Thank you for clicking on my fifth Gravitation fic.
Since I seem to make a point of making stories with bizarre premises that nobody cares for- I thought I'd continue on that same track and write this one too. So already , I'm sorry about this ( as I am sorry about everything I've ever written. ) This is an idea that came to me, and for whatever reason, refuses to go away until I submit to it. And I submit this to you for your condemnation and indifference. Also hopefully writing this will get the ball rolling on some other pending projects too. Sorry about the bad grammar, mistakes. I hope it makes some semblance of sense. Trigger warning includes: mental illness- in particular hoarding, anxiety,learning disabilities and homophobia... As always any feedback is appreciated.
( Also merry X-mas and happy holidays to you too! )
He adjusted his name badge on his blue over-sized vest, with his messenger bag cutting into his shoulder, raking down into his arm. His hands fruitlessly tried to find his pockets- a nervous habit of his. Not finding a pocket to readily slip his hand into, his hands ran and rubbed up and down his sides, up his thighs, and sometimes restlessly fisting through the sides of his hair and then he remembered how odd he must look doing that and tried to stop himself. He hated these shorts with too many pockets. Anytime he would put something into them, he would invariably forget which one he put it into, and he would have to check all of them again. Then feeling condemned and hopeless, he lowered the brim of his logoed baseball hat to further cover his face, the hat he had been given to wear, a further topping of humiliation. Why not, he thought, he should be quite used to it by now. If he would ever get used to anything.
Shuichi Shindou had been briefed, was wearing the uniform, had -with great frustration- done the required reading (that no one did) but still felt ill-prepared. Naturally. He was.
It was his frist day.
Another frist day of another menial job.
Shuichi wondered exasperately : How many more frist days would he have?
At least, it wasn't standing at a cashier, bagging groceries in glaring light and even more glaring silence occasioned by intermittent beeps and even more mechanical courtesies . All those hours on his feet hurt.
His feet had hurt him again, when he had waited in a hotel tea lounge, pacing back and forth, pouring scalding tea, picking out dead flowers out of vases, getting complained at by well-dressed customers, snipping with the other waiters and crushing pounds of ice in the kitchen for the daily buffet.
Or when Shuichi been washing dishes in another kitchen , constantly with boiling hot water at a frenetic pace, having the futile sense of accomplishment finshing a stack of plates until more came clanging in like an invading parade, to brusquely undo what he had just completed, until he could nearly slough off the pruned skin off his wet hands.
Still was better than Shuichi's intolerable stint in the custodial arts , working for his father's janitorial mangerial company. His father instructed that he work from the 'bottom up' and as a point issued him the worst jobs, but for what purpose, Shuichi didn't know and still didn't. This included disinfecting filthily surfaces , killing scrambling insects and their young , swapping urinal cakes and mopping head-ache inducing geometrical bathroom floors, near choking against his face mask, amongst the other stomach churning aromas. He had to quit because he literally hadn't 'had the stomach' for it,on a particulary bad day, Shuichi had thrown up on himself, and then been tasked with the indignity of cleaning it up afterwards.
But that was not discounting his unfortunate week in construction, working for a contractor (until the other workers, and even the contractor's daughter had harassed and laughed at Shuichi 's pink hair and soft looks to the point of him quitting) . Also - the fact he was clumsy, useless with tools and had hammered some appendage, electrocuted himself, glued his fingers ,dropped the tools on his foot,more times then he could count . That had been an added incentive for to forego any longer there, if only for his own well being and everyone else's.
Afterwards there was his job heavy lifting boxes and boxes of inventory and retrieving requested merchandise in a gloomy foreboding stockroom of a vast mid-tier department store- despite the fact Shuichi was hardly capable of heavy lifting ( he had wobbled, bumped into and dropped everything) or at finding anything in there due to their illogical filing and placement system. It was the same department store Shuichi's mother worked at, at one of the make up and perfume counters where she spent giving impressionable and uncertain customers make-overs in order to sell them the over-priced products afterwards. Although the place was so big, sometimes he and his mother could go for days without seeing eachother (which was a relief). Shuichi's storeroom duties had been a temp job , and it had came and went, like the rest of them, after the 'seasonal sales and 'spending' was over.
It didn't much matter.
No matter what job he had had, the result was the same.
Either it ended with Shuichi being fired or quitting.
Now the role Shuichi currently inhabits is that of the office delivery boy of a publishing house.
At least, no matter how long this job lasts, he thinks, he has the chance to get out, get around the city.
Shuichi frist duty and priority is to deliver a box to the listed address on it. The rest are envelopes, letters, documents, manila folders to send to individual persons, some others to offices. Why they can't just be emailed or faxed is another question he wonders. Perhaps having a messenger bringing it is to give it an air of importance, exclusivity, a personal touch , or it is the publisher house perogative to attach signicance to a physical object. Or maybe in these letters there are things that are too private, 'delicate' and cannot be sent otherwise, or so the sender imagines? His boss is supposedly 'fussy', anal retentive, an eccentric. Shuichi doesn't know if this is true. They have never spoken. Shuichi was hired by an overworked assistant manager.
There are very specific instructions on the one box Shuichi must deliver.
He figures he will deliver this item frist, as it is the farthest away.
He takes a bullet train out- and due to the crowding on it, he has to stand, close enough to hear the sounds of the people breathing and the chafe of their worn fabrics around him.
