A/N: Life got complicated, as it does. Back on track now, though. I won't be back to two chapters a month for the next while—still figuring out just how often I'll be able to update—but regular updates should once again be a Thing.

Also YEAH FINAL REMIX! Thank you, Nintendo! Don't forget to start tagging spoilers again, folks.

ten: behind closed doors

In his dreams, Neku looked for the people he would have to say goodbye to, though in the haze of the dreamspace, he couldn't quite remember where he was going or why, only that he wouldn't be back.

He found Shiki first, standing by Hachiko and staring into the crowd of passersby with a strange expression, holding Mr. Mew tightly to her chest with one hand and rubbing her throat absentmindedly with the other. He followed her gaze, and thought that he saw flashes of bright orange and pink in the corner of his eye as he turned his head. He tensed, but when he looked straight at them they were gone, and when he turned back to Shiki she was all brave smiles. "You've got that serious look on your face," she said. "You've made up your mind what to do about all this, haven't you?"

"Yeah," he said, and there was a certain peace in the word, even as it hurt.

She nodded, and then asked, simply, "Will I see you again, afterwards?"

The frankness of the question, and the softness of the dream, made it easier to answer honestly. "I… don't think so."

Another nod. "Do me a favor?"

"Anything."

She laughed a little at the haste with which he said it, and for an instant he saw an image of the sullen boy she'd met a month ago. "I'm not sure right now," she said, "if you're dreaming me, or I'm dreaming you, or if it makes any difference. But if you remember this later, when you see me for real, just… promise you won't lie to me, all right? I mean, if there are things you really can't tell me, then don't. But promise me you won't lie just to make me feel better."

He swallowed. "I promise I'll tell you what I can."

"Good. Thank you." She gave him a light shove on his shoulder. "Go on, then. You've got places to be, right?"

"Shiki, there's so much I haven't had the chance to say—"

"I know," she said. "But say it in person, all right? We've still got six days."

And she was gone, and he took a step away, and found himself stepping into a long, dark hallway and shutting a door behind him.

There were other doors, all closed, but as he brushed his fingers across them sounds and images flickered in his senses: snatches of music and conversation, flashes of sunlight and office desks and shop windows. He'd find a different person on the other side of each one, he realized, they were all here, and the realization brought a moment of elation followed by despair, because when he looked up the hall stretched on, and on, and on, and he had no idea how to find only the people he was looking for.

But he had to try, and so he ran, skimming his fingers over the surface of every door he passed in the hopes of catching something familiar.

At last he found a door that made the bright colors of the Udagawa mural splash into his vision when he touched it, and he went through.

He was met with the sight of his own body dead on the ground and haloed in blood, and wasn't really surprised to find that it didn't bother him beyond a sort of vague annoyance: Yeah, yeah. I know. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt; can we change the subject now?

He wasn't really surprised, either, to see his mother sitting on the pavement, her knees drawn up to her chest, looking lost and childlike and tired as she looked down at the body. He sat down next to her, said nothing.

"They said it was an accident." She didn't look at him.

He leaned forward, rested his chin on his hands. "Yeah, I guess they would've."

"Was it?"

"No."

"I tried to tell them," she said, her voice faroff. "They said it was a stray bullet, but the shot was so clean. Dead center. They wouldn't listen to me. I don't know why they couldn't see it."

The spot on his forehead burned where Joshua had tapped it. He heard himself say, "It's sort of a long story."

Her laugh was silent, humorless, exhausted. "I've got time."

He passed a hand over his eyes. "Wish I could say the same."

"You're not back to stay," she said, very quietly. "Are you." It wasn't really a question.

"It doesn't look that way. I'm… sorry."

She bit her lip and nodded, and was silent for a moment before saying, "Just tell me. Wherever you're going next, is it…" Her voice shook, and steadied. "Is it all right?"

He opened his mouth, and found the easy lie wouldn't come out, and his mother shook her head and murmured, "I've got to stop this. It isn't real. It isn't real."

And he was back in the hall, the door shutting with a bang behind him. He turned to look at it and rocked back on his heels, nonplussed. Where the door had been was now a blank wall.

He turned and kept going, door after door after door, but the images that flashed past were unfamiliar and unpromising and so he dashed by them, one after another, faster and faster—

A sea of black stone, littered with rubble, loomed for a moment in his vision as he ran, and he stopped and went back, though he couldn't have said what was familiar about the scene.

