Archive of Our Own ^beta

There is incessant noise, endless and loud; the sounds of the world around him merging into ear-splitting noise. It feels like he’s drowning.

If he must drown, then, he will meet the wave full force.

Walks like this help him, he gains insight and understanding of the noise. If he can focus, he can tell what is different, what feels different, and what will capture other people. Everyone drowns in the noise, most are more willing than others. He finds what will do it the easiest, the fastest, because that will keep those people at Arche happy. If they are happy, then they will be obedient; if they are obedient, then he will be that much closer.

He is drowning but he will fight to keep his head afloat.

He looks for what separates the music, looks to cut it away from each other. If he focuses on what is different, then he can breathe, than he can concentrate–

But it all reminds him of Kyogo.

Then, what does it matter? What does it matter if every pop song is the same four chords, repeating endlessly, tortuously? What is the difference between the twang of a guitar or a shamisen? Are drums different because of how one beats them? Is it the way they feel? Is the high, rapid drumming of a snare different because it rings throughout his head? Or is the drum beat different because a conga beats down deep in his stomach, the feeling rolling and hot in bursts of white intensity? Is it because of how it plays? A tapan lays upon his belly but the sound rattles his heart–

“Now, are you researching the past, or would this be you researching the future?”

Or does the sound change because instruments are too different? From the oboe, clarinet, piccolo, and bassoon to the flute? No, no, now there’s brass, so much brass, so many horns; trumpets, trombones, euphoniums, and tubas. Or perhaps it’s—no, no, of course it’s in the strings, the beautiful strings; the cello, the violins, violas–

“Are you going to turn me into a pawn for the sake of creating that ‘Octave’ you’re always mentioning?”

Never.

Kyogo was different. Kyogo was—! He was his maker! His creator! His father! Is this not what Adam felt when he stood in front of the face of God? Is this not what a son feels in the face of his father? Was this not the purpose that Bach was created for?! They, the Classicaloids, are the ultimate instruments! They create the ultimate music! They transcend! He transcends! So why?!

Why? Why?! WHY?!?!

Why did you leave!!! Why did you abandon me?! I did what you made me for! My purpose is music! My purpose is to obtain glory from divine sound! WHY WOULD YOU LET ME SUFFER IN THIS SCREECHING, HELLISH NIGHTMARE!!!!!!!

WITHOUT THE MUSIC I AM NOTHING!

WITHOUT YOU-!

WITH-

Without…..

without………….

There is silence, in flickers of moments, buried deep within the racket, and then, faintly, he remembers his first true sound…..

‘Hello, World!’

He is Bach but……he is also not Bach.

Without Kyogo, is he even really Bach? Is he even really real at all?

The noise comes back all too quickly.

His head slips back under.