Shuichi nearly gets off at the wrong stops several times. Once he gets off, it's a long journey that also involves him meandering around on several confused and chaotic half-gentrified streets and alleys. It rains on him as it were meant to only rain on him, and he near slips and bangs his hip on a errant pipe, box near dropping out of hand.
Already he's sweating . Inwardly swearing. Once again, Shuichi is afraid for no obvious reason. Other than this is not a particularly nice area, and he's suspects he's taking too long to find the address - if he wants to get his other orders done in a timely way.
Already he feels with a sense of dread that he is not succeeding.
Already, this is not going well.
Then he finds, that the address is in an industrial building that looks borderline condemned. The unit is on one of bottom floors, and he gets there by taking a elevator that has a charred cigarette butt on the floor. Right under the "No Smoking, Fire Hazard" sign.
He arrives to the floor, but has to traverse from one side of the buidling to the other, through the fire escape since the building is divided into halves that the escape serves as an intersection. He, to his disbelieving amazement, finds the proper unit, (according to the water-marked sign) and knocks on the door.
Nothing.
After a few seconds, he knocks slighly louder again.
This time Shuichi hears a cough in the silence.
Shuichi knocks once more.
"If you're ... trying to sell me something." A masculine voice replies testily." ...Not interested."
Shuichi stands up taller. Surprised. The voice sounded too clear. Sharp. He would have expected a subdued and tremulous voice- to match its decrepit surroundings.
"No... I'm ... not here to sell you ...anything sir." Shuchi says heistantly.
There's no response.
Shuichi only knocks again. More forcefully.
Finally a grumbling. Sounds of shuffling.
The door opens a crack.
One amber eye is spliced through the near-closed door way, through uneven tortoise shell glasses.
Shuichi is taken aback by the eye's gold color.
"Oh." The voice says from behind the door. "...You're one of... those."
Before Shuichi can even try to begin to comprehend what that statement means,the smell of cigarettes, and something else brooding, un- nameable and unpleasant like a force-field, repels Shuichi back.
The door opens a little more to reveal the voice's owner- a bit of of beard, and with it a scraggly thicket of hair grown past the shoulders .The hair is goldish, stringy, greasy, dirty blonde, some tangled strands hanging in the owner's grey complexion. His nicotine stained fingers curl around the door's edge with a claw grip. He stares down at Shuichi through the barely open door way.
"Um ... Hello sir." Shuichi finally says unsteadily , ignoring the man's smelliness and unkemptness, and plasters on what he hopes as a polite smile. He wonders if he's made a mistake, or a mistake that has been committed on the logistical level . But the address is right, as it printed on the box which he checked again and again. He is where he is supposed to be, even if it doesn't feel like it. Shuichi starts quickly. "I'm ... sent on behalf of the-"
"...Don't care." The terse monotone voice breaks in, the one errie golden eye in the doorway narrows suspiciously . "...If I give you some money... will you go away?"
"No. Its not how it works ... Mister... Ue...Ue...sugi?" Shuichi struggles to read the name off ontop of the box. He then smiles again and tries to sound officious and obsequious as possible, reminding himself he is wearing a name tag and a hat- as if that gives him authority."You are... Mister. ...E...iri... Ue...sugi,uh ... right? Let me ...start again. I'm Shuichi Shindo, a messenger sent here on the behalf of-"
"I don't give a damn ...how it works , who you are, who you're sent by... ot what you're here for." The man's voice cuts into Shuichi's speech like a rusted instructment, grating and hostile, painfully out of his dry and cracked lips.
Nervously , Shuichi re-clutches the box to himself.
Eiri Uesugi then grinds his jaw with his cigarette yellowed teeth, and leans forward, his shoulders hunched into the door, like he's being pressed agianst it. His fingers tighten on the door way to steady himself. Although his pale waxen face hardly moves, his gold eyes (now two eyes visible) shift around. Inspite of the unflattering glasses, and the dark welts of his eye circles , they seem overly bright. Intense. Unsettled.
Shuich thinks unnerved, : this Mr. Eiri Uesugi is unsightly. Ugly. In a foreboding odd striking way. A face , that despite its horrid and off-putting quality, Shuichi won't soon forget.
As if to add to this effect, the bearded bespectacled man then hacks a viscous repulsive cigarette cough into his fist and then wipes some whitish spittle from the corner of his mouth (which causes Shuichi to grimace and step back ) and continues, mumbling, eyes half-lidded. "... I'm... I'm not... interested in any interview or any pictures... I don't ...do that anymore, you understand?"
Shuichi winces. "...Excuse me? Do what... you say? "
A bleak grunt. "...Do what... any of you want..."
"Uh." Shuichi gawks.
This exchange is so bizarre, Shuichi can scarely believe this is actually happening. On his frist day, of all times. Why would anyone send him to this place? To a delusional man with golden eyes?
Speechless Shuichi realizes he is gaping at Eiri Uesugi's sludge grey colored sweat shirt that drapes over what seems a gaunt figure, the windbreaker jacket over it and faded jeans. Then to his tortoise shell glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose, that still can't cover his furrowed brow and depressing eye circles.
Shuichi realizes it has been a quite a long time since he's spoken.
The other man only stares back with a surly tired dolorous expression.
