Author's Notes: I've always wanted to write for this fandom, so here I go. Giving this a shot and junk, because despite it being old I really love Gravitation, and I wonder if there is anyone else out there that still reads these fics. I guess I noticed the lack of new storys for this fandom, and I had an idea, and went: okay, well, I guess I'll write it myself, but I don't know how good I'll be at it. Haha.
Lasting Impressions
There it was again.
The novelist rubbed his temples.
That insufferable white noise called "music" he'd been forced to listen to for a month now, was grating on his last nerve. Eiri Yuki was a lot of things. Intelligent. Astute. A writing prodigy in an otherwise talentless world of hacks—but he was not patient. His fingers drummed against the desk he was hunched over. The shrieks of a guitar flooded into the office, and Eiri found the last of his composure, snapping in half along with his pencil.
Breathe.
Yuki found the willingness to avoid committing mass murder, grow weaker and weaker with each riff. He should have just stayed home, he told himself, because hearing that brat spewing garbage at the top of his lungs was absolute torture. If Yuki wanted to hear some useless nobody sing crap, he would have just turned on the TV. Leaning back in his chair, he scribbled down the last of the corrections, despite the distractions, onto the rough scripts of paper. Finally, he was done.
He smoothed a hand through his blond head of hair.
Yuki didn't know what was worse, the noise outside, or the cliche plot he went through hell trying to read. The lines were cheesy, the characters were predictable, and the emotions were scarcely there. Each time the main character went through an extreme, complicated matter, the atmosphere was hindered by raunchy puns or terrible attempts at humor. Basically the story was horrible, and having published best sellers at the ripe age of twelve, Yuki's word was law.
His face, and his name was a fathomless fortune. His body, the subject of a women's wet dreams. His success, the envy of any man with a shred of intellect; and just making an appearance in public left female's knee deep in their own vile juices. He was lusted after countlessly. The restraining orders were in the hundreds. Lines upon lines of people would wait in the cold to see him, and the media were obsessed with him, raving about Yuki's personality, his charm. His talent. The heartthrob of every teenage girl in a five mile radius, Eiri was the name screamed in the heat of a powerful orgasm. The cool beauty - but Yuki's charisma, his allure, however, was just a façade in this limitless world of stupidity.
People were suffocating.
People were idiots.
People were a pain in the ass—and too quickly did anyone who bothered to try and get close, notice that Eiri Yuki wasn't perfect. He lacked something very important. Something that he often wrote about. A vital part of the human condition, that gave life more meaning. The infamous Eiri Yuki, was incapable of an emotion known as love, and as far as he could tell, such an emotion never existed.
Love was about as real as the women in his books.
A writer's job was to give feelings, characters, and desires a tangibility of their own. Love was just that: a desire. Just another word for lust in an otherwise selfish world, where all that mattered was a person's looks, or a person's income. If anyone was willing to refute that, Yuki would call them an idiot. See, the young millionaire had lain with many women – even had his fair share of men, and neither were drawn to him because they just felt a connection. What they felt, was his money. They weren't attracted to Yuki's decaying spirit. Just his body.
His experience.
His handsome face.
His lifestyle.
His cock.
Physical attraction, that's all it came down to folks, was the origin of this farce, and Yuki would not claim he felt anything for any of his one night stands. Romeo was not in love with Juliet. That was bullshit. It was not love at first sight, but merely an attraction which resulted in poor choices and a well-deserved demise. And if you ask him, the half-wit deserved what he got. Sympathy can't be expected when you let your actions be dictated by a case of blue balls.
Maybe that's why Eiri, in all his detest of the subject, in all his incomprehensiveness, is able to write about love so well. Often it was myth and make believe that captured the hearts of readers. To make existent the nonexistent, in the form of words and syllables, was easier than to paint the honest to god truth. Though often did the author entertain the idea of doing so. Trust that it always crossed his mind. Letting everyone stomach the fact that what they were reading would never happen. To kill off the characters, and put in perspective just how ridiculously cruel the world could be. But he wouldn't.
No, Yuki couldn't, because people read books for an escape. So that's what he would give them. An escape laced with false hope. His readers would sigh to themselves after it was all through and say, that maybe they would have a shot one day at finding their true loves. It would never happen. Yuki wasn't kind enough to save them the trouble either, and that was tough for them. They'd learn the hard way like he did. Love was a fairytale, and life was no fairytale.
