Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation.
Author's Note: Story's full title is Black and White - Trying to Read Between Blurred Lines.
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Eiri let out a growl of frustration. He high-lighted a large section of text then promptly hit the "delete" key on his laptop. For some reason, the words were eluding him, and his thoughts for his latest novel were a jumbled mess. No matter how hard he tried, he could not form a single, coherent thought for long. The twelve cans of beer lining the right side of his desk might have had something to do with his inability to write, but Eiri chose to ignore them. Beer had never hindered his writing before. It wasn't about to start, in his estimation.
However, half an hour later, the screen remained blank and his mind remained addled. The words simply were not coming to him. If they did, they read like sap-ridden drivel of many American romance novels he'd come across. How anyone could stand to read crap, Eiri would never know, and he began to think that maybe, just maybe, he'd had one beer too many.
He let out a sigh then pushed himself away from the desk. It was obvious he wasn't going to get any writing done for the day. Eiri knew from past experience it was often best to leave his work alone when the flow had become nothing more than a trickle here and there, lest the piece resemble something he didn't care about. Lately, though, his work had been suffering, more than it had in years prior. At least before, when he felt the poorly formed words coming to him, he could take a drink of beer or coffee, or even go out for a walk to clear his head. He couldn't do that now, for some reason. The beer simply got him drunk, the coffee strung him out, and the walks made his knees ache. Nothing seemed to work anymore, and it aggravated Eiri to no end.
"Maybe you should try and take a break from writing once in a while, like a vacation or something," a soft voice commented. "Get away for a while and let your mind rest. It'll do you some good."
"What the fuck would you know?" he snarled, whirling around to face his visitor. The sound of that voice had surprised him. Eiri had not heard the front door opening and closing, which had completely unnerved him. Shuichi stood in the door to his study, a sad smile on his features. "Better yet, what the fuck are you doing here? I thought we agreed it was over."
"I know time heals all wounds, Eiri. Time makes anything possible. And you're right. We agreed it was over. But we also agreed we'd try to be friends," Shuichi murmured, stepping into the room. The vocalist had a point. They had agreed to at least try and be friends.
"That doesn't tell me why you're here."
"True. It doesn't."
"So why are you here?" Eiri demanded, sitting up in his chair and his tone softening. Despite the amount of beer he'd consumed, he still saw pain shimmering in his former lover's eyes. He hated to see them. Eiri had always hated to see pain in Shuichi's eyes. He felt worthless, helpless when he saw any type of hurt on Shuichi's face, and the strong desire to protect the younger man, to shield him from the cruelty of the world, surged through Eiri. When he saw that pain, he just wanted to rip out the throat of the person who had hurt Shuichi like this. Unfortunately, most of the time, when he and Shuichi had been together, the person who had been inflicting the pain had been Eiri.
"Facing a cold, bitter truth."