"Um. Uh. P-Pardon sir. I ... I'm ... very sorry, I think... there's been... some kind of mistake... " Shuichi stammers , his head bowed. He decides to give the other man the benefit of the doubt: this Eiri Uesugi must be confused about what accepting the box entails. Shuichi also feels confused for some reson and suddenly way too hot. He gulps quietly. "...No photo ID is required and I don't need anything else, but a simple verification that you got-"
The man interrupts him acerbically. " Yeah - there sure has been a mistake ... On your part. And it will be a worse mistake on your part , if you don't leave me alone-"
Eiri Uesugi jars back the door.
Shuichi realizes: the door is about slam in his face.
Reflexively, he shoves the toe of his sneaker there.
The other man doesn't express any shock at this.
He only tries to swing the door shut against the obstruction.
When Shuichi does not move- he looks up at Shuichi infuriated.
"...What are you an idiot?" The other man snaps hoarsely. His stare manages to convey icy contempt and fury.
"No! I'm not ! I mean- I don't mean to... bother you sir ! Not at all. I'm just trying to do my job! I was sent , I'm just a delivery boy you see- And if you don't take this box, my boss will be mad at me-as you're my very frist assignment. I was sent to personally give this to you- and perhaps... ... its my frist day, and maybe I didn't start out right and we got off on the wrong foot!" The younger man retorts desperately, eyeing the rubber toe of his shoe warped and wedged in the door. His toes are crammed way back in his shoe to avoid being crushed . "So if you'd just give me a chance, I need to give you this, and get your signature saying that you got it, and then I'll be on my way- ! And if you don't want it, at least tell me if you want it returned- and tell me why, so I have something to tell the office when I get back-"
"...Not my problem. All I want is for you to return wherever you came from. " The man hisses, hastily reaches into his pocket and then shoves, crumples some money into Shuichi's hand. " Unless you run off and fetch me a six pack of Sapporo's and some menthols. "
"... Cigarettes? Alcohol?! No sir. I'm... I'm not going to do that. "Shuichi gapes, Eiri's Uesugi's money crushed in his grip. "I'm not even allowed to do that!"
The man looks down at him coldly ."...Then what goddamn good are you then?"
Shuichi's jaw only drops further open.
" Thats what I thought. You damned brat. " The other man sneers. " Now take your shoe out of my door ."
Shuichi does.
When he does, the door slams in his face.
Shuichi tenatively knocks again.
"...I have your money sir..." He creeps forward timidly. "Or if its alright, I can leave your money... and the box here- "
"Listen you little pissant!" The man yells breathily behind the door. "I'm not giving ... out autographs. I'm not... him anymore. Go find some other bastard to bother!"
And a final dull listless calling out, like a post script, five seconds later . "... And take your fucking box with you too."
Shuichi leaves the money (and the box) on the doorstep.
Later, not knowing what else to do, Shuichi delivers the rest of the folders, letters and documents that he's alloted.
Those deliveries occur without incident.
On his way back to the office, he wonders what he should do now.
He technically did give Eiri Uesugi the box, but he's required to get the signature to prove someone did recieve it.
Shuichi realizes he should have brought the box back, claimed Eiri Uesugi was not home. It is too late for that.
He could still say he delivered it. However this entails that he forge Eiri Uesugi's signature on the form, but he does not know how Eiri Uesugi signs his name.
But without that signature, there is no telling if Eiri Uesugi actually recieved the package.
He thinks: They probably won't know the difference.
For inexplicable reasons, Shuichi decides to tell the truth .
Due to being unable to procure Eiri Uesugi's signature, Shuichi is fired.
That night, Shuichi tries to explain what happened.
He is exhausted, ashamed and disheartened- so much so he can't go bear to go home to his parents (whom he lives with) and tell them the truth, that he was fired (again)- but this time on the frist day.
Maybe Shuichi thinks he can lie at least for a little while. Like he did once before, saying he had a job at a record store, but actually sitting around in the park for hours instead- or going to bookstores, to read the comics and then not buying them, putting them gingerly back on the shelf to the clerk's impatient glares.
Currently , they are are in his friend's Hiro's dorm room. They have stolen the the common room stereo and talking over Hawaiian style pineapple pizza - and beer (both his friend's treat) , which they are eating cross-legged on the floor.
"I think its a record. Fired on the frist day... but this time, it teally wasn't my fault. It wasn't - I got some nutbar at the frist door. I mean what are the chances of that? Is that bad luck or what?"Shuichi grimaces at his own pun.
Then he continues angrily. " He refused to just do one simple thing, sign a paper for ... no reason! Other than being crazy! This guy said some absolutely loony stuff about the press and interviews and not wanting to have pictures taken of him, freaking out about nothing, he even swore at me and tried to slam my foot in the door!"
"Then the job is nothing. Don't even think about it man. If that guy was really that insane, just be relieved you got away and didn't get murdered or something ." His friend Hiro assures him .
" Yeah. I guess. The guy was a real wack-job... he even looked like a scary mad man, like the kind you see in slasher movies." Shuichi tries to laugh but realize he's still too shaken by today's incident - to do so. " And the wierdest thing is that... he had these... strange... colored eyes too. "
"Strange colored eyes?" Hiro snorts. "Now I know you're making this up-"
"No really! They were. Yellowish ones. Gold. " Shuichi reminisces- troubled by the memory. "... Like... his ...blonde hair...but he wasn't a foreigner ... He had a Japanese name too. "
Hiro puts his slice of pizza down and stares at him.
