i try to be chill;

[wingborne]

Summary: Neku, a high school student, finds he must serve time working on Hamlet: The Musical, a mock production with his eccentric partners.



Neku wasn’t opposed to Hamlet: The Musical as an idea. Sure, the play—musical—play was a travesty to the original play. No, he hadn’t even read the actual play. Sure, the student director running it had more bedazzle coming off him than a glitter-glue Mother Day’s card. But he didn’t mind that it was there, just like he didn’t mind that his locker always leaked and he didn’t mind that the cafeteria still served mystery meat that was shut down by the FDA.

He was just opposed to the idea that he—Neku—would be in the play.

No, wait, rephrase.

Be in the play.

As in, acting.

And, by the title of the play, singing.

“But you’re already signed up,” Shiki said, adjusting her chic green hat. As costume designer, she was in charge of all things costume. Apparantly Hamlet: The Musical took place in downtown Denmark, because the costumes were a strange mix of bling and ye olde pantaloons.

“I don’t remember signing up,” Neku said. “Because I didn’t.” He patiently waited for an answer as Shiki extracted the pins from her pin cushion, and carefully finished her last edits on Ophelia’s costume. It was, as expected, a Lolita Gothic costume, gotten mostly from downtown Angelique.

Neku did not understand this play—musical—play—thing. At all.

“Well, you know drama is running short on people,” she said, flinging her hair back. “So the student director just took the opportunity to assign some people their roles.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up.” Back way up, way, way, way up. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“If you do it, then you don’t have to stay for detention,” she pointed out.

Neku hmphed. He didn’t belong in the classroom full of delinquents just because he refused to take off his headphones in class. Occasionally the teacher would come around, kneel down by his desk, and ask him if he had family problems.

“But I don’t sing.”

“It’s not my problem,” Shiki said, flinging an ambiguous hand to the stage. “Try to find the student director. His name is Joshua. He should be around here somewhere.”

--

Smarmy.

That was really the only word to describe Joshua, who stood offstage with a smarmy smile on his face, resting his chin on his hand as he watched the players read their lines off the script in a monotone voice. Neku took a deep breath, and then cautiously walked up to Joshua in the same way one would walk up to a crocodile who was yawning.

“Hey, uh, Joshua?”

“Shh.” Joshua held up a hand, and watched the stage from the left. Two players had their script in their hands. One was a guy who would look out of place anywhere, even a dark back alley, with gangster clothes and sagging shorts. The other was a sweet-looking girl, who beamed like the sun was shining and there would never be rain.

“ ‘O—O fear me not, I stay—stay—stay too long, and my fa-fa-father co-comes.’” The boy squinted at his script. There was a weak tune in his lines that faltered, failed, and then died at the end, like a squawking bird. And, if Neku heard it correctly, it seemed like a rip-off from Backstreet Boys. “Did I sing it right, yo?”

“Almost!” The girl smiled brightly. “You’re getting there, Beat! You can even read the lines now!”

“Yeah!” Beat puffed out his chest. “Yeah, I can!”

Almost seemed too optimistic a word for even Neku.

“Hello, Neku.” Joshua turned around with a sly smile. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah,” he said, “There’s been a problem. You seem to have signed me up for something that I’m not going to do.”

“You should be happy, Neku. Hamlet’s quite a role, you know.” Joshua chuckled to himself. Neku felt chills crawl up his back.

“Yeah, but, I can’t really sing.”

“But you listen to music all the time,” Joshua said, with his smile. “That must mean you can carry a tune.” That was the worst logic that Neku had ever heard. In fact, this whole thing smelled worse than the poisonous mystery meat.

“I don’t listen to music,” Neku said, “I don’t play anything on the headphones.”

“What!”

Neku jumped in surprise as Beat stormed down the stage. Each step seemed to echo a thousand times around the room, until it seemed like Beat was bringing thunder and lightning with him. He went up to Neku until they were face-to-face, and in Neku’s opinion, way too close. He liked his personal space, but Beat seemed quite fine eyeballing Neku from a three centimeter distance. There was tension in the room. Neku wondered if he was going to be hit.

This was going to be the shortest fight ever, and Neku wasn’t even sure why he had gotten into a fight.

Finally, Beat stepped back, and Neku’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“That’s cheatin’, yo.” Beat thumbed his nose.

