Feathers drift through the air, suspended in space, some fluttering their way to the ground.

The apartment is filled with them, scattered everywhere. Opening the door kicks them up, and they resume their lazy drifting.

Neku steps into Joshua’s place, tiptoeing around the mess.

“Josh, where are you?” he calls out, to receive a grunt in reply from the bedroom.

Unease settles in his stomach like a wad of cotton drenched in mucus.

Feathers are part of Joshua’s wings. His wings contain the essence of his Soul. Neku doesn’t know much, but he figures losing this much of your Soul isn’t good for anyone. He imagines it feels strained and pulled apart and incomplete, like if he lost his headphones, or his dominant hand.

Opening the door to Joshua’s room, he expects to find disaster, an injured friend, blood and guts or static bleeding from a wound.

Instead, he finds Joshua curled up in bed on his stomach, wings splayed out and hands clenching at his head, but otherwise fine.

“Okay, what’s up? It looks like you killed a dozen swans for their feathers in here.”

Joshua glances at Neku, and in the most petulant voice, says, “Save me, I’m molting.”

Neku snorts. “So you didn’t kill any birds then?”

A pillow hits him in the head. “I’m serious, this is awful. It’s itchy and painful and I can’t even scratch it because it’s metaphysical. Have you ever had your Soul itch? It’s not fun!”

Minding the wings, Neku plops down on the edge of the bed, expression softening. “Is there any way I can help?”

Silence falls, and for a moment Neku thinks he’s made a misstep, but before he can panic and apologize, Joshua sighs. “If you want, you can brush through my wings. Pluck the loose feathers.”

Neku swings himself up onto the bed further, settling with one wing over his lap as he starts to comb through it with his fingers. A cut-off whimper almost makes him stop when he plucks the first feather, but Josh waves him on.

“It hurts, but it’s like pulling a loose tooth. Stops the prolonged pain.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting under the white fluff, but when he sees the same black iron-wrought wings Reapers have, it’s unsurprising. What does surprise him is the thin, shimmering coating encasing the entire wing, a filmy skin, translucent creamy-white and humming.

It’s Joshua’s Music. The realization strikes him, but he keeps himself from recoiling at the thought. The hum vibrating throughout is his Music, and the translucent material is his Soul.

With steady hands, he runs his fingers through again, and presses down deeper at a bald spot. It’s digging into silly putty, surface unbreaking but moldable, and while the current buzzes under his fingers, Joshua melts.

The groan he makes freezes him, before he realizes it wasn’t out of pain, but relief. Aloe on a sunburn relief.

“Do that again. That felt good.”

Neku laughs, but complies, taking his time as he gives the wing a light massage. “You’re so needy.”

“You try molting sometime. Get a taste of this horrific pain, if you think it’s not that bad.”

“Nah, I’m good. I can see how grouchy it makes you. Mr. Grinch levels of grouch over here, no happiness allowed, huh?”

“You know, you shouldn’t be rude to someone who’s--” Joshua’s voice cuts off as Neku scratches near the base of the wing, sticking in his throat.

“Mm, there. That’s good.”

Neku scratches again, rolling his eyes as Josh moans. “Do you have to make those noises?”

“Embarrassed, dear? Nobody can hear us, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Dude, no!” He swats Josh’s head as they both laugh. “You just had to go there, didn’t you?”

“Where else am I supposed to go? I mean, you’re clearly helping me out with my problem.”

“I could stop, you know. I could stop and leave you itchy and miserable,” he says. The menace he’s aiming for is broken by his stifled chuckling.

“Rude. It’s always less satisfying to take care of such things by yourself,” Joshua says, deadpan, with no cracks in his facade.

“Oh my god, fuck you!” he says, realizing his mistake a second too late.

“I wasn’t aware you were into necrophilia, dear,” comes the lilting reply.

“I’m getting a divorce. I’m divorcing you over that joke.”

“We aren’t even dating.”

“A friend divorce, because you’re awful.”

Josh bursts, laughing hard enough to shake the bed, and Neku yelps when he suddenly flops over, draping his other wing over Neku’s lap.

He gets back to work as Josh’s laughter dies down, giving attention to the new wing.

“If I’m really that awful, you should’ve shot me when you had the chance.”

The wire snaps. Ice shards slice through his veins, cutting through his skin, cutting to the core. Time is fake and it burns at his brain. A gun is in his hands and the metal bites, the bullet bites, the countdown pounds against his skull. There’s red and dull violet eyes and cold concrete beneath his head and red, red, so much red--

A shriek stabs his ears, piercing through the liquid clog of fear. There’s a voice speaking to him, he realizes.

“--ku, Neku, breathe. Deep breathes, in and out, breathe.Yeah, yeah good--Like that. Slow, in through your nose. I’m sorry, shouldn’t have made that joke. Breathe out now. Everything’s fine, we’re at my place, not back in the Room of Reckoning. Deep breathe in, maybe unclench your hands? Good, thanks. Okay, breathe out. I’m going to count for you, five in eight out, okay? One, two, three, four, five...”

He listens to Josh’s commands, and the fuzz starts to clear, sight sharpening into solid pictures. Brain static fades as his hands relax. He lets Josh’s voice wash over him, quelling the panic, stormy waters turning calm. Simple numbers, simple instructions.

The eyes in front of him are brilliant, sparkling, nothing like the dead ones in his memory.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before Josh breaks from the counting, but when he does, it’s to say, “Okay, feeling better?”

Neku nods. His head is still stuffed with cotton, but there’s less, thought processing is back online, and with that-- “Did you just Imprint me?”

“You were having a panic attack, what else was I supposed to do? Let you freak out forever?”

Which, okay, fair. “You could’ve not made that joke,” he hisses, but there’s no venom in his bite. Josh is Josh, he says stuff like this, Neku thought he was used to it. He’s joked like that before himself, it shouldn’t bother him anymore. It shouldn’t freak him out like that.

“Yeah, I didn’t think before I spoke, sorry.”

“It’s… I’ll be fine. Thanks for talking me through it.” The tunnel vision hasn’t  gone away yet, but sensation is trickling back. He doesn’t mention Joshua’s hand in his hair, doesn’t know how to put it into words yet.

“Least I could do. You should… You should rest, though, you’re probably tired.” He is, and once Josh says it, it hits him with the force of a tidal wave, crashing down on him until he collapses, laying sideways.

“I’ll still be here when you wake up, so sleep.”

Neku listens.

The pain in Joshua’s wings has faded, but an ache still pulses.

The fact that Neku is asleep, head in his lap, soothes his Soul, ruffled feathers healing back to normal. He should’ve known better than to make that joke, with Neku’s hand in his wing.

Around Neku, Joshua forgets that he’s dangerous. Forgets that normal people shouldn’t be able to touch his wings at all. Shouldn’t be able to hold up against the pure, unfiltered power of his Soul.

Neku is special, but even he can’t withstand everything. A seawall can only withstand so much, a tall enough wave can overwhelm it. Negative reminders, with his Music amplifying the related emotions? Joshua is lucky he only ended up with a few broken feathers, and not a dead friend.

Joshua trusts Neku with his Soul, trusts that he can put himself at Neku’s complete mercy, but even if Neku makes him feel alive, he needs to remember that he isn’t.