His sapphire orbs scan the city-like area, darting side to side, left to right, as if on patrol for something - something meaningful. Nothing catches the attention of the raven-haired boy, only countless individuals wrapped in their winter coats, a cup of coffee in one hand, the other occupying either a newspaper or a cell phone. Bodies pass, paying no heed to Shinn nor to the individuals they bump into. Their shoulders skim his, but he feels no recoil, the beings walking through him as if he were invisible, hollow and untouchable. He wants to call out "Hello. . .?", but the words do not sound right in his ears. He tries again but results in the same, foreign utterance. Realizing the futility of conversation, he closes his mouth, listening to the fuzzed up whispers and stutters muffled around him, piercing through his wary ears.
The shrills ring throughout his mind, like a bee exploring the depths of a new-found area, buzzing in and out of his once composed mentality. He cannot help but be driven crazy by the resounding, aching shrieks. A groan escapes his lips as his hands reach toward his ears, desperately endeavoring to quell the high-pitched frequencies and to prevent any more vibrations from entering his ears. It does not work, the screeching lingers, lurks, inside his head. He growls in frustration now, growing desperate as thoughts of insanity cross his mind.
Anything's better than dealing with this.He contemplates, comparing the shrill to the high-pitched ringing of microphones. His cupped hands dig into the skin behind his ears, delving deeper and deeper, inch by inch, as his mind skids on the border of insanity.
Make it stop…The little boy in him screams, his inner child conquering the plains of his mind, his thought.
Make… It…
"STOP!" He nearly cries, his lungs drawing any possible particle of air they could muster.
"Stop. . ." He pants, heaving breaths his body longs for, his hands finally falling to his sides.
The shadows of his obsidian hair shield his eyes, his shoulders slouched, and his back slightly hunched over as if his legs will give out in the next few seconds. His legs are weak and trembling, the same state his heart is in, but he cannot voice his faults, his feebleness. After all, it was a tacit code to conform to society's rule, to ignore common sense and true sentiments, to conceal genuine self-expression and sugar-coat the world's darkness. He could feel his mind slipping into that darkness, that forgotten, hidden universe.
'Cause you're everywhere to me. When I catch my breath it's you I breathe.
His ears perk up, and his eyes, which had been closed, now open and focus toward an unknown direction, the one that will lead him to the mysterious melody.
You're everything I know that makes me believe; I'm not alone.
He knows he's on the right path, his senses aware of the melody's proximity.
You're in everyone I see. So, tell me – Do you see me?
He spots her – the face he had grown accustomed to, the fuchsia hair he had grown fond of, and the distinguished, vermillion eyes that would always capture his own cobalt ones – those eyes that read and resonate in the depths of his soul. He opens his mouth, but his words slur, choked by the dryness of his throat. "You're..." He starts but clears his throat before repeating the statement, gaining one extra moment to collect his thoughts. "A-Are... Are you..." But the organization of his mind clutters and reverts back to its jumbled state, and the words stop behind the clump in his throat.
"Shinn?" Her voice is unsteady, uncertain, but it gathers said boy's mind and snaps him back into reality.
"Masami?" The name rolls off his tongue, feeling alien in his language. He could tell that she felt as bizarre as him using her first name, silently noting to remember the uncomfortable shifting of her feet. "Iwasawa." He corrects himself.
The vocalist perks up, straightening her stature and giving him her full attention. Her eyes briefly lock with his icy orbs, freezing them in place.
She closes her eyes to rid herself of the chilling feeling, but upon opening them, she finds nothing but pure white surrounding her, soon followed by the formations of familiar figures - figures letting her know that it was all merely a dream. She sighs, willing her body out of the contentment of her dream world and readying herself for another seemingly-endless day.
"Where am I?"
"My house."
"What happened?"
"You fainted."
"You took me here?"
"Yes. Yuzuru helped me."