"... That is wierd..." Hiro asks, eyebrows raised. " Do you by chance remember the guy's name?"
"... Uh... Ei- ri? Eiri... Eiri...Uesugi?" Shuichi forms the name hesitantly. Even saying his name there is a deep stirring discomfort within him, a guilt, like he shouldn't be saying that name out loud . The experience was disturbing and bothersome enough on its own, without relating it or reliving it to anybody else.
"...Eiri Uesugi with gold colored hair and ...eyes... You mean the ... Eiri Uesugi? You mean Eiri Yuki? " Hiro sits up, eyes wide.
"Yeah. Eiri Uesugi. I mean ..what?" Shuichi barks. " What do you mean - Eiri Yuki? Thats a completely different last name!"
Hiro informs him. "Eiri Yuki and Eiri Uesugi are both the same person."
"What are you talking about? And how do you know that? How do you even know of him?" Shuichi waves a hand. "Was he a jerk to you too? He must get around! "
" How can you be dense? How do you not know of him?! " His friend scoffs." Well. I guess you don't read much."
"Not if comics count as books, no. Even then I'm mostly looking at the pictures. " Starving, (misery always makes him voracious ) Shuichi takes a enormous bite of his pizza and chomps it down with his mouth full. " So what, is he a writer or something?"
" Yeah." Hiro explains. " Eiri Yuki is just his pen-name."
Shuichi sniffs. " Big deal. You know his stuff?"
"Ofcourse I do. To say he's an a author, is an understatement. Eiri Yuki is more like some brilliant prodigy. Or was. A phenomena. AKA. the Golden Boy of the literary scene or some critics not so orginally coined him- due to his unsual coloring, gold-hearted charm and promising talent, He wrote his frist novel at 16 - about... 7 years ago, and it sold millions of copies around the world, and it was translated into different languages. He got alot of acclaim for it. He even won some awards and honorary degrees too. One from this university too. "
Shuichi nearly spits his half-chewed pizza out.
Seriously?!" That mental case I saw today... did all that?! " Shuichi pounds a fist into his chest , coughing on some pizza caught in his throat. "How is that possible?! And he once was... nice?! "
"Supposedly." Hiro says dryly.
"No that can't be the same person- and how can he be only 24?! He looked so gross, and ancient!" Shuichi exclaims.
Hiro points to a nearby bookcase on the other side of the dorm room . " Hey, it might be someone else, but I doubt it. How many people with golden eyes do you see around ? Look, my room mate has his book 'Cool' on his shelf somewhere. There' s probably a photo of Eiri Yuki in it. "
The other half of the room belongs to Hiro's room mate , Fujisaki Suguru . A quiet bookish self- concious , self-important music student who was never there in the room due to his long music practices ,and whenever he was, made it a point to ignore them both, putting his headphones in, and going straight either to his desk to read or into his bed to sleep. Fujisaki 's side of the room is also staged with laughably pretentious objects that Shuichi is always tempted to move around and hide and mock, such as ornate scarves, leather bound books and a lifesize metal bust of a dead composer.
"Let me see about that. " Shuichi climbs over to the bookcase. He, after a minute, finds the book on Fujisaki's nightstand.
Shuichi looks at the cover of Cool, then flips it open.
On the inside jacket, there is a photo of a fresh-faced well-dressed young man, leaning agianst a brick wall in a white collared shirt tucked into dress pants. Shoulders back, looking up into the camera , his head relaxed and tilted, a long neck on display. His hands in his pockets infront of him in a casual stance. Blonde hair swept over his forehead, over unmistakable gold eyes. Smiling an intimate and relaxed grin, almost laughing - delighted, beaming, invitingly, like someone might greet an best friend or a lover. The clean bright effortless image of confident youthful success.
And beyond that, incredibly beautiful.
"...Wow." Shuichi says , jaw dropped.
Hiro eyes him. "So is that the right guy?"
Realizing he is staring, Shuichi's face warms again.
"Yeah...I mean. ... he looks so... different here. " Shuichi suppresses the urge to scan and press over the image with his finger tips as if to test if it is real. The structure of the man he saw and the man he sees in the photo are so similar , familar- but at the same time, disconcertingly incongruent, like seeing a mannequin of someone next to the living person. "But thats Eiri Yuki for sure... You can't miss that face even with the glasses, beard and long hair he's grown out now. "
Hiro shrugs. " I guess that was his problem. "
"...What do you mean by that?" Shuichi asks curiously.
"After his big success and popularity , Yuki couldn't handle the attention or the attendent benefits of fame - so Yuki after being a idol, and having tons of girls throwing themselves at him, and being supposedly the next genius writer, vanished off the face of the earth. Except to issue an statement that he ' philosophically' renounced all the honors they gave him-whatever that means," Hiro chuckles. " and that he'd never write again. Some people thought it was a gimmick , a stunt to try and 'up the ante' for publishing houses or university presses to make him offers for his next book or to Cool's sequel, which they did for a while- some offered him obscene amounts, and contracts and advances, prestigious residences, even to make a movie out of his book, but he just wouldn't take it. Then people started to think it was a strategic move, to build anticipation by making a comeback later on waiting out after the worse of the 'Yuki fad' has passed, and reinvent himself into a more mature and serious image. But years passed, and the revival never happened and he started to fade out of cultural memory. Then people said Yuki had only one good novel in him, and cracked under the pressure of trying to write a successful second book. Or that he was a fluke. Others say what happened was Yuki lost his mind and became some sort of wierd shut-in. "
Hiro adds. "Obviously , there's some truth to that if what you're saying is right."
