01 - Shatter
The expression on Shuichi's face made Eiri's insides curl.
That faint touch of disgust mingling with the hurt, shock and pain – and all directed at Eiri. It was just such an abnormal contrast from Shuichi's usual regard of him that it dug into the novelist all the more.
It hurt worse knowing he had done that, he was the one making Shuichi look at him like that.
He had done something so outrageously stupid that there was no excuse, no reason in the world that he could even dare to offer. Just trying would only add insult to injury and there was no way Eiri was going to rub salt on the boy's wounds. He was not that cold hearted, not that anyone would ever believe him –-especially after this. Eiri cringed again, more waves of guilt and shame washing over him.
What had I been thinking?
But that was it, wasn't it? He hadn't been thinking. This was all just gloriously and magnificently his damned fault.
Shuichi stepped further away, one step physically and miles emotionally. His shaking hand drew up to cover his mouth as his jaw sagged further, his eyes continuing their widening, his expression becoming wilder. Eiri braced himself expecting Shuichi, wanting the boy, to tear into him.
Give in to the anger, he silently begged. Get angry, cry and scream, hit me but just be angry. Come to me and rage because if you don't…
But the Gods must have been fed up with Eiri's stupidity and thoughtless cruelty, because Shu backed away in a daze until he hit the wall by the door behind him. His knees nearly gave out under him, tears spilled down his still face and his whole body seemed to be coming apart. Eiri wanted to hold him, make him stay and tell him how sorry Eiri was. But when the writer reached out for him, helplessly wishing to convey the regret in his heard, something died in Shuichi's eyes and he slowly turned and walked out the door.
He did not look back.
Eiri knew in his heart that this was the day he had been expecting for the last two years; the day that he had been dreading,
This was the day that Shuichi wasn't coming back.
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Shu was a mess and Hiro ached for him.
The boy hadn't spoken a word since the rainy night he had come knocking on his best friend's door looking like he'd been punched in the gut by the weight of the entire world. That had been exactly eight days ago.
Shuichi had been half "gone" when he arrived. Unfocused eyes, moving on autopilot, seemingly without a real sense of where he was or even who his best friend was. From the few words he had mindlessly tried to string together in answer to Hiro's relentless pestering, the guitarist was able to piece together a little of what had happened.
And the rage inside of the young musician built into a greater pressure than he had ever imagined he could contain. But still, still, Shuichi stayed his friend with a soft hand and asked the angry youth not to go. Those purple eyes hadn't even focused. He just reached out and whispered.
That had been the last time Nakano Hiroshi had heard his best friend's voice.
Anyway, Hiro couldn't have left him, really. He looked like an empty shell lying on the bed the way he had after Hiro had helped him dry up and dress. Pale and listless, and the guitarist realised the boy was thinner than he should have been. Had the trouble been going on longer than Shuichi was letting on?
That bastard had done this.
That man had broken Hiro's best friend. And even though his heart ached in more places than he thought he could stand, he knew there was no way he could help Shuichi pick up the pieces.
-
Fujisaki Suguru knew full well that Shuichi-kun had never missed an appearance before, never ditched work without a real reason, and he never ever bounced back from all rough patches without his game face on ready to kick ass.
These were like facts of life to the youngest member of Bad Luck, infallible like the laws of physics. So the boy was not expecting what he saw in the least,
Shuichi wasn't ill, he wasn't incapacitated –-not physically, at least. But he wasn't there. He was awake, staring off into space, sitting on a futon with a lap blanket across his knees… but not. No expression, no tears and no response. Hiroshi hovered worriedly near him, almost wringing his hands with the anxiety.
Fujisaki could hardly believe his eyes at the sight.
"Nakano-san," the synth-master said frantically, gesturing to the unusually silent vocalist, "that can't be Shuichi-kun!" Hiro had snorted a dry laugh, looking anything but amused. But he got what Fujisaki had meant to say. There was the face, the body and the bright pink hair both recognised. But there was no sparkle, there was no life.
Fujisaki pressed his solidarity on Nakano-san, anything they needed they just had to ask. The boy was leaving immediately for NG to convey the gravity of the situation. They would believe him, and he knew they would rally to support Shuichi-kun through this.
They all loved him, and there was no way they were letting that sonovabitch Yuki near Shuichi-kun again.
-
The next few weeks were a mess, and NG held a small press conference to give a public apology with vague explanations for all the missed commitments.
Finally, a wily photographer captured Shuichi in his shattered state, and the press rage was on. Pretty soon they'd put two and two together, all they'd needed was to observe how Shuichi hadn't been back at Yuki's in some time. The tabloid field day began announcing the split of the year: The rock star and the novelist have broken up!