"—Find no delight in needless cruelty." The words were quiet and earnest. "The upcoming alteration of the board will be… difficult for you. We understand that. If you would but open your mind to us, we could save you much—"

The door opened a few inches—

Static.

The world reeled and lurched around him as he hit the floor, and someone flashed him a grin that was half friendly, and half a cat baring its fangs. "Toldyou to knock it the hell—"

—and then slammed shut with such force it barked Neku's knuckles, and another voice, full of cold anger, snapped: Get out.

And the dream—if it was a dream—ended, and Neku slept.

Neku woke, and with his eyes still closed he slowly registered that he was back in his bed, in his room.

It wasn't the scramble, so that was a point in its favor.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, picturing the night sky in its place. He couldn't shake the sense that last night on the rooftop should have felt like a strange, distant dream, a memory that would slip away in sunlight, the same way that memories of the Game's end had made Shiki crease her brow and speak in uncertain, halting questions. It hadn't been real, after all; he hadn't been there.

But it felt real; he could recall not just the dazzling sight of the stars but the feeling of cold rough concrete at his back, and the night air shifting softly against his face, and the strange soft pressure of Joshua's hand closing around his own. (And it occurred to him with a kind of resigned clarity that for all he'd pulled away from that gesture, he had reached out again without hesitation.)

I don't know if you're dreaming me, or I'm dreaming you, or if it makes any difference. He frowned as the voice came back to him. Not Joshua who had said that—and then he remembered Shiki. And his mother by the mural, and…

He shifted uneasily. Those memories felt more like dreams than the rooftop did, but at moments there had been a clear, vivid sharpness to them. Like a radio coming into tune.

He remembered a door slamming shut.

Cautiously, he sent a thought in the direction of the pact link, or at least in the direction he thought it was; his sense of it was faint this morning. Hey. Joshua. You there?

A moment's pause, and then: Oh, look. Joshua's mental voice was cheerfully smug. Sleeping Beauty's awake—

Shut up, Neku sent back hurriedly, but not before Joshua could finish:

—And it didn't even take a kiss. Sleep well?

Neku refrained from rolling his eyes, with an effort. You know, if you're going to tell me to come back in ten years, you could quit being a flirtatious asshole in the meantime.

We're both going to be dead well within a decade, Neku. And words that should have been a dire omen were said only chidingly. I've got to keep my spirits up somehow.

He shook his head, tried to ignore this. Listen, Josh. Did something… happen last night?

A faint, knowing chuckle that made his ears heat. 'Something' is a very broad word. Specifics?

It's just that I thought… look, after I fell asleep, there was something… weird.

Things that happen after you fall asleep are generally called dreams, Neku. They're frequently strange.

Neku shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep the exasperation off his face. Yeah, okay, smartass. This felt more like I was scanning people. Only times a thousand. I didn't mean to, but… He shied away from the most difficult question, trying to shove that strange expanse of broken stone to the back of his mind, in case Joshua was looking too closely at his thoughts. Look, Joshua, I think my mom remembers what really happened last month.

Mm. It was a neutral sound, noncommital. And what makes you say that?

Oh, I dunno, Neku snapped back, nettled by the lack of a stronger reaction. Because last night I saw her at the mural, staring down at my dead body? Because the last couple days she's been freaking out at the thought of me going anywhere near there? You're the Composer. Aren't you supposed to know this stuff?

I've actually been just a little preoccupied the last few days, Neku.

Josh, if she remembers, what the hell am I supposed to do?

Joshua's tone grew curious. What do you think you ought to—

And there was a flicker of something like surprise, and then the pact link vanished from Neku's awareness.

Josh? Josh.Neku sat up, swallowing the automatic impulse to call out loud. There was no answer. He shut his eyes, searching for any trace of the connection, but it was utterly gone. Damn it. He kicked his blankets aside and pushed himself to his feet—not that he had anywhere to go, but he needed to move.

He had paced back and forth across his room twice when a fast-becoming-familiar shift in the air indicated that he had company. He stopped, tensing, and a quiet voice said, "Is something wrong?"

Neku rounded on the angel, fist raised, and bit out, "What do you want now?"

If the angel was offended by Neku's bluntness, he gave no indication, inclining his head politely. As he did so, his outline pulled into focus, losing the eye-watering not-quite-there effect and resolving itself into the form of a youngish man, unassuming and clean-cut, in a plain gray suit.