Shinn glances over at the burgundy-eyed red-head, who, in turn, smiles back. The soloist loses his voice, his words, no phrase nor grammatical result fitting the context of his mind - that is, if his mind were not in the muddled state it was presently in. Angel remains oblivious to his current bewilderment; Otonashi, on the other hand, attempts to relieve him of the feeling.
"Kanade, why don't you make us some tea?" The red- head suggests, his eyes briefly contacting with Shinn's. "I'm sure it'll help him clear his head."
Angel silently obliges, adding a skip in her step. Once her fleeting figure disappears into the kitchen, Shinn takes the initiative to explore his surroundings, allowing his sapphire orbs to wander about in the mainly white, palace-like house. His eyes scan his current location: a lavender-colored carpet layering the floor, light hues of red, almost pink, embellishing the curtains around the windows, full book shelves resting against the white walls, and a crimson-colored sofa with gold trimmings in the center of the room along with a small, glass coffee table. Otonashi was seated in a radiant-red sofa chair across from Shinn, who was sitting on the couch. Pools of cobalt continue to survey the area before stopping on something vague and wistful, something black and white, something ivory that so obviously required musical abilities. Shinn stares at the oversized object in the corner of the room, situated adjacent to the window holding an unimaginable view of Angel's picture-perfect garden. He hovers a hand over his chest, accustomed to both the action and the slight ache convulsing within it. The object - the piano - had struck a chord within his heartstring. He knew, he was so certain, of its proximity to his heart, of its capability to break the torn region, and of its potency to mend the fragmented area.
No, that was not it; he was wrong. The instrument itself held little to no value in his heart, but the idea, the music, the joyous and genuine feelings associated with it, with any instrument, was what made his soul stir.
Otonashi coughs, a signal that gains Shinn's attention. "I'm Otonashi Yuzuru, by the way." He says, realizing he had not yet made a proper introduction.
"Yukimura Shinn." The raven-haired boy replies. "But Shinn is fine." He breathes out.
"So, Shinn..." Otonashi starts after noting the boy's abnormal, outlandish behavior. "Do you play?" He gestures toward the piano that Shinn had been eyeing.
The soloist hesitates to answer, some familiar sentiment surfacing in the pit of his heart. He searches his memories, each scene from his childhood, from his adolescence, from his death, from his afterlife, and even from the pale, purgatorial world he had been trapped in, playing like a movie in the back of his head. He still wonders about the white world that had encased him along with the origins of the all-knowing voice that he had heard. He still, in that moment, wonders where, in all of creation, he was.
A distant look consumes his eyes, and he finally wills himself to answer. "I play guitar." He says slowly. "And sing too, but I never was in a band. I prefer to play solo." It was not a factor of pride nor arrogance but of the social awkwardness and slight inferiority he felt when surrounded by large groups of people, but he had, for the most part, overcome all that back in the afterlife with the SSS.
He notices Angel walk in with a tray of tea-filled cups before making her way back to the kitchen, only to once again return with another tray. The contents of the second tray spread its odor throughout the air, tickling his nostrils with its spicy scent. He quietly sniffs, formulating a guess as to what the mysterious second tray holds.
"More mabo tofu, Kanade? Thanks." Otonashi nervously takes a spoonful, his throat practically burning at the food's scent alone.
Shinn smiles, satisfied that his assumption was correct. He takes a spoonful now, trying his best to fight the tears threatening his eyes and the searing burn coursing through his throat. "Thank you, Angel." He had used her codename out of habit and glances up to check her reaction, only to find her behaving normally.
"You're welcome." She replies simply, already finishing her share of mabo tofu.
She brings her tea cup to her lips. Shinn and Otonashi share a look - one of slight amusement and one of nervousness - both their eyes moist from the tears burning through and their mouths swollen red from the infernal searing.
Otonashi gulps down his tea, gently setting his cup down before further interrogating the soloist. "You said you play guitar? And sing too, right?" He waits for Shinn to nod, continuing after receiving the gesture. "Do you know anyone named Masami Iwasawa?"