“Cheating?” The instant Neku said the word, he realized that he shouldn’t have asked. Luckily, Beat only threw him a look of contempt as he went back to the girl, and they began to slowly go over the script together as he struggled with his words.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Neku. The script is right there,” Joshua said. “I would have left it in your locker, but I’m afraid the rainwater might have leaked in.” He then giggled, and Neku learned fear. It was a giggle that transcended the air itself and attached itself onto Neku’s back, until he flinched from the treacherous smarm.

There was something Not Right about this school, and Neku had finally found the cause of it.

“Listen, I really don’t want to do this,” Neku said, still taking the thick script into his hands. “I can’t carry a tune, and I haven’t even read Hamlet.”

“Haven’t read Hamlet?” Beat’s head snapped up. “Dat ain’t right. Hamlet’s one of them classics. Where you been in class, yo?”

Not. Listening. “Have you read it?” Neku asked skeptically.

“Rhyme and me read it once, when she had one of them projects to do.” Beat shook his head sadly, at the degenerative youth these days who had not read Hamlet. “It’s a good book, yo. Sad ending. Everybody dies at the end.”

Neku had the feeling that he had just been spoiled.

“I guess I should read it,” Neku said, “one day, but—“

“No buts!” Now Beat was really making threatening motions towards his life. “It’s a classic. Listen here: To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life—“

“Okay! Okay, I get it!” Neku waved them down. “How do you even know all this?”

“It’s a classic.” Beat gazed contemptuously at Neku. “Read it sometimes, Phones. It’s good for you.”

“. . . Sure.”

Wait.

Who was Phones?

“I’m Rhyme, his sister,” the girl said, smiling brightly. “I’ll be playing Ophelia. That’s Hamlet’s lover.” She extended a hand that was covered in the depths of her sweater. “It’s nice to meet you!”

While Neku was battling his way to find her hand within her sweater, Beat suddenly stood up.

“Beat plays Laertes, your rival, and Ophelia’s brother,” she explained.

“Wait wait wait, back up there.” Beat held out his hands. “When you say lover, do you mean. Like.” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “Boyfriend, yo?”

“Yes,” Rhyme said cheerfully.

Beat flexed his muscles. “Nobody,” he growled, “and I mean nobody’s going to take my sister away from me—“

“Beat! It’s only a play—musical—play—Beat!”

--

“That’s an ugly mark on your face.” Shiki held the costume in front of Neku, who miserably held an ice pack to his head. There was one week left of rehearsals, and Neku ached. Every time he stood near Rhyme, Beat was there, lingering around the corner, crossing his arms over his chest like a protective older brother and hovering over Neku. He still remembered the nunnery scene, where he was apathetically rejecting Ophelia in the tune of rock and roll (he didn’t recall Hamlet telling Ophelia to get thee to a nunnery with an electric guitar) when Beat suddenly jumped out.

Apparently, rejecting his sister was worse than hitting on his sister.

Neku just couldn’t win.

“Yeah,” Neku said shortly. “You know, I don’t even want to do this. You can’t make me.” He held out the script in his hands, already memorizing the second act. He flipped the page as Shiki adjusted the shoulder of the costume.

“But you’d make such a good Hamlet, Neku,” Joshua said, sliding over. “The emo, moody prince. Doesn’t that sound like you?”

Yes. “No.” Neku flipped the pages.

“You even get the pretty music parts,” Joshua said, flipping his hair. “I composed them for you, too.”

“. . . I guess they’re not too bad.” And it did seem pretty, and the lines were arranged nicely. His songs were mostly accompanied by violins. But he had to question some of the other types of songs.

“Is Polonius really going to die, singing ‘Slain Slain, I Wish I Had Married Jane’ in boy band music?” Neku finally asked, staring at the notes jotted down on the script.

“Yes.”

“But there isn’t even a Jane in the play.”

“It’s called artistic license, Neku.” Joshua flipped his hair again. “You’ll learn about it when you’re older.”

Neku gave into his urge, and became emo.

“Now, now, Neku. You need to trust your director,” Joshua said, smiling his smile. Neku didn’t like how the words echoed in his head, like he had been in some weird alternate reality where he had to play a game for more than a month to realize the same lesson.

“And your costume designer!” Shiki piped in, revealing the costume. “Ta-da! How do you like it, Neku?”

Neku stared.

Joshua snickered.

“Is . . . Is that a dress?” Neku finally managed to say.