Neku glowered. If you think that's going to make me trust you any more…

"Only to talk, Mr. Sakuraba," the angel said quietly. "I regret that my colleagues have gotten off to such a poor start with you. They… forget, many of them, what it is to see the world through a single set of eyes. They see the grand pattern so clearly that they lose sight of the details." He paused, sighed. "Please lower your hands, and release that psych energy you're gathering up. Your Composer's tried it and failed, and you aren't stronger than he is. Not yet."

Your Composer. Rage simmered up in an instant, with a ferocity that left Neku reeling. Was that why Joshua had vanished so suddenly? But Neku, I thought you couldn't afford to lose— No. He shook his head, forcing that moment back into its box, forcing himself to think. That hadn't been real, and this wasn't that, and Joshua was… they had a plan, which meant Joshua wasn't about to do something that would get him killed now.

(No. No, he's saving the suicide mission for later, for both of us, because that's so much better.)

Anyway, not yet, the angel had just said, which meant there hadn't been some major shakeup of the universe; the upcoming Game was still on, and freaking hell, he shouldn't be thinking about that like it was the good option.

Carefully, reluctantly, Neku folded his arms over his chest, and swallowed the question he wanted to ask, which was what did you do to him? There was a plan, and part of that plan was that the angels had to believe that he and Joshua both were actually playing their assigned roles. (And where the hell did Joshua attacking them fit into that?)

You aren't stronger than he is. He ground his teeth, and looked away to stare out the window for a long moment, and finally managed to say sullenly, "Yeah, I know." Not really difficult, putting tired resentment into those words. "If you're here just to remind me of that, you could've waited until my parents left for work. It's going to get weird if they hear us talking."

The angel chuckled. The sound had something like Mr. H's aura in it, that laid-back, easy-to-talk-to air that would pull anyone towards it and encourage them to open up. It made Neku's hackles rise, and it occurred to him to wonder just how much psychic manipulation his onetime idol had been throwing at him, the first day they met. "A fair concern. Our voices are blocked from their hearing at present, but I apologize for the early hour. I would have waited, but—well, my fellows have taken some convincing that more open communication with you is needed, and when the weight of opinion at last swung in favor of the idea I thought it best to act before it shifted back." He sighed, looking tired for a moment, and Neku remembered Joshua's comment about factions within the Higher Planes, that there were those who might be less convinced than the rest that this Game was a good idea. "They see your brilliance, Neku, your potential—you aren't as strong as your Composer now, but you are the closest rival he has ever seen—and they forget that you are yet a child, a victim of his machinations and barely in control of a scant fraction of your power. They forget how much you cannot see."

Neku snorted, still avoiding the angel's gaze. "I thought you people could read minds," he bit out. "They can't see how much I can't see?" He was curious—had been curious, since Joshua's disclosure regarding the defenses on his mind—if they would actually admit that they couldn't.

The hesitation that met this question was audible. At last the angel said, carefully, "You're not aware, then. I thought perhaps you weren't."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, so no. I guess not."

Another pause. "The truth is, Neku, you've been blocking us out since your return from the Game."

"I—what?" He didn't entirely have to fake the surprise. Joshua had claimed responsibility for his mental defenses—of course he did—but their pact had only been remade two days ago. "I knew Kariya couldn't get in, but—you?" The angel inclined his head with a slight, rueful smile, and Neku ran a hand through his hair, distractedly. "Oh. Good."

"Not as good as you think, though I sympathize with the desire," the angel told him quietly. "There are very few who can do what you've done, and intentional or not, it's been seen as an act of defiance—a dangerous one."

"Yeah. Right. Much as I'd love to be dangerous to you people, I seriously doubt—"

"Not dangerous to us." The angel paced across the room, leaned against the windowsill to stare pensively down at the street. After a moment he asked, "How's your mother been, since you came back?"

Neku went carefully still. He said nothing.

"Neku, I can understand your resistance to the concept of psychic… interference, particularly after the way the Composer—" a pause, a sigh— "Joshua—manipulated you during the Game. And if you were an island, caring for no one and affecting nothing…" The angel glanced back, a regretful smile crossing his face. "Or I should say, if you were still such an island, perhaps you'd get away with walling yourself off from the universe. But you aren't, and you shouldn't be, and I don't think you'd want to be. Do you?"

