much for him to bear…

His voice fails him as his vision goes white, even behind eyelids that are shut tight, and his body shakes and he feels them shake as well as they choke on a sharp gasp as he stills. It is so hot then, and he can no longer hold on as his hands slip to land on the bed, his body losing all the strength it needs to support itself, but he does not even care about it in the least, even when they rest beside him, pulling him close to them and holding on tight, gently kissing the back of his shoulder a few times, murmuring to him gently in words he does not comprehend, and he wonders if it is even Japanese… but it does not matter…

Nothing matters anymore… he is too tired… physically, mentally… he just wants to sleep and wake up to find that everything was a bad dream… so that hopefully this horrible pain in his chest will go away.

That is all that passes through his mind before his consciousness fades away, as the foundation of a fragile house of cards that is his life is set up.

This was something that rolled into my head at one point and, since it was interfering with "Wishes", I put it on paper. This story is not going to be a happy story, as you may have already guessed, and it's only going to get worse so keep your tissues handy. I surely needed them writing this. *blows nose*

Anyway, the story is loosely based off of a manga I read, called "Illumination", and the situation is similar, but different at the same time. I never finished the manga, so I have no idea how it ends. Oh well.

So… who knows who's who in this story? I'm sure it's not THAT hard to figure out, if you put your brains into it.

Oh and don't worry; this WILL be NeJo by the time this is over. Just don't expect updates to be coming as fast as with "Wishes", because this story is three stages long, but they're all really long, I know that much without even writing them.