Art Lectures...
Chapter 1: Death, A Lecture of.
"All Art is quite useless..." ~Oscar Wilde
Beat's first impression of Neku had been that of a cold and whiny prick. For the first week-and-a-half of the Game, he had been proven right.
But... as they reached the end of the third week of the Game, the ex-reaper realized that he had started liking the younger boy. Neku had bared his soul, telling Beat about his parents' divorce and how he couldn't trust anyone after his father had moved away. He had assuaged Beat's crippling fear of not being able to save Rhyme, with an eye-to-eye and fervently spoken promise. The kid had even saved his life a couple of times. Those were things no one except Rhyme had ever done for him. But what Neku was able to do to him was something nobody else had ever done before. The brunet's presence had caused a warmth in Beat that he had never ever never felt or dreamed of feeling.
The blond thought of the last time he had seen Sakuraba. It had been six months since the end of the Game. In that time, the brunet had put on a bit more muscle. He was more a lithe panther now than a thin stray cat. His hair was now slightly longer, and (if possible) spikier and more unkempt. His eyes that had once glittered with anger and distrust now shone with kindness and joy. He no longer had on his ever-present headphones, looking more approachable.
But now whilst in Neku's presence, in addition to the warmth that Beat felt in his very being, a very familiar heat would pool in his groin. The blond had noticed that instead of noticing Neku as family, he was looking at him in... in a different way. Beat now couldn't help the ever-present blushes and the nervousness. He had started feeling so awkward around the younger guy that he just avoided Phones' presence altogether.
The skateboarder had called Neku five minutes ago, asking him to meet in Udagawa. Neku's voice had betrayed some skittering emotion (nervousness? dread? excitement? Beat hoped it was excitement.) when he answered with a stuttering, "S-sure." Now the teen skated furiously towards the backstreets of Shibuya. The blond was determined that today Neku would hear those three words...
Joshua sat upon the throne of Shibuya, center of the city's Soul, pondering how he could possibly alleviate his boredom. He couldn't toy with his Reapers for a while seeing as there were barely any left. He had this dreadful affliction of late that gave him a headache as soon as he glanced at a television. The internet and world of literature both sounded painfully dull. So, as tormenting his dear Sanae had also become rather dull over the past four decades, he had to resort to something beyond his usual capacity for amusement. After two attempts, his mind started to wander.
The semi-omnipotent being felt a bit troubled that someone who got bored so easily was supposed to be God over several tens of thousands of people. Interrupting this rare rational line of thought, his lazy Inner Eye alighted on a figure rapidly crossing the street on a skateboard. Atop it a skull-cap whipped in the breeze.
All of Joshua's focus at once magnified the boy-no, even at sixteen, he was practically a man-and his incredibly muscular arms, then swiveled upwards into his strong face dusted with light blond stubble. The Composer's gaze lingered dreamily into the mischievous blue eyes radiating a powerful Imagination. The composer tried to restrain himself from inspecting every millimeter of the man's body; from the way the small blond hairs on his chest visible through his tank top glinted in the sun, to how the blue veins in his forearms and biceps encircled the solid muscle.
The now-not-so-bored composer lost himself in a few moments of fantasy as he imagined those rough, thickly calloused hands running over his body, causing a painful but much wanted friction. Joshua shuddered as he imagined them slowly trailing down his back, knuckles and finger-tips kneading in the hard muscles... the soon-to-be-silver-haired-again being smiled evilly to himself, the faintest sliver of mortal excitement spreading through his body.
The composer believed a play-date would certainly trump reclining on a tiresome throne of stone. As several cars synchronously crashed into the blond man, the second most powerful being in Shibuya slipped out a very effeminate giggle.
Beat found himself lying on the concrete. Man, it's like dejah boo, or whatever that stuff is, yo, Beat thought to himself.
He pulled himself up, and saw that he was in the Scramble Crossing. He peered around, looking for one of those gargantuan digital clocks. He read the time on one and his heart stopped for a full four seconds. He re-read the numbers on the clock thrice. After pinching himself and looking again at the clock, he nearly screamed out in sheer anger. No way I've been asleep for twelve hours in Scramble Crossing, Beat thought furiously. The blond walked up to a suited man carrying a briefcase and murmuring on a cellphone, half-knowing what would happen.
The instant his hand touched the man's shoulder, it met no physical resistance and easily passed through the now semi-transparent appendage.
"GAWDAMMIT!"
It had been more difficult than he would have thought to figure out who to invite to his little play-date. Minamimoto was essential of course: at least two sadists were necessary. Joshua once again thought of Hanekoma, but he had the odd habit of refusing to take part in any of Joshua's Games when they involved sex. What, just because he was an angel meant he had to be a bore? The Composer supposed he would just have to settle for a game of three: himself, Beat, and Sho.
A lollipop-wielding subordinate arrived to meet him, breaking his usually calm demeanor with barely noticeable eye twitches.
"Uh... I really don't want to remind you about this, but... is it time for me to send out the mission yet?" Kariya's face had relaxed after finally asking the question.
Joshua chuckled darkly as his white aura crackled and expanded. He elegantly flourished one hand in a gesture that could have been a death sentence or a plea for the hamster television show DVD to be inserted into the DVD player, for all the Conductor knew.
"Yes. I believe it is time." That thankfully cleared things up a bit.
The bean-paste sucking reaper, against his better judgment and his admittedly lax morals, pressed the Send button on a flip cell-phone.
A/N: This is a bit too rushed for my liking, and I'm probably going to regret posting it. But there are nowhere near enough TWEWY fanfics out there for such an awesome game, and I also demand more Beat love.