Neku looked away and hunched his shoulders uncomfortably, reluctant to be drawn into agreement with the angel on anything, even something as inarguably true as this. "You know I don't. But there's a pretty thick line between walling myself off from the universe and letting you in. Get to the point."

"The point is that you've come to care about people—which is good—and you are, I think, instinctively trying to protect them—which is noble." The angel shrugged. "Unfortunately, you have no idea what you're doing, and what your subconscious sees as a threat is in fact more or less vital to their lives. I know you've observed your mother's behavior, the last few days." His gaze became knowing as his voice softened. "She dreams of a street where her son lies lifeless on the ground, and the image grows more vivid every night. So tell me, Neku, what are you protecting her from?"

Neku swallowed, at a loss for an answer to that. "So tell me how to stop messing with her head, and I will."

"We would. But you know how it works," the angel said gently. "How many times did Shiki say something similar to you? I want to help, but you've got to let me in."

Neku stiffened, hands clenching involuntarily; however kindly the angel's tone, Shiki's name on his lips was a reminder and a threat. Yes, we watch. We've noticed her. We noticed Beat, too. And you know how it works when you care about someone, in these games.

"The point is that we can't tell you how to undo what you've done," the angel persisted, "if we can't see what you've done. It's not as straightforward as Press X to cancel, unfortunately."

"If I were to cooperate with you," Neku bit out, "would it stop the Game? Would you give Beat back? Would it—"

A raised hand forestalled his questions. "I understand your urgency. But please understand these aren't questions with simple—"

"In other words," Neku interrupted, his voice flat, "no."

"In other words, a yes would depend on a great deal more than your cooperation."

It was bait, of course it was bait, and as obvious about it as the day that Uzuki had said in her cheery sing-song, I'll let you out of the Game if you just do one little thing…

Neku still couldn't stop himself from giving the angel a quick, sharp look, even as he hated himself for it. But it was better to find out as much as he could about this newest angle of attack, wasn't it? Carefully, slowly, wondering if there was too much wariness in his voice or not enough, he asked, "Just how much more?"

The angel was silent for a moment as he left the window and took a seat by Neku's desk. "Let us say," he said at last, "that you aren't the only one in Shibuya who's taken to shutting us out entirely. And again, Neku, I'm afraid you fall victim to your Composer's games. If we could see his state of mind… well, things might have gone differently, yes? The Fal—him you know as Hanekoma, he argued for decades for us to leave Joshua to his own devices, and for decades we listened. I'm sure you can see, in light of recent events, why many think that was a bad idea."

"Oh, you're waiting for Joshua to cooperate. Great. Yeah. I'm sure that'll happen any second now. Or, you know, five minutes after the last living creature on Earth keels over dead from holding its breath. One or the other."

The angel cocked his head to one side, and Neku had the sudden sense that every inch of him, inside and out, was visible and being studied intently by something as vast and alien to him as a human scientist to a microbe. The force of it made him stagger and his hands shake, but he forced his shoulders square and held his ground, glaring, trying to still the tremors. "Whatever you're doing, knock it the hell off."

The angel blinked, and the horrible pressure evaporated as suddenly as it had begun. "You worry for him, even now."

Neku ducked his head uncomfortably and muttered, "You had to put me under a microscope to figure that out?"

"I apologize for that," the angel said calmly. "We wished to examine your mental defenses from a slightly different angle; I'll admit I'm surprised you could sense our scrutiny. The intent was not to cause you discomfort."

Yeah. Right.

The angel leaned forward in his chair, resting elbows on knees and propping his chin on his hands. "Neku, for whatever it's worth, your worry is understandable. It was barely two weeks ago that you believed you saw him die, under fairly traumatic circumstances, at a time when your own survival depended on his. And then—well. He gave you back your life, and the lives of those you cared for, and you found yourself opened up to a new existence. Of course you feel loyalty to him."

Breathe. Breathe. It hurt, hearing it laid out so bluntly, as if anything he thought or felt about Joshua was to be diagnosed and understood and fixed— Hah. Wouldn't that be nice. Never mind the arrogance of this angel, who admitted he couldn't even read Neku's mind, trying to explain his own feelings to him when he wasn't even certain himself what he felt. As if loyalty even began to capture the whole mess.

But there was a plan, even if there wasn't a goodplan. Appear to resign ourselves to the inevitable, Joshua had said. They think we're both reasonable enough to get there. Neku kept his voice carefully toneless, and managed, "Doesn't really matter what I feel, does it? He's still going to kill me in the end, if I don't…" His throat tightened, and for an instant he was back in the throne room trying to lift the gun, trying to pull the trigger as his hands shook harder and no. Breathe. "If I don't get over it."

