Gravitation ain't mine. Duh. You think I'd be writing this while eating some Mac'n'Cheese if I owned the show? No, my friends, I'd be splurging on REAL Kraft Dinner instead of this wannabe crap. Yay!

Limited Expression

Chapter One: Seventh Circle, Dante-style

Shuichi had a problem.

But, then again, isn't that how all of these stories begin? It would be rather boring to say the least if the Chronicles of Life contained nothing but putting out the garbage, feeding the cat and scrubbing pots in the kitchen. Yes, dreadfully boring. Which is why we shall skip most of all that and fling ourselves straight into the story in progress, where none of the problems of every day life are on our favourite pink-haired singer's mind as he wiggles and squirms in the hardwood seat under the very close scrutiny of two sets of psychologically trained eyes. And you know they're trained, too, that old woman and the middle-aged man, simply by the number of degrees plastered on the wall over yonder.

So we shall skip Shuichi's hectic morning and the car that wouldn't start. Those are little, tiny things. He has plenty bigger things on his plate than if he left the kettle on.

Like not getting tossed in the loony bin.

Yes, the loony bin.

The man leaned forward in his tweed sweater, as if he was really interested in whatever Shuichi had to say.

"Now tell us, Shindou-san, when did the voices first start speaking to you?"

Shuichi was speechless for a moment, then, with perfect comedic timing, sweatdropped.

Oi.

0 Two Weeks Previous 0

"What I want you to do," K said seriously to the squirrelly young man pulling at his ceremonial robes in consternation. "I want you to just walk up the steps, take this wish, toss it into the shrine, ring the goddamn bell, clap your hands, bow, turn around and come right back. Can you handle that, Shuichi? Can you?" Despair was evident in his English-accented voice. Why did they have to choose something so solemn for a publicity stunt? Why a...a...a temple? A sanctuary of serenity and calm that was like kryptonite to the vocalist.

Shuichi blinked large, wet, chibi eyes up at the blonde haired man and sniffled, just slightly.

"Euurrghhhh-ahhhh..." Said the blonde, expressing his frustration and opinion of the entire sordid affair by throwing up his hands and stalking off to the sandwich kiosk. Knowing Shuichi, the temple would be in flames by the time noon rolled around. The gods would see to it, of that he was certain.

Shuichi, on the other hand, tugged again at the stiff collar of the earthy-toned robes and shifted from foot to foot, looking lost. To the side, reporters cavorted about in pre-prime time glee. Bad Luck's singer Shuichi Shindou as a proxy for his record label bringing in a nice blessing for the company. What a nice sentiment. For the company. At least Shuichi didn't have to sing any corporate anthem every morning, as some were forced to.

Thank God for small favours.

Shuichi, mouthed Sakano, and attracted the singer's attention by a rather undignified waving of his arms. Two minutes.

Shuichi took a deep breath into his lungs. I will not screw this up. He promised himself silently. I will not screw this up.

Ten minutes later, the shrine in rubble, Shuichi was pulled from the still-smoking wreckage.

0

"Shuichi. Shuichi!"

He was aware of someone shaking him violently, and groaned in his nice, relaxing sleep. Why did people have to be such a pain? He was dreaming this horribly bad dream that K had forced him to wear dress robes and bless some stupid shrine on television with lots and lots of reporters watching.

'Shuichi, wake UP! I can tell you're awake, the machines say so."

Machines? What machines? Shuichi groaned again, something that sounded like 'five more minutes' and finally surrendered the fight. He acquiesced to open his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. Hiro was standing above him looking livid and worried at the same time. A frightening combination.

He snapped his eyes shut.

Hiro sighed. "I saw you, dumbass. Look at me."

Again, Shuichi cracked his eyes open, pained by the bright white light streaming through the window to his left, illuminating...

Shuichi gaped. "Holy shit! A hospital!"

"Uh...Where else would you be after you have a century-old temple collapse on your head, Shuichi?"

The temple collapsed? Well, that would make his dream a reality, wouldn't it? That would make the reporters screaming like a pack of prepubescent school girls after their favourite seiyu a reality and not just some twisted little amusement Shuichi liked. Oh, dear. He sat up abruptly, too abruptly for his friend's taste, who steadied him with a hand on his back between his shoulder blades. Shuichi's eyes bulged. "Ohmigod, I wrecked the sanctuary!"

Shit. Popstar Goes on Rampage: Destroys Shinto Shrine. Shiiiiiiiit.

He lifted pleading eyes to Hiro's, hands clenching on the painfully clean sheets on the metal hospital bed. Hiro sighed.

"What--tell me exactly--what did you touch, Shuichi?"

"I walked in like K said and then... I saw....A...a stone in the middle of the doorframe. It was all pretty." Hadn't it been? All shimmery with little flecks of quartz in the firelight as Shuichi entered. He'd just wanted to see it. How was he to know that it had been a...

"Keystone." Gulped Hiro in a strangled sob. He seemed to be in the middle of a painful mental collapse. "A blessed keystone. Oh, Shu, why'd you have to do it? The papers are going nucking futs. A keystone. If you'd tried you couldn't have cause more damage. They might have to rebuild the entire thing."

"Ahhh. I see." Said Shuichi, finally understanding, and, for the second time that day, fainted clean away.

0

Shuichi awakens some hours later to a bare room devoid of all life. His eyes dance from the clock on the wall that reads a grimy 1:06 to the blank faced and clam-mouthed television set built directly into the wall. A card of well wishings already sits on his bedside table, a balloon bobbing some distance above, tethered only by a slender purple ribbon.

Sunlight filters in through the drawn blinds to create a dusky atmosphere in the private room, and it's so silent that for a moment Shuichi forgets even the events of the afternoon and runs a tender finger over to cool metal of his bed. Stainless steel. Perfect.

You're finally awake.

The 'voice' jerked Shuichi awake with the force of a stampeding horse in his brain, especially since the two seemed to have the same source. He had heard the voice, but he hadn't heard it. It simply bounced around between his ears like some psychotic ping pong ball, deep and resonant with just the slightest nasal tone.

If Shuichi wasn't laying prone in a hospital bed and thinking of other matters, he would have said the voice was...sexy. Attractive. Confident and at the same time mocking and sarcastic. How cool.

Over here.

It almost seemed to be coming from....Shuichi turned his head to look. He got more than he bargained for. A man sat in the ugly hospital chair, one leg crossed over the other and lit cigarette held flippantly between the middle and ring finger of his left hand. Blonde hair that shone like distilled sunlight and feline-like eyes like chips of raw emerald. And those eyes--those eyes--were directed with laser-like intensity at him.

Shuichi gulped. Not entirely in fear. And delivered the momentous line:

"Y-You're see through."

And he was. Shuichi could see the dim form of the chair through the man's chest and the speckled floor through his leather shoes. He felt...faint...

Goddammit, don't faint on me again, you little shrinking violet. I've been waiting for a bloody fuck of a long time in that temple for someone to free me.

Shuichi shook his head to clear it, and blinked once. "Y-You're..."

The man waved the cigarette imaptiently. Yes, yes, see-through, I got that. He paused to inhale greedily on the burning smoke with a thoughtful air. Exhale. I am dead, you know.

This time, nothing could stop Shuichi from fainting again.

Yuki sighed. Too bad the person to free him from that prison those goddamned priests had placed him in had to be such a complete little idiotic pansy-ass. He was linked with this whelp. Nothing to do about it but wait it out, and try to find a way to leave.

The demi-demon sighed, and awaited his host to return to the land of the conscious.

Not a boring day indeed.

fini.

I guess I ought to continue it. My first attempt at something that's not angst. Wacha think?