Interviews. Talk shows. Book signings—he'd done it all and done them all. Aristocrats, young journalists, actors, and models. Prostitutes. Strippers. Virgins. Whores. Whatever he wanted, he got. Whatever he wanted, he fucked. No questions asked, and his word was the law. His critique, as invaluable as god's commandments themselves, were harvested. People fed off of his wisdom. Which is why later, his brother in law, Tohma Seguchi, came to him with that irritating smile. Bold enough to ask if Yuki would start a company with him, that would later come to be known as the breeding ground for every prosperous author in Japan: N-G. The biggest name in, what some would say, history.
A year was all it took to make N-G take off. Known for publishing best sellers, it was infamous for its achievements. However, Yuki refused to officially be a part of it. Wanting to keep to his original lifestyle, he only helped when he felt like it, reading what was brought in. Acting as a mock editor and chief to amateur authors, who didn't know shit about writing a good book, even if he smacked them in the face with one. It was inside this very publishing firm where Eiri Yuki, during his spare time, made his rounds. He was relentless. Nothing that landed on his desk left without bleeding corrections. Tohma said he liked that about him. The only works that were published were only the best of the best, due to Yuki's (though fleeting) help, and Tohma's stern guidance.
But, it was outside this very publishing firm, on the corner of the street, where a certain boy made Yuki's ears bleed every day. For what could be worse than the money grubbing homeless? A college brat trying to make it big in the city. Having to choose here of all places to scream his lungs out.
"Something wrong, Eiri?" Came the voice of none other than Tohma, who was staring at him knowingly. His lips curved into a sardonic grin.
"I'll kill that kid." Yuki replied sourly. His hand flew up to rub the space between his eyes. Massaging the flesh of his scalp until he could properly look at Tohma with an expression akin to that of a killers. He was dead serious.
Tohma softly chuckled.
"From what I gather, everyone in the area's taken a liking to them. Supposedly, they're calling themselves Bad Luck?"
"The name fits," the novelist growled. "They're going to have bad luck in a second, after I'm done shoving that microphone down that pink shits throat."
"Oh come now Eiri, they aren't that bad." Aren't that bad? Yuki almost wanted the other to put him out of his misery. Tohma hummed. Looking out the window at the crowd surrounding the two musicians. The short, blond president smiled. "I've seen many street preformers in this city, and I think they're the best act in a while. In fact, I think the one who's singing has a nice voice."
"Sure, if you like trash. His lyrics are terrible."
"They could use a little work." Tohma agreed. "But he has potential..."
That was just the putting it nicely. In Yuki's opinion, the brats lyrics warranted arrest.
Still, the noise was intolerable. Yuki only came down per Seguchi's request, solely because he had nothing better to do, and he was almost finished with his next novel. It'd been a spur of the moment decision he instantly regretted. Upon his arrival they were there. The two imbeciles calling themselves Bad Luck, parked on N-G's street corner. Playing for the sake of just pissing Yuki off.
Applause sounded outside the window. The irritatingly chipper voice of the lead singer happily spoke into the microphone, "Thank you, thank you! This next song is called Glaring dream! Written by none other than yours truly! Heh, I hope you enjoy it. And don't forget to spread the word about us, we're going to be BIG one day!"
An obnoxious chuckle.
The guitarist began to play, and that was it.
Yuki had enough.
"I'm leaving."
Tohma watched amusedly as Yuki headed for the elevator. He had no intention of stopping him.
"Alright. But try to take it easy on th-"
Slam!
The door to his office noisily flew closed, and Tohma sighed.
Because it was quite sad. Tohma hoped, for the lead singers sake, that he could handle Eiri's unique brand of criticism, but here's to hoping. Notorious for his crudeness in regards to others work, Eiri's frankly destroyed more careers than made them. Even the most confident writers were ripped to shreds by Eiri's peculiar type of truth; so it wasn't a stretch to say Bad Luck's career might end here and now, if his brother in law put a dent in their spirits. Though...
Glancing out the window, Tohma didn't get that feeling.
Call it intuition, but something told the young man that what would come out of this was not a broken heart, yet something else entirely.
"This should be entertaining..." Tohma mused.
Either way, it would make the day more interesting, so he was eager to see the outcome.
Tohma's eyes fell on the magenta headed singer.
Just what kind of person was he anyways?
"...the countless wishes, you are reflected in a shimmering illusion..."
Music was his life.
Music was his passion.
"..the silhouette whose faint smile leads me along..."
Music wasn't only Shuichi Shindou's future, but his destiny.
Which is why he was singing for not only the fate of his band, or the sake of his voice, but for lunch - because you couldn't be a singer on an empty stomach, and he was sick of mooching off of his dormmate for food. In retrospect, using all his University meal tickets for the month in just a week, might've been his fault. The ninteen year old music major hadn't realized he ate so much until it was too late, but this was good practice anyways, right? Besides, this was what the celebrity life was about! Nothing but the clothes on your back, the lull of your voice, and the cheers of a crowd to get those creative juices flowing!