The angel's voice was quiet. "I don't want to see that happen."

He gave a tired, disbelieving laugh. "Yeah? Well, I'll try real hard not to disappoint you, but we don't always get what we want."

"No… well. As for what it would take to stop the Game—" The angel sighed. "I agree with you that securing the Composer's cooperation would be… exceedingly difficult, particularly as he knows he would be highly unlikely to keep his throne. Truthfully, it's unfortunate; he has a talented mind, and if his pride would only bend a little he might meet a kinder and less wasteful fate, but…" He spread his hands and shrugged. "He is what he is. And much as we cannot teach you to undo what you've done to your mother's mind if we cannot seewhat you've done, we would be unable to help you—or anyone else—repair the larger instabilities in Shibuya if we can't clearly see his part in causing them. He's too closely intertwined with the city."

Neku narrowed his eyes, and nearly opened his mouth to say, Joshua said I caused them, and stopped himself. If he said it out loud, the angel's response would certainly be: Yes, he did, didn't he?

And Neku would trust Joshua over this angel or any other—would trust Joshua with his life, because he already had, hadn't he? But this angel was still exuding that calm, beguilingly reasonable aura that was really making Neku give his memories of Mr. H some serious sideeye, and the fact was that Neku didn't really want to give this angel the chance to have what would be, inarguably, a half-decent point. Which was: there was a difference between trusting Joshua and believing what Joshua said, and it was a big enough difference that a bus could have driven between the two.

"There are other problems that would have to be solved as well, but that's the thorniest one," the angel said quietly. "If anyone could get past his defenses, it's possible that even the more unforgiving among us might be persuaded around to a less antagonistic approach. But as you noted, when he's decided to be uncooperative…" The angel paused for a moment, tilted his head to one side, stared at the ceiling as if searching for words. "He has," he said at last, "both a gift and a passion for it."

In spite of himself, Neku let out a snort. "Yeah, that's one way to put it."

The angel gave the slightest of rueful smiles, and Neku had to wonder just how much of Joshua Kiryu's personal brand of bullshit the Higher Planes had had to cope with in the two days the Composer had been under house arrest. "And without his cooperation, we cannot see the truth of him."

There was a faint, knowing emphasis on that word we, and his gaze landed on Neku and flicked away again, and Neku almost choked. "If you think I can, I think you missed what happened the last time I tried to read his mind. Like hell I'm chasing down that rabbit hole again."

Never mind that what had happened still felt, in some way, like it was on him. Because I couldn't trust my partner. Because even with Shiki's life on the line, I couldn't.

And never mind that he'd been played straight into it. It still felt like he'd failed a test, how easily Joshua had pulled his strings that week.

"I know what he did," the angel said quietly. "And I make no assumptions about what you can or cannot do, where he is concerned. You only asked what it would take to have a chance at stopping the Game, and I answered. But I think perhaps you underestimate yourself, Neku." The angel's gaze was intent. "You aren't the same boy he decided to pick up and play with a month ago. At the very least, I doubt he could get into your head now the way he did then—I doubt he could get in at all, in fact. Not if you didn't want him to."

Neku stiffened. Disbelief bubbled up first, but then he paused, thinking about the previous night, and about Joshua's breezy dismissal—I was only reading your face, not your mind. I assure you I'm not as interested as you think I am.

And of course, he thought resignedly, that would be Joshua's answer to what he couldn't in fact do, wouldn't it? He wasn't about to take anything the angel said at face value, but it sure as hell wouldn't be a shock, anyway.

The angel went on, oblivious to Neku's momentary confusion—was he oblivious? Was that a knowing glint in his eyes? He didn't know about last night on the rooftop, or they wouldn't be having such a borderline-friendly conversation now, but maybe Neku's poker face really was that bad. "Of course, that's only speculation, but it's likely speculation. And I think,Neku, that in his way he's been just as rattled by you as you have by him."

Neku averted his gaze uncomfortably, and tried not to feel the sharp pang that went through his chest at those last words. We're neither of us quite who we were a month ago. The Higher Planes had watched Joshua for far longer than Neku had known him; was that so obvious, to them?

"As I said," the angel added, "no assumptions, but I also suspect that if anyone could get through to him before the Game begins, it would be you."