"Oh." Shuichi said soberly, staring at the author's picture. " ...Thats... kind of sad, isn't it? "
"Yeah... it is. " Hiro looks surprised at Shuichi's response. His features purse thoughtfully as if trying to find an appropiate response to that. Finding none. he says. "... But it .. happens I guess."
Why does it happen? Shuichi wanted to ask. But even Hiro, as seemingly perceptive as he was, couldn't tell him.
" Wait a minute...that doesn't make sense." Shuichi leans in and says pointedly. " Even if Eiri Yuki's not as famous as before , shouldn't the guy have tons of money from that best-selling book? Why would he now live in some crappy place all alone?"
"I don't know. Maybe ... Yuki squandered all his money, or gave it to the wrong manager or mismanaged it himself. Maybe he got a bad deal. I mean he was a kid back then. It's not unexpected that alot of artists and alot of sixteen years olds are pretty easy to exploit and take advantage of . Or maybe Yuki's just crazy, and he chooses to live that way." Hiro comments.
'Why would anyone choose to live that way.' Shuichi thought, even more disturbed at that possiblity.
He flips to the back cover again. That ghostly photo of Yuki. That version of him , that self that didn't exist anymore. That smiling, promising (happy?) young man. A golden boy.
Shuichi studies the photo again.
" ...Did you ... ever read the book ?" Shuichi mutters, pretending nonchalance . "... What was it even about anyways?"
" Yeah. I did. But I can't recall if I liked it or not. It was back in my early teens. Back then it was the cool thing to do. Everyone was reading it or at least, they said that they were. "Hiro smiles absentmindedly."You know... I can barely remember anything about it... about the plot, or what created all the hype , or it was even all that great to begin with.I'm sure most people don't remember either. But thats how book crazes are, its the next best thing since sliced bread, until the next thing pops up ."
Hiro then nudges him. " But hey, since you're such good friends with him, maybe you can ask him about it ?"
"Ha." Shuichi says, unsmiling.
"Ha." Shuichi then says it again, clearing his throat, and states loudly as if trying to convince himself . ...That may be true, but all I know I was fired on account of him. Eiri Yuki or Eiri Uesugi, whoeever he is, or whatever he's done, all he now is an nasty jerk who cost me my job. " He takes a terse sip of his beer. "Whatever happened to him... he probably deserves it."
Hiro says . "Yeah."
Shuichi looks up and sees Hiro is distracted.
Shuichi mentions to break him out of his reverie. "Hey. Thanks for spending the night with me again, and letting me hide out here. Sorry to complain. I know you're really busy, and ... there's Ayaka who's always hankering for you."
Hiro looks a little dazed, at being reminded where he is, whom he is with. Then he readily smiles again.
"Yeah." Hiro says understandingly. "Ofcourse. But I would rather hang out with you whenever I get the chance. And by the way... "
He nudges Shuichi with his elbow again. "Happy birthday man."
"I told you before." Shuichi looks away, near flinches. "I... didn't want you to bring that up. "
" You mean the fact you're turning 20? C'mon you 're not the type to get depressed about that sort of thing. Everyone knows a birthday is just an excuse to drink and hang out, and get free stuff. " Hiro jokes.
" Yeah." Shuichi shakes his head morosely. Turning 20. He wanted to groan. He might as well be turning 200." I don't usually get wierd about birthdays. Its just ...this one. Its... significance. How strange it is, that I'm no longer a teenager... I feel like... its the end of something. Like I have to be... a... " His face twists into an expression of horror. "a grown up now."
"Thats kind of a relief. " Hiro remarks. "Don't you think?"
" In truth, it feels kind of ...scary." Shuichi sighs. " Think about it...if I live to 80, a quarter of my life is ... gone Hiro." He snaps his fingers- . "...Gone... just like that."
" Hey mine too old man." Hiro laughs and briskly pats him on the back."Yours and everyone elses. There's no need for angst. Everyone goes through what you're going through. Don't be so dramatic. The world's not coming to an end. "
" I know. " Shuichi says glumly.
"You know what it is? You just need to go out, and find yourself a hot chick to help you relax. Like I have Ayaka. " Hiro grins, either at his own suggestion or at the mention of Ayaka , Shuichi cannot tell.
Shuichi thinks anxiously: Was it really that simple?
Would getting a girl answer all his problems?
To Shuichi, that only presented a new set of problem.
Like how to get a girlfriend for example.
But getting a girl, had been Hiro's answer. Now that Hiro was going to school too. Hiro was pre-med. Most likely he was becoming to become a doctor, like his father was , or maybe a professor, like his mother, who was a professor at the university he was attending . They were a smart driven family, and Hiro already had an eccentric older brother who was a failed actor and couldn't be mentioned by anyone in the family without a knowing chuckle or a exasperated sigh. They didn't want the same for Hiro. They had expectations of him.
