Perfection
They always had something missing, the crowds.
A flow of trends and blind eyes, feet storming onwards to nowhere – just as they missed their own end coming, they can't spot these beaming eyes.
In a corner of metal and concrete, a handful of souls is all it takes to brighten the whole town; and nobody can laugh just as loud, for their laughter still carries the fingerprints of true silence.
They eat or drink or speak nonsense, with the burning energy that was the last gift of their victory. Their memories are colourful now – they hold window-shopping races, lunchtimes spent eating much and chatting a lot more, afternoon full of chasing each other's happiness. And when the evening falls, when the sun drowns in the skyscrapers, they yawn and fall half-asleep in the arms of someone else.
At dusk, when the light fades, parts of the town vanish again. They always take more care. Beat feels his little sister's ribcage, frail and small as that of a nightingale, and swears in his mind he'll never let go of it again. Sometimes she laughs, calling him big teddybear brother, and hugs him tighter. The three of them don't say a word; and Neku doesn't care to whom the fingers he meets – slender and delicate, strong and rough – belong. Squeezing them is enough to make the missing parts click back into place.
By the end of the day the crowds are still running. More and more scattered on their way home, they rush to their safe doorways to lock themselves in their lives, and their houses are shields. They, on the other hand, walk in peace; surrounded by emptiness, they still feel complete.
By the end of the day, not a soul in Shibuya has noticed them. And the heavens sigh from above – irritated, but still smiling, they can't turn their gaze away. In the end, a glimpse of perfection has made it through.
I finished this amazing game in the morning. I was so awestruck.