Shuichi knew it was about time until he and Hiro were discovered. He just knew it. So he already perfected the rock star look. Decked out in ripped jeans, a frightiningly tight pink shirt, and black boots in the image of legends he idolized, Shuichi was convinced this was a neccescary step to understand how the other half lives. When their music spread to the globe he knew everyone would be copying his cool style. Shuichi's mouth was outstretched into an abnormally large smile at the thought because soon. Soon, soon - it was only a matter of time until Bad Luck makes it big!
A women with her baby watched, and an elderly women gave them a few yen. Not enough to buy them a five star meal, but enought to snag some convenience store ramen, Shuichi felt nothing but the utmost gratitude. So much so, that it had him in tears. Passionately taking the money Shuichi got on his knees, declaring that in the future, he would remember her when he was on the big stage for the entire world to see.
"Thank you!" The student beamed, and he looked at his best friend Hiro Nakano with wide, cheerful eyes, to which the guitarist rolled his own and flicked the shorter male playfully in the nose. Lilac orbs rounded on him with a childish whine.
"Hirooo! Isn't this great?! Our music is reaching out to people of all ages!" The budding young artist cried. "Isn't it great Hiro? Isn't it great? I won't starve!"
Hiro bopped Shuichi on the head to stop his flailing.
"Yeah, yeah, it's great, but do you have to be so melodramatic? There's snot running down your nose."
Shuichi's face was a mess. In his hand was the crumpled wad of cash. His tiny fists shook with the velocity of an earthquake as he held it and Hiro wondered, where the heck Shuichi stored all that emotion without combusting.
"You do know you could have just asked me for some money right?"
Shuichi turned to him with globs of salty tears.
"That's cheating."
"Since when was their a written rule that said I couldn't treat you to some grub?" Hiro frowned.
"Since I said so, Hiro!" Shuichi shook his head stubornly, nostrils flaring. "I work for my keep!"
"Well, that face of yours isn't working for you at all. You really don't look cute right now."
Shuichi put the yen to his chest in mute satisfaction. Dear god - did he have to blubber in public all the time?
For as long as Hiro knew him, Shuichi was the queen among drama queens; yet seeing him so fired up about a little bit of recognition brought a smile to Hiro's face. Since highschool, this what the two of them talked about, what they dreamed of...and trying to make it happen, albeit frustrating at times, was fun if he was with Shuichi. Loads of fun. Hiro chuckled.
"But ya know," he started warmly, wrapping an arm around Shuichi's shoulder. With a finger extended towards the sunset, Hiro grinned. "Soon Shu, we'll be famous, won't we?" He baited, knowing the answer before Shuichi even said it.
Shuichi flashed him a seat of pearly whites. His energy, his determination, radiating off him like a super nova.
"You bet Hiro!" he cheered, but the optimistic atmosphere was soon broken. From the sound of ominous, oncoming foot steps a rich, cold voice, cut through their banter like a knife. Relentless. Unemotional. With such cool bravado it stunted both of them into silence.
"You should give up."
Shuichi hadn't seen it coming.
How could he expect a blow like that?
Hiro was the first to turn to the source of such blatant negativity. His eyes narrowing as he secured his guitar around his hip.
"Well that's not very nice." Hiro quipped in defense. Just who in the hell was this guy anyways to just come up and say something so rude? Passerbys stopped to watch the interaction, whispering something incorrible. Hiro thought he heard the words "famous". Shuichi wasn't deterred. His ability to remain steadfast positive about things was his best trait, so he wasn't angry. No. He was just really, really empowered to prove this mystery jerk wrong. But when he saw Eiri Yuki, he hadn't expected the breath to leave his lungs, but it did.
He hadn't expected his heart to stop, but it had.
Shuichi couldn't explain it.
The tall, dark and handsome critic pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket. Lighting it. His gaze never leaving Shuichi's as he blew a ring of smoke towards him. Shuichi didn't even blink.
"...With grade school lyrics like that, it's clear to me."
Yuki took a drag.
He flicked the bud to the floor, and stepped on it with a loud crunch.
His lips pursed into a thin, tight line.
"...you have no talent."
And that's when Shuichi's world completley, and utterly, turned on its head.
Author's ending note: Much similar to how they met, but a little different, I hope to make this fic Twenty or so chapters long, because I have a ton of ideas. The main focus of the next few chapters is of Shuichi using any means neccescary to prove Yuki wrong. This is my first time writing for this fandom so if the characters are a little OC, I apologize in advance and hope to improve with time.
Whether those methods of proving Yuki worng are legal is up for you all to imagine.
If you like it, tell me what you think? Till next time!