And when Hiro started seeing Ayaka more seriously, was when Hiro had began his metamorphosis into what was expected of him, a 'responsible Hiro', like a parallel version of himself . One drastic change was that Hiro had cut off his thick unmanagable hair. The hair he had spent years growing out much to the disapproval of everyone else, and dyed that incorrigible red. Not to be outdone, Shuichi had bleached his hair and dyed his pink to one up him. His hair was still pinkish, but now from lack of maintenance, it had faded to a dusky sunset hue with his black roots growing in, like a half-remembered joke.
But Hiro having that long red hair had been a symbol. Like Hiro's motorcycle and his faded hole-ridden band T-shirts. A distinguishing sign that Hiro was immediately unemployable, and intended for an more unconventional path.
And a new hair cut (and trading in his motorcycle for text books, changing his T-shirts for proper clothing) also, was a marker of something . A shift and sort of concessation to convenience , or to a standard dictated by some outward authority. But Hiro had done it of his own accord, changed for himself , changed for his family, changed for Ayaka. (Her family would never approve her seeing a long haired musician living off cigarettes and Ramen, and taking her out to all night karoke bars on the back of his motorcycle. )
And seeing him in his respectable state made Hiro non-descript. Unrecognizable . That was when Shuichi did get the chance to see him. Being a fulltime student and having a girlfriend, Hiro wasn't nearly as available for hanging out, or as obsessed with rock and pop as he was before, and since they didn't talk about music as much, Shuichi was a bit of loss of what to talk about.
Not that it mattered to Hiro, what Shuichi might think or what they could talk about. There were other more important things for him to occupy his time, and while their friendship was still important, it was old, and based on fading interests. Hhis relationship with Ayaka was unprecedented, exciting, and novel- and -ofcourse, there was the fact Ayaka and Hiro had sex- (another reason Fujisaki probably stayed away from the room) and friendship , inevitably took a back seat to that. Shuichi was Hiro's past, but Ayaka seemed to represent Hiro's undoubtly optimistic and productive future. Even though Ayaka was Hiro's frist girlfriend, Ayaka was marriagable material herself. She came from wealth, and she was studying finance, something that involved incomprehensible data charts, graphs, a litany of markets. Shuichi could never understand it and although it was neccesary that someone do that kind of work, Shuichi didn't want to understand it.
What Shuichi really wanted to understand was what made people change.
If he could understand that, Shuichi thought solemnly, he might not be replaced.
Shuichi reminded himself: he wasn't being replaced, he was just an adjunct to a wider of spectrum of Hiro's more complex and mature life now, their friendship was more a artifiact relationship, kept out of nostalgic need to hold onto the past, to reminisce over a simplier time when all that mattered was hanging out, goofing off, obsessing over Nittle Grasper and their high school Bad Luck band and dreaming of a hypothetic future that seemed so far away, but was now ,brutally blustering its way into their present. In that futute, their friendship wasn't as big of pirority anymore . But Shuichi was still Hiro's best friend (albeit bumbling and struggling one, a sort of living bad-example ) Hiro's side-kick- although in the past he had liked to imagine Hiro as his sidekick- how wrong and imprecise he had been. Now he was mostly there, in case things with Ayaka fell through. But that was to be expected. That was the way time was. Hiro was changing. More importantly, Hiro was happy. And Shuichi wanted Hiro to be happy.
Would Shuichi ever feel the same?
When already, Shuichi was already feeling his youth was being wasted , the wistful, despairing feeling of endless possibility recede from him like a sunset, or the shrinking slither of light glimmering from a closing doorway.
" Yeah. Probably I do. " Shuichi tries to smile. " I... need ... something. "
Hiro pats his shoulder, assures him. "Hey. Don't worry man. You just had a rough afternoon. But you got a lot of good times ahead of you. "
Right then, Shuichi is randomly bothered by the thought of Eiri Yuki, the smiling young man in the photo.
He doesn't feel so sure.
Hiro speaks up again after taking a swig of beer. "...Now ...I know you didn't want me to do anything for your birthday, but I knew better then to believe that. Unfortunately I've too swamped lately to get you something fancy, and offical, or find you a girl. But... I did manage to get you this."
Hiro pulls out a candy bar from his pocket (probably from the closest vending machine) and peels it open. He then grabs a nearby box of Pocky thats besides them.
He lights one Pocky stick on fire with his lighter and sticks it into the slightly melted candy bar like a birthday candle.
"There we have it." Hiro gestures to it. " Your birthday cake."
At this, Shuichi laughs.
Staring at the candy bar cake, its so shoddy and badly done, its funny. Somehow , its even better than if Hiro had done something pre-prepared, and proper. It reminds him of something the old Hiro would have done.
But knowing that, dampens his mood even more.
Shuichi misses his friend, who his friend used to be. But his friend is still here. They are still friends. For how much longer is unclear.
"So uh. Do you want to make a wish?" Hiro gestures to the candy bar sheepishly.
Shuichi stares at the burning Pocky stick.
There are so many wants, desires. Competing. Painful. Unfulfilled. Probably impossible. Some of them he was not certain what they were yet.
Shuichi smiles despite himself. "...Yeah I do."
Yet his mind is blank when he blows the stick out.
The next day, Shuichi is supposed to go to the park again and pretend to be working -so his parents won't find out he no longer has a job.