Shinn straightens up in his seat, having been idly running his index finger along the rim of his tea cup. Pools of cobalt now gaze into burgundy ones, as if investigating, analyzing each subtle movement, each concealed sentiment, and each scrap of information they seem to hold. In his ears, the red-head's question seemed quite rhetorical, not only to him but to all three beings in the room. He wonders if that Otonashi character knew about his time in the Afterlife, with the Battlefront, with GirlDeMo.
"Yea." His tone sullen with silent sadness and hollow with nostalgia.
He takes a sip of tea, forcing the liquid to continue down his throat, a small scowl forming his lips. He preferred drinking coffee much more than tea, but he comments only on the subject at hand.
"I met her, along with her band, at the Afterlife Battlefront." He shifts his attention from the red-head to the Angel, who paid heed only to his voice. He stops, settling his eyes on the ivory instrument in the corner.
"Kanade told me that you were one of the first members of the SSS, that you found peace before I came." Otonashi states, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "What's your story?"
Shinn sighs - quietly inhaling before heavily breathing out, the subtle odor of green tea mingling with the overpowering scent of mabo tofu. "I don't know much about my biological father. Only that he died when I was 8 and left an acoustic guitar in my stead." The memory of a man much older than Shinn forms in his mind, lustrous glints in his sapphire eyes and a certain, eerie shine in his assuring smirk.
"My mother remarried, and my step-dad wasn't exactly the nicest guy in the world." His teeth clench, and his brain tells him to shut his mouth. But he disregards the rising anger and cautious advice.
"He would beat me, disparage me, blame me for everything, and point out all my faults." His step-father was the reason he had resolved to steel his heart against any and all emotion, along with the actions associated with it.
"My mother knew about it all - the beatings and insults - but all she would do was smile." Smiling was a sign of happiness, and happiness never lasts for more than a moment. But after spending so much time with the Battlefront, he had changed his mind about the concepts of contentment.
"She smiled as if everything was okay, as if we could all live as one big happy family." As if closed off to the world around her, his mother would merely smile.
"I felt so trapped between the assaults, the criticism, and above all, the false happiness. The only liberation I felt was when I would sing and play guitar." Freedom had no place to reign in his world, no time to conquer the invading forces that had captured and burdened him.
A small smile graces Shinn's lips, Otonashi and Angel silently noting the slight happiness at the mere mention of music.
"One day, my step-dad took my only source of sanity and destroyed it, saying that I should focus more on my studies." Cobalt orbs hide behind eyelids as Shinn continues his story.
"I snapped. That guitar was the last of my real father's mementos, and my mom just smiled through all of it." He shakes his head, his bitter tone surfacing before diminishing as quickly as it escalated, his eyes still secured shut.
"So, I wanted to know. Would she still smile if I threw my life away?" He lets out a sigh, now revealing the cool tone of his eyes and the frustration, the regret, they held. "Then, believe it or not, Iwasawa was actually the first person I met in the afterlife."
"Maybe you two were fated for each other?" Otonashi muses aloud, attempting to alleviate the gravity of conversation.
Shinn stares blankly, nothing in particular focusing in his tired eyes. He lets out an airy chuckle, his soul stirring and his heart aching for the happiness he so desperately desires to find. "Maybe…"
"So Yui, the school festival's next week. Hinata comin'?" Hisako asks, her voice a bored tone. School had just ended, and with the aforementioned festival approaching, GirlDeMo had resolved to play in it.
"I think so." The pinkette replies, her thumb and coiled index finger pinching her chin. "Why?"
Hisako shrugs. "Just wondering. Maybe Yuri and the rest of the gang will come too, right Iwasawa?" She looks toward the vocalist, whose focus is on an easily-memorable guitar pick.
"Maybe." Iwasawa replies, still staring at the small object.
I Do Not Own Angel Beats