"Get through to him. What's that mean? You think I'm going to—what, talk him around to your point of view?" Neku kept his voice level with effort. "Which I'm supposed to take your word for? Or try to bust into his head uninvited? Even if I could—" His stomach twisted at the thought. All right, he'd scanned people during the Game, even imprinted memes to their thoughts when he'd had to, but he suspected this was something far more invasive the angel was suggesting—or rather, carefully not suggesting. "I wouldn't be any better than him, if I did that."

"I'm not asking you to do anything, Neku, other than consider what's at stake, consider your options, and consider them carefully." The angel shook his head, and stood up with an air that said the conversation, for the time, was over. He bowed politely. "And recall that our time here isn't infinite."

And he was gone.

Neku slumped back against the wall and shut his eyes, trying not to shake as the adrenaline wore off.

Joshua's voice sounded at the back of his mind, quiet and uncharacteristically weary. Careful, Neku. I think that one's actually halfway clever.

Relief washed through him. Yeah, I kinda got that, thanks. Where the hell have you been?

The fleeting impression of a smirk flashed across the link, but it didn't have quite its usual energy to it. Why, partner, you almost sound like you were worried. I'm touched.

So glad to make you happy, Neku snapped back, thinking the sharpest glare he could. He said you'd attacked him, and lost. I thought— no, he couldn't let his mind form the image of what, for a moment, he'd thought. It brought back other memories, older ones, of the day he'd waited by the mural for a friend who hadn't shown up—

Joshua's chuckle was entirely too pleased with itself as it cut through that encroaching darkness. You were worried. You must know he only said that to needle you, Neku. And don't get me wrong, it's terribly endearing that it worked—

Neku could feel his face heat, and hoped it wasn't bright red. Joshua, I'm in a pact with a guy who thought we should stop for coffee in the middle of fighting for our lives. If one of us doesn't worry about your—your total inability to take shit seriously, we're both screwed.

Neku, if I weren't taking things seriously, I'd be sitting back and enjoying your reaction, but—seriously. Joshua's voice sobered and softened. Don't let him get to you. You have enough to think about, and I'm old enough to look after myself. Give me a little credit, partner.

Partner. Neku suppressed a tired sigh, and asked, flatly and without much hope, So he lied? You didn't take a shot at him?

The silence that followed had an edge to it, and was, in itself, a clear enough answer.

Neku drew a mental breath. Goddamnit, Josh—

I had good reasons.

Which were?

Not your concern at present, Mother dear, Joshua said calmly. And I really suspect, Neku, that you're only fixating on this to avoid thinking about the things that are your concern.

Neku pictured a rude gesture as clearly as he could, sent it in the direction of the pact link, opened his eyes, shoved away from the wall and went back to pacing the room.

Some fifteen laps later, he asked, Am I really making Mom remember?

A sigh, and a sense of measured consideration. Probably. It's a peculiar situation, and I'm not in a position to investigate thoroughly at the moment, you understand, but you did it to your friends. It's a reasonable hypothesis.

Okay. It wasn't, but what was there to say? How do I stop?

Same way you fix all the other problems currently facing us, Neku. You step away for long enough to learn more control, and you do it somewhere where you can't inadvertently overcompensate and cause mass amnesia to strike the city while you're learning.

Neku winced. That could happen?

Keep your responses off your face, Neku. Yes, it could happen.

I don't think me looking horrified is going to set off anybody's Suspicious Behavior meter at the moment, Joshua.

That's not the point. It's careless.

Another restless lap of the room, and he flopped over backwards onto his bed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Fine. So he wasn't actually telling us anything new, is what you're saying.

That's what I'm saying, yes.

So I just—what? Watch her sanity slide downhill for the next week and pretend I have no clue what it's about?

Would you rather tell her the truth? Joshua sounded genuinely curious.

Neku managed not to shudder. Which part of the truth are we talking about, here? The part where you murdered me, the part where you murdered me again, or the part where the whole freaking universe is apparently waiting on the edge of its seat to find out if the third time's the charm?

Or the part where you trust me in spite of it all? Joshua shot back cheerfully.

Responses off his face. No eye-rolling. No eye-rolling. You know, I didn't tell you that so you could be smug about it.

You say that, Joshua mused, and I could almost get the feeling you haven't been paying attention.