Instead, he finds himself taking the same train he did yesterday out.
Shuichi stands outside Eiri Uesugi's door.
He sees the box and money is still there, right where he left it yesterday.
Disgusted , Shuichi kicks it aside, and bangs on the door of Eiri Uesugi's unit.
He almost wants to see the boy on the photo of the book jacket. That glorious image- like a wished for mirage. The Golden boy materialized.
When the door does finally creaks open, he is greeted with the unbearably real Eiri Uesugi he met yesterday. That same beraggled mein, that same ugly, soured expression.
"You again." Eiri Uesugi grunts.
"Yeah." Shuichi grits. " Me again."
"Can't get rid of you. Can I. " The man looks him up and down with contempt. "What now. You got another box."
"No! I don't have another box!" Shuichi snaps, suddenly feeling stupid and highly indignant, the two emotions vying for dominance within him. Nonetheless he squares his shoulders and locks his feet together. " I came here because I felt you ought to know something Mister. Uesugi. I was fired yesterday because of you and because of your refusal to sign that form . " He attempts to add haughtily to make clear the extent of the grievance. "On my birthday. "
Eiri Uesugi only says flatly. " Why should I care."
Shuichi ignores that question. Instead he asserts. "Its not fair. I was just trying to doing my job. I didn't even want to do it. I never meant to annoy anybody-or you. I went through all that trouble and I brought that box to you all the way across town, and you ...just left it outside your door. After all that. And I didn't even take your money - even after you swore at me and you were disrespectful. And I did it, because it was the right thing to do. I did the right thing. And thats how I got repaid. By being honest, I lost my job. "
The other man is silent. Surveying him distinterestedly. Like Shuichi might be a insect he has trapped to watch suffocate in a bottle or like he might be staring at a particularly loathsome blank wall.
Suddenly Shuichi wants to be enraged. Prideful. Full of hatred.
Instead, his eyes fill with tears, his mouth twists, his hands clenching into fists.
The failure and disappointment of the last two years overwhelms him. Then it forcibly tears its way out of him with a infuriated sob.
"So... whats your problem?! What gives?! Who taught you its ok to act that way ?! To TREAT someone that way?! I don't get it! Why couldn't you just sign the damn paper ?!I wasn't asking for so much ! Or for anything else? Was it really that much trouble?! It would have taken one MILLI- second of your time?! It probably took you more time and effort to be MEAN to me then to just sign it and let me go on my way! So why did you decide to pick on me?! Yesterday of all days?! " Shuichi explodes,his clenched fists by the sides of his face, ignoring the fact that tears are streaming down his cheeks. "SO I got to ask, why are you so rude and thoughtless?! Or is it personal?! Do you not like my face or something?! Too BAD! Its not like I chose this face OKAY?! So what did I ever do to you to be treated that badly you BIG asshole JERK?! After insulting me , then you asked me to go get booze and cigarettes for you- frist of all, I'm not your servant, you can't ask me that! I don't even know you, secondly, you don't have the right to say that to anybody even if they were ! Thirdly, don't you know smoking is terrible for your health and will give you health problems?! See , even on that basis, I have already shown some basic human concern for you? ! Because I'm a human being with a basic ability for human interaction! Why is that such a issue for you?! Do you not know the meaning OF DECENCY ?! Its having SOME consideration for other people? But you didn't even think once that I might be going through somehting tough or just be trying to do my best? Do you not have the capacity to think about anyone else?! Do you have no heart at all?! Or do you like upsetting people and making their LIVES harder for no good reason ? Are you that selfish and STUPID that you think nothing you do has consequences for anyone ELSE ?! Because it does! "
The man does not react.
Shuichi waves his arms, nearly besides himself. "I've had so many lousy jobs- and this was actually a better one I had, and thanks to you being such a idiotic BULLY for NO reason, I have to go find another one AFTER one DAY, that probably even worse then the ones I've had- and I'll never be able to move out from living with my folks who already think I'm a loser, or ever get a girlfriend - or have any FUTURE prospects! And I just came all the way here to tell you THAT!"
Eiri Uesugi stands completely still. Unaffected.
Trying to recover some dignity, Shuichi wipes at his eyes angrily. "And maybe- I'd like an apology from you too!"
"I'm not going to apologize to you ." The man says.
"FINE! If you won't do that, then I going to take that box inside. I delivered it to you- so it should go to its destination ! Not be left outside the door where anyone can take it or steal it! " Shuichi demands, desperate to accomplish something.
Maybe he's not someone his family is proud of. Maybe his best friend and he are growing apart. Maybe he doesn't know where his life is heading or if it will even head anywhere. But at least, as a matter of principle, Shuichi can give someone a box.
The other man says stoically. "That's not going to happen."
"Alright. Then it'll go in another WAY! I'll watch you you go out and take it in! Then I'll leave . You can throw it away once I'm gone, if you want but at least take it in so I haven't come all this way for nothing! " The younger man declares.
Finally Eiri Uesugi looks disturbed- like he might even be taken aback at him. "I don't go out on request."
"Fine. " Shuichi grabs the box. "Inside it is. Or let me hand it over to you!"
"No. Don't. " The man commands, one hand held out. " Don't come in."
"Why not?!" Shuichi charges, emboldened, box in hands like a battering ram.