“No! Of course not! Look, there are tights underneath.” Shiki obliged in flipping up the costume to show the two dangling tights.

There were no words.

Well, except two.

“I quit.”

“Over a dress?” Joshua flipped his hair, and smirked. “Real men wouldn’t give up so easily, Neku.” Yeah, well. It wasn’t Joshua who was wearing the dress, for one thing. And why was he even debating this? He hadn’t wanted to perform the play in the first place. Real men would have asserted themselves earlier, so they wouldn’t be in Hamlet: The Musical.

“But if you quit, then we’ll have no Hamlet!” Shiki clutched the dress to herself, in anguish over the thought of having no place to display the costume. “And without Hamlet, how will we perform Hamlet: The Musical?”

“With all your artistic licenses, I don’t think it’ll be a big problem,” Neku said, with more spite than he had intended. Shiki bit her bottom lip and looked helplessly at Joshua to stop this madman who did not want to wear a dress and sing in front of the entire school.

“Now, now, Neku. You don’t want to go back to the detentions, do you?” Joshua smarmed at him.

Was he blackmailing him? Neku clutched at his headphones for a second, an instinctive move. Maybe he hadn’t been serious in the beginning, but why not?

“I made you the costume, though,” Shiki said, looking down at the costume in her hands. Neku hesitated for another moment. He wished Shiki wouldn’t guilt him. Sure, he had stood for many afternoons as she pinned him up like a doll. And pinned him in unfortunate places, smiling and waving him off nervously. And the costumes did look nice for Ye Olde Neo Denmark.

But.

But he didn’t like it.

“I’m leaving,” he said, leaving the script on the drawer. “Guess I’ll go to detention, then.” He shuffled away, letting the heavy door slam behind him.

As he shuffled down the hallway, he tried to convince himself that he made the right choice. Between singing and family problems, then being interviewed incessantly about his health didn’t seem like a bad deal.

It was better than actually singing. Why was he feeling depressed, anyway? He hated acting, and in front of the school, at that. And now Beat wouldn’t leap from the outer wings, and Shiki wouldn’t pull him away suddenly to have him stand still for hours, and Joshua wouldn’t giggle at him.

Or something like that.

--

Late at night, Neku returned to the drama wing like a ghost. It wasn’t like he wanted to come back, but he had forgotten his math notebook in the room before his dramatic storming off. (And it wasn’t like he wanted to do math, either, but Joshua might very well burn his notebook). Uneasily, he looked around, and then slipped into the backstage. He flung his hands in front of him, trying to find his way into the dark (and looked ominously up for golden bats) before tripping over something and yanking down on the lights.

The room suddenly became emblazoned in lights and he winced, shielding his eyes in front of him. Mr. Mew, who had now toppled to the floor, stared at him earnestly. As the splotches of light splattered on his eyes, he managed to take hold of Mr. Mew and set him back on the drawer, where his forgotten script still lay. He turned around to look for his notebook, when he saw it.

And it was beautiful

It must have been the backdrop, though he hadn’t seen it before. It was large, and looming, and almost resembling graffiti. But it was beautiful, wild, splashing colors, energetic, and setting. It was itself, and nothing else, giving no excuses for existing. And the sense of serenity! Crashing along the wild colors, skimming over the reds, looping like the sky in the blue—

He could have spent hours staring at it if he hadn’t heard a rustle behind him.

“Mr. Mew--?” He spun around, only to see an adult standing behind him, hands in his pocket, self-assured smile on his face.

“Not quite, I’m sorry to say,” the adult said, raising a hand. He drifted next to Neku in a seamless glide. He motioned towards the artwork. “Like it?”

“Yeah.” Neku turned back to the backdrop. “It’s nice.”

“I heard you quit today.”

Neku was startled. “How do you—“

“I’m the drama teacher. Mr. Hanekoma.” He raised his hand again. “Nice to meet you..” The infamous apathetic drama teacher, Mr. H. Neku had heard of his elusiveness, and his laid-back ways. The teacher ditched class more than his students. Neku completely approved.

“I’m not good at singing,” he finally said. “So I quit.”

“You don’t have to sing.” Mr. H smiled. “You can just say the lines. Just as long as you do it.”

“But I was forced to do it,” Neku found himself arguing, “Don’t I have a say in it?”

“They don’t have any understudies for Hamlet, you know.”

“. . . Yeah.” Yeah, that was true. But it wasn’t his problem.

