Work Text:
Parappa was backstage at CLUBFUN. Nobody was there, he believed. The whole hall was silent. Echoing.
Cold.
It was so quiet, he could hear his own heartbeat. He had come here to relax.
But the emptiness was awful. He felt the metallic coolness of loneliness against his soul. His steps echoed. PaRappa couldn’t echo back.
“Find new coping mechanisms” they said, “It’ll help you” they said.
The stage felt emptier than it was. PaRappa himself didn’t feel like he was on the stage.
He looked around. Nothing. Not even dust. So quiet, it screamed in his ears. He tried to breathe. It echoed. The noise bounced off the walls until PaRappa could feel the vibrations in the floor.
He didn’t feel like he was standing. He didn’t even feel… real. Not real enough to repeat. Not real enough to echo.
Was he a part of the wall? His eyes darted around the stone-cold, open room, too paralyzed to actually turn his head.
He swallowed, and the force stung his throat. He feared that moving would cause the same sensation. The only thing in the room that moved were tears down a frightened, shocked face.
PaRappa wasn’t sure if he didn’t want to move, or it was that he couldn’t. He found the choice as an ache in his head.
The only thing that told him he was alive was a thumping. A beat. His heartbeat, he assumes, as it radiates from somewhere in his chest; more as a feeling pulsing in his throat.
He was hoping this was a dream. He wanted to leave, to wake up, something. He wanted to think that he can move, but since this isn’t - doesn’t feel - real, it's just his mind. It’s his brain.
Okay, wake up then, he tells himself. But he doesn’t wake up. And he still can’t move.
His eyes begin making colorless shapes in the darkness, strained and blurry with tears that can't even begin to be blinked away.
The silent crying becomes sobs. They choke up in his throat as he still doesn’t dare to move. It isn’t rational, of course, and he’s not in danger. He’s never considered himself a “freezer” when it comes to fight-or-flight instincts, but it’s not like he’s ever actually been in danger. Which makes this situation feel even more silly; he is not in danger.
His crying quiets again as he realizes: He’s not in anything.
Even still, his heartbeat pumps blood to his ears, and the thumping is driving him crazy.
Is it getting louder?
Is it echoing?
He wants to stop it. PaRappa wants to stop his heartbeat. He wants to-
“PaRappa!”
A familiar voice calls to him. He flinches, and, just as he suspected, his body yelps with a pinprick feeling all over. He felt stiff - how long had he been standing there?
PaRappa hiccups as he can physically feel a breath of air fill his lungs. He nearly chokes on it, but his body is just too grateful to be breathing again.
He shivers. It’s cold.
Suddenly, his… PJ is at his side.
His heartbeat has died down; and with a splash of embarrassment, PaRappa realizes the heavy pounding from before was probably PJ running towards him.
PaRappa looks up at him. The strain aches his poor eyes, and he blinks slowly.
“Are you alright?” PJ asks softly, and it doesn’t echo.
Words force themselves up like vomit out of a small, pale throat, “Is this even real?”
It was meant more as “Am I real” but PaRappa seems to be having a bit of trouble with the whole “being” thing at the moment, let alone the whole “talking” business.
“Yeah… We’re real, P’. You’re awake. You’re okay.”
PaRappa’s eyes followed one of his hands, warily watching as it came to cup his cheek. He exhaled as he felt the warm hand press against him. He didn’t know how to respond. “No”?
“Can you move?” PJ asked, his tone just as soothing as his touch. His other hand extended in offering. A dance?
“I don’t…” PaRappa mumbled, but his arm moved with instinct, to accept the offer given to him.
A timid hand was placed inside one that dwarfed it. Warm. A familiar feeling; homely, and accepting. It flooded the small boy’s body, nearly causing him to cry again. He stepped towards PJ, finally able to feel his feet again.
The hand on PaRappa’s face fell to his shoulder, pulling him towards his best friend.
Their position was a silly little mock waltz, but the two of them eventually found a rhythm. It wasn’t too hard, a DJ and a rapper.
The smaller felt a tapping on his shoulder, the semblance of a steady beat.
“You’ll. Be. Okay,” PJ said, in time with the beat.
PaRappa’s face flushed red. “I… I… Um…”
PJ hummed. A sly smile played across his face as his counterpart fumbled with his words. PaRappa knew what that meant.
“Move. With. My. Feet,” The taller stated, still on beat.
“Mm-move with. Your. Feet…” PaRappa echoed.
PJ continued, “Left, left. Right, right.”
PaRappa moved his feet in accordance with the… words. Lyrics? “Left, left, right, right.”
Parappa swallowed when he got a chance. PJ was taking it slow, which he was thankful for. His finger still tapped his shoulder. Both pairs of shoes dragged against the dusty stage floor. The sound wasn't as irritating as one would think, and added to the nonexistent melody in the room.
PaRappa could do this. He can echo.
A few beats went by.
“I won’t leave you,” Said the taller boy.
“Ah- I w-won’t leave you,” PaRappa repeated.
“If you don’t leave me.” The smile in his voice was tangible.
The other repeated quietly, “If you don’t leave me…” His face still hadn’t lost its tint of pink.
“What’cha gotta do?” PJ grinned down at him, pulling his best friend flush to his chest.
PaRappa shivered.
“I gotta… believe…” He mumbled.
The taller of the two chuckled. His eyes still held that drop of concerned sadness. PaRappa felt a pang of guilt; he’d made PJ run to him, made him worry.
It must have shown as the feeling settled in his chest, as PaRappa’s head was patted soothingly. He let himself be engulfed in the embrace of his best friend, relaxing into the large arms that held him. After a moment, the smaller boy noticed a new beat, from PJ’s heart rather than his hands.
Once PaRappa had collected himself, the other asked, “Why did you come here all by yourself? You hate it when this place is empty…”
Just the question itself nearly caused the boy to resume crying, but the steady grounding of PJ’s hand petting his hair down let him explain calmly.
“I just wanted to think, you know? In a familiar place… I knew I wouldn’t be, y’know, bothered here, but…” He trailed off.
“Are you alright, though?” PJ pushed, his eyebrows furrowed with distress, “What happened there?”
PaRappa looked down, disappointed in himself. PJ searched his face for something, at least telling him how to help, but was met with nothing.
“‘Won't do it again,” The boy muttered, voice strained with guilt, “I promise…”
“P’... Are you okay?”
PaRappa finally looked up to meet his eyes. The contact was soft, comforting, on either end. He then let his head fall forward, against PJ’s chest.
“I’m okay… I am now.”
PJ continued petting him gently. It was quiet. There may not have been anybody else in the entire building, but it was not empty.
PaRappa wasn’t either. He smiled in the warm comforts of his best friend's arms.
PJ mumbled sweetly, “Silly little P’appa…”
“Sorry I scared you.”
“I know, P’.”
He knows that he knows. He feels bad anyway, but PaRappa still doesn’t let PJ go. It’s too comforting, and he considers himself greedy. Greedy enough to never want to move out of his partner’s arms.
“Hey,” PJ beckoned. PaRappa reluctantly picked up his head. “Let’s get you something to drink, okay?”
PaRappa hadn’t eaten today. Food seems gross at the moment… But drinking something would be okay. He nodded once. PJ knew him well, and the little one felt the way his cheeks blushed at himself for being so easy to read.
It was quiet. But it wasn’t the same quiet as before.