The Art of Falling Apart
Author's Notes- This is a rewrite of something I've been working on for months, before getting stuck, realising the chapter plan was perhaps too ambitious and starting over. I'm much happier with this version and the first few chapters are going fine.
Constructive criticism is very welcome. I'm a little worried Ryuichi may seem out of character, in this first chapter especially. He doesn't really angst much in the series so it's difficult to know how he would react, but I'm trying to write him basically upbeat, but losing touch with reality and becoming somewhat unstable under pressure. I find erratic, unstable behaviour more likely than him sitting in a corner monologuing about it.
Disclaimer- I don't own any of the recognisable characters or concepts. This is entirely non-profit and no copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings- Sex (will be non-explicit, but mentioned), drugs, alcohol use, angst, slash and het, suicide attempt.
Ryuichi is on top of the world, literally.
He's staring at the stars, lying sprawled on his back across the thin edge of the balcony wall on the highest floor, one knee propped up and pointing to the sky, one hand dangling lazily fifty floors above the ground. The slightest shift in his weight could send him over the edge, but he's too tired to care much about it. Or maybe it's because he has no common sense. People tell him that all the time, say that's why he can't live alone or make his own decisions. Despite the drugs and alcohol coursing through his system, he's perfectly balanced there for now, on the knife-edge of the world.
He's currently in one of Tokyo's most prestigious hotels, but he couldn't name which one. They all start to look the same after a few tours, no matter how contemporary the design or how luxurious the rooms are. They've occupied the entire floor for ten days now and the suite is trashed. The bill will be high, but probably not the worst Nittle Grasper have ever run up over the years. There's cigarette burns peppering the imported wallpaper, the cream carpet ruined from days of alcohol and blood and vomit. A few days ago a fight broke out and Ryuichi was woken by the splintering and crashing of expensive furniture being thrown against walls or other people, while he turned his face into the carpet and simply let himself drift away from it all. He had no idea who most of the people there were, even though they included some of the most beautiful and recognisable faces of the time. Musicians, models, socialites, some of the big names in record companies, accompanied for a night or two by an ever-changing crowd of groupies and drug dealers and call girls. One by one, they've all disappeared over the last few days and left him wandering around the enormous suite by himself.
It's peaceful there, until his manager catches up with him again. He needs time to think and it's nice living without the constant crowd of assistants, the psychiatric nurse masquerading as a bodyguard, the personal assistants, all paid off and carefully orchestrated to keep it quiet that there was something not quite right with Ryuichi Sakuma. They all thought he couldn't take care of himself without them, but Ryuichi is doing fine. By night he wanders the suite with a bottle in his hand and thinks he can still hear the music playing on, and by day he takes his pills, lies back on the ruined bed and lets his head fill up with sunshine.
Even though Ryuichi hasn't been taking his medication, Kumagorou is quiet for once, and he can almost think clearly for the first time in years, maybe in his life. The night air is sultry, heavy with pollution that rises shimmering from the world below. He takes deep breaths of thick, smoky air and lets himself choke on it, just a few more toxins this city has to offer that he has yet to sample. He turns his head slightly to glance over the edge. On the road, tiny dots trace the progress of tiny lives in tiny cars and he watches, fascinated by the constant play of lights. The city never sleeps, and without his medication, neither does Ryuichi.
The end of Nittle Grasper is coming, the end of Ryuichi himself. He's read the signs in cloudy swirls of neon cocktails, the patterns ground into stained sheets and the meaningless jumble of lyrics that once meant so much to him. He knows Noriko's never coming back and that's okay, they can afford to lose her and he's happy she's found something stable in her life. But now Tohma is looking to jump this doomed ship too and then there will be no music at all. Ryuichi doesn't want the music to ever stop.
Ryuichi sits up, miraculously not losing his balance and toppling over the edge, the same unconscious grace that appears when he stalks the stage, that his choreographer claimed he was losing. He glances at the other Ryuichi, printed ghostly on the glass balcony doors. The dim reflection is kind, blurring out the dark smudges under his eyes and the sick, worn-out pallor of his skin. Nothing a few days rest won't fix, it's happened before and his manager always admonishes him and sends him away until he's looking better and reminds him how important his appearance is. They only love you when you're pretty.
Something is pressing into the curve of his hip and he looks down, noticing the shadows there. Good, he won't have to watch his weight for a long time. He could even eat ice-cream, if the pills left him with any appetite anyway. The something turns out to be a lipstick, and he has no idea how it got there. He flips the top off, letting it fall silently through the darkness to smash out its life on a street that seems a vertical mile away. It's probably as bright as one of his crayons, but he can't see if the lipstick is scarlet or crimson or bubblegum pink when the moonlight bleaches the colour from everything and leaves it in muted shades of grey. The wax is slightly melted from being in his pocket, and he's surprised that dead-eyed man he sees in the reflection still has some warmth left to offer. It's soft, but it's good enough to scrawl a colourless message on the glass doors.
He's losing track of time. He could have been in the hotel for a week or a month, and nothing to measure it by. He doesn't feel anything to mark the passage of time- the pills stop him feeling hungry and he's never noticeably tired or awake any more, only sleeping to dream away the hours. There's no clues from the world around him either. Room service stopped calling some time ago, maybe because he threw the phone out the window, sick of the twice-daily buzz that cut through his dreams like a drill and brought him back into a world filled with headaches and nausea. He manages a thin, uneasy sleep through sunrise and sunsets and can't turn on the TV for background noise since someone kicked in the screen on the first night. But somehow, he still knows that dawn is coming and it's time all the good little stars went to bed.
Ryuichi boosts himself up onto the narrow wall and stands easily, not unbalanced in the least. Even this high, there isn't a breath of wind and the heavy oppressive air feels thick enough to support him. He looks out over the city laid out before him, and not a trace of dizziness because up here is where he's meant to be. He's on top of the world and there's nothing anyone can do to bring him down, not now that he's really made it. He shuts his eyes and raises his arms by his side as though reaching out for an adoring audience. The dim roar of the city traffic sounds almost like the sound of mingled voices, and if they were only there to urge him on, Ryuichi thinks he could fly.
Everything below him was all grey, nothing shiny left in that world and that's why he's hiding up here right against the skies. There was nothing but the music, and even if his managers put him back together and sent him out again, that wasn't the same any more. His face turns up to the stars, visible even through the city haze, so close he can almost kiss them. He heard once that some of those stars died a long time ago, and all you see is the light they once emitted before they burned themselves out. That there's nothing really out there but cooling dead cinders, even when everyone looks up and sees them still sparkling, shining on. He knows he's burned up long ago, and it's only a matter of time before everyone else sees it too. Ryuichi doesn't think about the pain, and anyway, everyone knows that stars burn up before they hit the ground. The city that made him waits below, crawling with dark nightlife and heavy with sin, ready to swallow him whole. He simply steps out into the warm night sky and his world fills with stars.