“It’s not the acting.” Mr. H looked up at the backdrop. “You’re afraid of something else.”

“What?” Neku did not question how Mr. H knew these things. (Even if they were completely false.) After all, there was some ethereal Joshua vibes on him, even if he lacked the bedazzle. Not that Neku was complaining—his life would be much better if Joshua lacked the bedazzle as well.

“They have problems, too,” said Mr. H, as he took Mr. Mew into his hands, turning it around a few times.

“Who?”

“Your castmates.”

His eccentric castmates? He faintly recalled that Beat had been infamous for his fights, but he kept out of trouble in the drama room. Shiki used to follow her friend, Eri, around everywhere, but now she spent her time creating costumes. And Joshua—smarmy and omnipresent as he was—was Joshua.

“I don’t care about them,” Neku said, adjusting his headphones. “It’s not my problem.”

“That was true a few weeks ago,” Mr. Hanekoma said. “But what about now?”

“Why would it change now?” Neku pressed his hands until they were completely covering his headphones. “It doesn’t involve me.”

Mr. Hanekoma smiled.

It was true, though. Sure, Shiki was nice. Sure, Beat was a companion. And why not, Joshua wasn’t so bad if you wore a protective suit. But it wasn’t Neku’s problem—why should he even care? Let them mess up their lives as much as they wanted, as long as they didn’t involve him.

The world ended with him.

At least, that’s how it was.

There was Beat’s script lying battered in the corner. And there was Shiki’s costumes hanging on the mannequins. And Joshua’s careful touches as the props were stuck in the corner. It shouldn’t have mattered to him—he shouldn’t have cared—he didn’t want to care. He was afraid, and he didn’t like it at all.

He didn’t want friends.

So how did he get them?

His fingers were pressed against his headphones until they hurt, a wrenching pain in his joints and mind.

“Take some time to think about it,” Mr. H said. “There’s no rush.” And then he faded into the background, leaving Neku alone in front of the graffiti.

--

“Maybe the costume was too much.” Shiki picked at her pins. “You should have picked Eri, Joshua. She’s better at this than me.” Mr. Mew apathetically sat on the drawer, holding Neku’s beaten copy of the script.

“S’not your fault.” Beat rubbed his shoulder. “Wish Phones was here, though.”

Rhyme swung her feet. “Maybe he’ll be back.”

“He’ll be back. I don’t miscalculate,” Joshua said, holding his head to the light. A dreamy air drifted in his eyes, as he gazed into the distance. He looked unusually distracted, perturbed by some forces in the air. They were all quiet for a little bit more.

“But he ain’t back,” Beat said. “And ain’t no use in waitin’.”

“No!” Rhyme sat up abruptly, clutching at her brother’s arm. “No, there’s still a chance he’ll be back. Don’t go, Beat—“

“If Phones ain’t comin’, he ain’t comin’!” Beat stood up. “And Hamlet’s no Hamlet without Hamlet, yo. I’m out.” He moved towards the door.

“Who are you calling Phones?”

The other four players looked up to see Neku at the door, headphones around his neck for once. He apathetically glanced around the room.

“Neku!” Shiki leapt up. “You’re back!”

“Yeah, well.” Neku found himself looking away, despite his heroic entrance. “I guess.”

“Like I said, I don’t miscalculate.” Joshua smirked. But there was more color in his face, and less abstract thoughts now, and more self-confidence.

“You Phones, man,” Beat said, forgetting the point of the topic already. “’cuz you got them phones.”

“. . . Right.” Neku picked up his script again. “Now where were we?”

--

It wasn’t really Happily Ever After.

Neku still refused to sing, so ended up muttering the lines as Beat rocked out to the drums in the background. And Beat forgot his lines in the middle of a song, and recited Hamlet’s soliloquy in its entirety instead, to a moving violin music in the background, which was all well and fine if Neku hadn’t been awkwardly standing in the corner. Or that Shiki had decided that Neku’s costume really needed that extra splash of black, so he really did look like an emo kid. And Joshua had liberally decided that he, playing the part of the attendant, really needed that much glitter that it blinded Neku. Not to mention that Mr. H failed to show up until the last act. Or the last swordfight turned gunfight scene at the end had Beat so emotionally corrupted at Ophelia’s death that it turned into a fistfight.

But at the end of the performance, the audience gave a standing ovation at the play—musical—play, and Neku took his bow with the rest of his friends—cast—friends.