Neku opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, started counting the lines between the thin strips of wood paneling, and decided after he'd gotten up to twenty-five to go for broke. Maybe—maybe he'd be lucky, and bluntness would startle Joshua into an honest answer. So. Is it true you can't actually read my mind?

Hm. They certainly seem to think so, don't they? There was a long pause, during which Neku went on counting, and then Joshua gave another put-upon sigh. It's not really a simple yes or no. The fact that we're in a pact means I'm not entirely outside your head to begin with; I know where you are and what's going on around you, much like you did when you and any of your partners fought the Noise, and I've got a clearer view of your mental defenses from here than the angels do. You could say, if your mind were a house, that I'm in past the front door and looking at the pictures you've got on the walls. Joshua's tone turned flippant. But carrying on with that analogy would cast you as a particularly paranoid homeowner, who locks and bolts far more than just the outside doors. If I were trying to get at all your deepest, darkest secrets—a teasing wink—well, don't get me wrong. I could. But not without doing some serious structural damage, and none of us want that.

Oh. There were things Neku wanted to add to this: Would you ever have admitted that, if that angel hadn't told me? Or would you have kept sitting back and laughing at the look on my face every time I mentally freaked out wondering whether you'd heard something I hadn't meant to think? And my mom? Would you have told me what was wrong with her?

He was almost certain he knew the answers, and had doubts that he'd be able to keep his reactions to them confined to the inside of his head, and so he kept those questions to himself.

If you're worried about them blasting their way in, Joshua added, don't be. I told you I reinforced things, and I did. They have a lot more to get past than a few locked doors.

Oh, Neku thought back, sourly. Fine. Should I be thanking you for painting that target on my back?

Now you're just being petty, Joshua said disapprovingly. You'd painted a target on your own back by locking the doors in the first place, Neku, whether you meant to or not. They were never going to trust you. And if you hadn't—regardless of what your new sweet-talking friend has to say on the subject—do you really think your situation would be better? You were nearly hyperventilating last night, just wondering—

I was NOT—

—if I could hear what you were thinking when I teased you. And that was just about the two of us. The fate of the world wasn't even hanging in the balance—well, not that particular balance. You'd be tearing yourself apart if they could see your thoughts, and you know it. Not to mention we wouldn't stand a chance against them.

Neku wondered, tiredly, if Joshua ever got sick of being obnoxiously right. Yeah, I know. A pause, and he thought about locked doors, and about a door slamming shut in his face. Look, he ventured cautiously, about last night—

Oh, damn. Joshua's tone turned irritable. Sorry, Neku, we'll have to continue this conversation later. I've got company incoming.

Which wasn't, Neku thought, keeping his expression carefully neutral as the pact link slipped out of his reach once more, convenient timing at all.

His stomach growled, and he grimaced and sat up, remembering the dinner he'd skipped last night. He'd lost track of his parents' movements in the apartment somewhere during his conversations, and couldn't recall hearing them leave, but there was no sound from outside his room, and—he glanced at the clock—yeah, they'd be out by now. Good. He really wasn't, in this moment, up to dealing with either of them any more than he had to.

(That admission brought some discomfort with it; he'd have to figure out how to face them before the week was over, it was one of those things where he was probably supposed to feel horrible guilt for the rest of his life if he didn't—not that rest of his life was saying much. And, all right, he'd… he'd feel guilty about his mother. His father… he examined that jumble of uncertain emotions, poking at it with a strange sense of detached curiosity. It was hollow and hazy and evaporated into nothing at all where he touched it, and he backed away quickly, turning his mind to other things.)

His phone chirped a note as he moved to his bedroom door, and he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. There was a message from Shiki.

Hey. Sorry I never texted last night. You doing ok? Meet for lunch later?

Promise you won't lie to me, Neku. If he'd really been in her mind, as he guessed he had, would she remember?

He tapped out a quick response—yes & yes—as he made his way to the kitchen, hit Send, looked up from his phone, and stopped dead. His mother was sitting at the table, still eating her breakfast.

She glanced up at him with an uncertain smile. "Good morning. Are you feeling better?"

"I thought you had work today," was all he managed to say. She'd started back doing some kind of part-time desk work two years ago, while he was in eighth grade.

"I called in last night and told them you were sick, and I'd need to stay home. They didn't mind; I haven't taken a day off since I started."

He grimaced, hanging in the doorway. "You didn't have to do that. It was just something I ate. I'm fine."

"Neku, you weren't fine last night. I'm staying home today." She gave him a stern look. "And so are you."