Eiri Uesugi says. "I ...don't permit people inside."
"Oh yeah, then how do you ever have company over?!" Shuichi shoots back.
Eiri grits. "I don't."
"Ever?! " Shuichi snarls. "That's completely unreasonable!"
The man pauses, giving him a long and hard glare.
"...And you're one to tell me what's reasonable? After coming all the way to this place to come at me... to ... bitch to me about your... stupid inconsequential problems? How is it my fault if your life is shit? A risible little shit like you are. " The golden eyed man sneers down at him in his grating low scathing drone. " I know ...what I think? I think you ought to pay attention to what I'm going to say to you, because this might be the best moment of your wasteful meaningless life. How about that kid? Instead of blaming me for your pathetic... pointless existence ... where you carry on to achieve absolutely nothing except to be a source of constant consternation to everybody around you, and failing at being another self-absorbed pseudo -functional piece of garbage on the trash heap that is the world, you ought realize the reason you can't get ahead is because you're ...worthless. The fact you're here, bothering me, instead of looking for a job or getting laid, or wallowing in whatever shallow pleasures atrophies and numbs your delinquent and malformed mind, is only a sad reflection and reemphasizes that fact. ... that you're nothing."
Shuichi is pinned to the spot, skewered and transfixed by the man's cruel eloquence
Even crouched from behind the door, Eiri Uesugi seems to tower over him, eyes ablaze. " You think you can speak to ...who I am? You ought to know your own goddamn self. Because I can look at you , and I can tell you should realize there isn't anything to look forward to. Wake up and smell the despair kid, the stench of failure, oozing out of every one of your pores, like sebaceous oils that you produce so abundantly , or pus out of a corspe. Recognize you're got no intelligence. No talent. You know nothing. To call you mediocre would be speaking too highly of you, but so would to speak of you at all. But how lucky you are to be free of the ravages of intelligence or any higher expectation. Just looking at your face... makes people want to throw up or erase that smug stupified expression off it. No wonder you can't even hold onto the most bottom barrel of jobs. You couldn't even stand here and curse me out properly like a man without breaking down like a nancy, and by the futility of your own display, you've admitted your own defeat and obvious sense of inferiority, and made a even bigger idiot of yourself."
He leans forward, breathing hard, so he's even more intolerably closer to Shuichi." So I'd tell you to go jump off the nearest building but I doubt a mistake like you'd could manage that ethier, but given your capacity for poor judgement and harassing complete strangers, I doubt you have much longer to malinger on this mortal coil to burden the rest of us . So instead I'll say, I think its only reasonable course of action for you and that... box of yours can go straight to the juvenile section of Hell. Although I doubt there could be more torments there, as excruciating as your continued presence is- "
The man shoves a finger in Shuichi's nose.
"You damned brat. " The man finishes .
Shuichi then reaches his breaking point.
"...OH that's it! " Shuichi howls.
He then lurches forward, box first and propels himself into the door.
At the same time, Eiri Uesugi with a furious growl, pushes back,
They now commence a pushing match on either side of the door. Eiri Uesugi on one side, and Shuichi Shindou on the other.
Shuichi wonders how has he gotten to this point? That he is engaged in an pushing match through a door, a near physical altercation, with a crazy stranger, a has-been writer.
And even more madly, he wants to win it.
"Are you insane-" The other man yells. "If you don't go- I'll call the police-"
" You'll need to let go of the door to do that now don't YOU! And you get me fired and you still bother to insult me, and tell me to kill myself and go to hell, and you call me the crazy one?! Why are you trying to provoke me and RUIN my life?!" Shuichi cries and shoves himself against the door even harder. " All I want to know- is why are you being so HURTFUL?! What have I ever done to you! What do you want from me?! "
"You can't RUIN what you never had BRAT-" The man hurls back, pushing with startling force. "You can destroy your life all you want, but not on my PROPERTY. And told you what- to go to Hell- and no, by God, I won't let you in-"
An instant later, the door is almost closed.
Closed to the point, Shuichi can't even shove the toe of his shoe in, like he did last time. Shuichi realizes he is not strong enough, that he is losing.
"Why NOT?! " Shuichi yelps in pure desperation, a last ditch attempt to bring about some bout of devestation, to mirror what he feels. "Are you so BUSY, writing that second book that you'll NEVER publish?"
The man actually reacts .
Eiri Uesugi steps back, and lets go of the door.
Still frantically pushing, Shuichi falls forward into him, making the door swing open, whacking Eiri Uesugi in the face. His hands fling up. His glasses go flying off. The box Shuichi is holding, drops to the ground and is booted inside by their stumbling feet. The two of them both fall over it, one backwards, one forwards, their bodies stumble into each other. They both land somewhere on the ground, separated at last.
When Shuichi opens his eyes, he looks around himself.
Something has broken his fall.
But what he cannot register.
He cannot comprehend what he is seeing.
The place is entirely full.
Shuichi stays there on his hand on his knees, surrounded. As he were in a sea. With newspapers. Books. Boxes. Junk. Litter. Tables. Some of it compilied, stacked to the ceiling, in mounts and piles. Everywhere, belongings, crammed, beyond where someone could barely move.
His blood stops- and Shuichi starts to shake.
"Oh." Shuichi croaks , jaw dropping open. "Oh "