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“You’re a monster…”
You know He means every word.
“You’d better pick up that gun. I mean, this IS going to be a duel.”
What more could You ask for? You wanted this chance, didn’t You?
“Don’t screw with me, Joshua!”
How could I?
“I assure you, I’m not. Life’s little crossroads are often as simple as the pull of a trigger…”
There’s a shift; the edges waver and the Boy quakes.
“Let the game begin…”
That echo… that echo is unbearable.
“10… 9… 8…”
Echoing off the walls…
“7… 6… 5…”
I made this choice, so why is it echoing…?
“4… 3… 2…”
I made this choice.
“1…”
I made this choice.
“Zero.”
You jolt upright in your bed, eyes wide and wild, breath coming in heavy gasps as though air is something you want or need. You look around, trying to remember, trying to understand, but all that comes back to you is a blur of half-remembered pasts and things you wish you could say weren’t your fault.
The paint on the wall stares back at you, bland ecru crushing you from all sides. How many times have you fallen asleep here? You think you’d have a lot easier time answering that question if you could figure out where exactly you were—you know the place but all your mind can think of is Him. Ecru is an awful color and orange is all you want to see right now. Orange and purple and blue and yellow and white and black all mixed together in the most strange, most beautiful cacophony of life.
You panic again. Where is He? Where should He be? You can’t remember. What’s happening? What’s happened? What will happen? You don’t know that either. Shibuya assaults you with images and words (“You’re a monster…” “Why me?” “Kill me, please just kill me, please.”) but none of them make sense, none of them will line up into something you can process and comprehend because everything is just too much and you don’t know where He is.
Your head spins and suddenly He’s there, right under your eyes as though He’d been there the whole time. A shock of messy orange, resting peacefully atop a dark blue pillowcase as though there was nowhere else in the world that He belonged except there. You calm immediately at the sight of Him, following the thought; He belongs everywhere that His soul can reach. And His soul can reach anywhere. All of it is His. You would be a fool to think that even a fraction could belong to anyone else, including you yourself. You are the god of Shibuya, but He is the god of all else. He is, most importantly, the god of you. That He still exists to be lying here in this moment is the only proof that anyone could ever need of that.
You falter—seeing Him has returned your mind to you somewhat, but the haze of dreamy half-truths still pervades around you. He would surely be angry if He were woken, but you think it would be worth it to see those eyes look at you. A gentle touch to the shoulder and the Boy awakens, those beautiful eyes bleary with sleep. Just as you wished, He looks up at you.
“Joshua…” He says slowly, obviously trying to understand the situation that He’s woken up to, a situation where the Composer of Shibuya is once again standing before Him, but without a gun in his hand. “What happened?” It seems He’s noticed; noticed the tension in the air, the confusion floating around your existence as you stand there. But what will He do? Right now He’s waiting for an answer.
“I dreamt of you.” It’s too simple, it’s too telling; it’s everything you want to hide and everything you want to reveal. A slight tinge of red touches His cheeks.
“So…?” He’s confused. He doesn’t understand why you are here. You forget sometimes that not all beings have omniscience, and that in fact you’re one of the few that does.
“I wanted to make sure you were here.” Your voice cracks just slightly.
“Why wouldn’t I be? I live here.” That’s not what you meant, but how would He know that?
“Because I erased you. I destroyed you.” He sits up now, looking at the one who barged into His space in the middle of the night, His eyes full of confusion and worry.
“You didn’t erase me, Joshua. I’m right here.” But the way He says your name; it’s so calm and normal, but somehow permanently charged with emotion and vigor. You wish you could listen to Him say it over and over, just to find out what it is that gives it so much power over you.
“But I did. I did.” The poor façade has truly cracked now, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you look down at the confused Boy, as He looks back with concern.
“What are you talking about?” You don’t answer, can’t answer, your eyes too full of tears and your voice surely just as full. Instead, you reach out, sobs just barely holding in your throat, and touch His temples. You notice the flinch, that almost imperceptible reaction to that scar being touched, but you persist. The Boy’s eyes widen, He stares at nothing, the images you’re forcing onto Him almost strong enough to broadcast. Shreds of futures, now half-formed pasts that you had looked on with cold indifference before you had truly met Him. Futures where you pulled the trigger and never looked back, futures where Shibuya was reduced to rubble with that bright orange crushed beneath it, futures where nothing turned out how it should have.
The futures that have haunted your memory since that day.
You know He shouldn’t be seeing this, but it’s too late, and even if you could rewind time and stop yourself, you don’t think you would.
When you finally remove your hands, He looks up slowly, the shock and pain clearly visible on His expressive face.
“W-what… what were those?” He asks slowly.
“Every version of a universe where you weren’t good enough for me. Every version where I destroyed everything I love because you didn’t make it into that group. I erased you. In all of those places, you no longer exist, and it’s all because of me.” He looks confused still, but mostly He looks hurt. He’s read the reports, He knows the concept, but seeing it firsthand is something else entirely. If He couldn’t forgive you before, He certainly can’t now. Not after He’s seen the true extent of your cruelty.
He slowly stands up, nightclothes shifting across His body, and looks into your eyes.
“It doesn’t matter, Joshua,” He says slowly. You desperately want to believe those words. “In this universe, I’m alive, and so are you. You’re not responsible for any other world except this one.”
“But I’m the Composer, I have to be,” you hear yourself say.
“So are all of the other versions of you. Let them handle their own actions. You did all these things to me—that’s on you—but when it came down to it, you spared me and Shibuya. That counts for more than you think it does.”
You think for a moment that maybe He has grown even more than you ever thought possible. You don’t remember seeing it happen, but the Boy standing before you is certainly more than He was on that day. You stare at Him, the tears flowing down your face freely. You don’t care to try and stop them.
“…I love you, Neku.”