A panic that had subsided last night on the rooftop—that hadn't returned this morning even with the angel turning up in his room—welled back up in his chest. No. He needed to get out, needed pavement under his feet, needed time and space to himself. "Mom, I—"

"No arguments. You're not going to die from staying home for a day, Neku." She pursed her lips. "Anyway, what if you are sick? You don't want to pass it on to anyone else, do you?"

"I'm not sick. I—" He let out a frustrated sigh. There was nothing he could say in protest that wasn't going to sound like so much teenage angst—No, Mom, you don't understand. I am actually going to die. I am going to die, and I've got to somehow make sure Beat's going to be all right, and figure out what to say to Shiki, and figure out… Joshua. (Yeah. Like that was going to be possible in six days.) And go everywhere. He couldn't put it fully into words, the feeling that he'd better gather up as much of the city as he could in his memory, in the time he had left, and hang onto it.

And even if he could have put it fully into words, he couldn't have said it to her. He wished for a fleeting, absurd moment that he could; maybe then she'd actually listen. Maybe it would help her, in a weird way, to know she wasn't crazy, fixating on the death of that nameless, faceless boy.

But he couldn't, and arguing never went well with either of his parents; no better way to ensure they'd stop listening entirely. But maybe—maybe an appeal to his newfound social life would work. "Look, I promised Shiki that I'd meet her for lunch later. If I'm still feeling all right by then, can I go?"

She gave him a long look, and sighed. "Neku… I worry about you, you know. These friends—they came out of nowhere this summer, and suddenly you're acting like you can't live without them. I know you've had a difficult time, the last few years," she said cautiously. "And I'm so glad you're finally starting to connect with people again. I just… hope you aren't putting too much importance on them, now. I know at your age every moment feels like it's—like it's life or death—"

"Because it is." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he almost opened his mouth again to take them back, but then he thought—no. No, it needed to be said. He couldn't tell the truth, maybe, but he could tell parts of it. "Or it might be. You've said it yourself, Mom. That kid who got shot in Udagawa? He could have been me. He could have been anybody. One of my friends is missing right now, you know that? He—he took off and he hasn't come home." Silent apologies to Beat for the lie, as if his disappearance might in any way be his own fault, but if Neku made it sound like he'd been snatched off the street by shadowy figures then his mother would only double down on her determination to keep him at home. "And yeah, he's always arguing with his folks and he probably just wanted some space to cool off, and he'll probably turn up any minute. But we can't get him on his cell, and nobody's seen him. His kid sister's freaking the hell out, and so am I."

His mother was staring at him now, and he let out a long, tired breath and looked away, running his fingers through his sleep-messed hair. It dawned on him that he'd just given her an almost-halfway-honest excuse for his breakdown last night. "So yeah," he said weakly. "Kind of… kind of feeling the life and death thing right now, Mom. Look, I wasn't sick last night. I just… I couldn't stop thinking about…"

"Neku, you should have told me," she said quietly, when he trailed off.

There was sympathy in her voice, but he found himself angry at the words. Should have. Maybe he would have, if he'd had any faith at all that she would listen. Or that her first reaction wouldn't be to tell him what he should have done.

Maybe, he thought tiredly, he was just looking for any target at all that he could safely be angry at. She hadn't meant anything by it. He knew that.

He swallowed, and though his voice had suddenly gotten hoarse he managed to say, honestly, "I really don't want to lose another one, Mom."

She nodded, and had the grace not to tell him things would be all right, for which he was deeply grateful. He ladled a bowl of miso soup from the pot on the stove, sat down at the table, and ate in silence.

It was only when he had pushed his empty bowl away from him that she spoke again, still quiet. "Neku, if what happened last night is an indication of how deeply your worry for your friend is affecting you… I know you don't want to hear this, but I still don't want you going out alone right now."

He slumped. "I feel like I'm going to explode if I sit inside too long."

"All right. We'll go somewhere, then, and then meet your Shiki for lunch."

Neku opened his mouth, and closed it, and opened it, and closed it again, an entirely new kind of panic setting in. "…We?"

"Neku, don't look so flustered. I just want to meet this girl my son's so fond of." She grinned suddenly, and the expression was unlike her, younger and full of humor. "It's not as if it's the end of the world, is it?"

A/N: Thanks for reading, as always! The ongoing comments, likes, & subscribes have been much appreciated.