The public went wild.
Neither side gave one word of a comment to the press, no acknowledgement and no denial. And so the hay day continued, with the obsession for more information turning the photojournalists into rabid dogs. They printed everything they could uncover.
Yuki Eiri checked himself into an alcoholics' rehab centre, and Shuichi was photographed coming in to work supported by his sister still looking dead in his eyes… and it became frenzy.
Eventually, the band manager Mr K gave a public statement confirming the split as true, and that no further details were to be supplied as the reasons for the split were known only by the couple. The public were in a gaggle, the gossip magazines having sell-out sales and the celebrities concerned themselves experiencing record-breaking sales as well. Business was booming and no one complained.
Over the next few months, Bad Luck released several low-key soft rock ballad singles obviously written and composed solely by Shindou Shuichi – the lyrics and melody conveyed his emotions of loss too clearly. And the fans responded.
They gladly hung on to the tickets of cancelled concerts, and instead of complaining at the vague promises of rescheduling they sent in thousands of gifts and letters.
-
K smoked his cigarette quietly as he listened to Shuichi try his hardest at belting out the lyrics to the newest song Bad Luck had composed.
It was supposed to be a group effort, something Hiro and Fujisaki had been a big part of in order to get Shu out of his emotional hell hole. It was also supposed to sound moderately up beat, one step at a time they had agreed, but there was little force behind the voice. The lack of feeling and relation behind the great lyrics made it all fall flat. K sighed, and gathered his energy before spinning around to face the group.
"Ok, folks," His voice cheery and smile gentle, "Let's call it a day shall we?" He patted Shuichi comfortingly on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I guess it has been too hectic with those ballads getting released; promotions and all."
Shuichi nodded, not even trying to muster up a smile; K knew Shuichi understood they wouldn't buy it. He doubled his efforts to keep the smile in place, adding,
"We should let you rest. Those songs must have been emotionally draining for you, we need to let our star recuperate!"
As the studio crew packed up, polite and unfussy, Hiro and Fujisaki glanced over at Shuichi, gauging his mood, both very worried.
"I am not about to fall over, so quit looking ready to dive for the catch," He didn't even look like he had just spoken, they were startled. Shuichi's soft voice sounded sad and tired.
"C'mon, buddy, let's get ourselves home and get some dinner!" Hiro was getting good at keeping his spirits up around Shu. He knew he needed to get his good mood to influence his best friend. But still, it was rather disconcerting to have to be the cheery one after years of Shuichi constantly behaving like he'd just drunk seven espressos.
And today had become a shattering point: The headlines had glared from every store front that morning. The "lover" responsible for breaking up one of the most public-loved couples of all time had stepped forward.
There were those who had cheered for Yuki, who had gossiped that it was Shindou Shuichi who had played around. It was the rock star, they whispered, who had recently been on tour and had a fling. They argued that it was Yuki Eiri whose heart had been broken. But the truth was out now.
Shuichi had taken one look at the glaring headlines lining every sidewalk they passed into work this morning and paled. His colour had not returned, and he had refused all food today claiming lack of appetite. Yeah right.
They packed up, making half hearted jokes, trying to keep the mood light.
"It would be nice to have an early night," Shuichi admitted as they left the recording room.
Hiro had adjusted to the new soft voice; he hated it. He slung an arm about Shuichi's shoulders as they walked down the hall, "But please let me whip you up some food to get down your throat, you haven't eaten today!"
Fujisaki snorted as he followed behind them, "I know you hate seeing Shindou-san this way, but you don't need to rush and put him out of his misery!"
Hiro glared ferociously and attempted to swipe at him but Fujisaki neatly stepped to Shuichi's other side out of harm's way. "Oy!" Hiro barked. "If you have something to say about my cooking, say it to my face!"
"And within arm's reach, you mean, no doubt," Fujisaki returned coolly, looking bored. K laughed, watching the exchange back and forth as though observing a tennis match.
The two bickered even as they paused to wait for the elevator, Schuichi smack dab in the middle. He knew his friends were bickering for his sake, for his entertainment. And that, if nothing else, put a small smile on his face.
Shuichi turned around to watch the show, grinning as Fujisaki maintained a collected air and Hiro looked more and more riled. At one particularly well timed jibe, score Fujisaki, he actually laughed. The sound was so long unheard of that all three paused to watch him.
He giggled all the way into the elevator and joined in, defending his best friend's cooking with his life. The two visibly relaxed and Schuichi felt bad to have had them worry so much about him. K caught his eye in the reflection of the elevator doors and winked at him. Grinning with a semblance of his usual foolishness, he winked back.
And right there as the doors opened, where K's face was in the reflection, appeared a new face. One startlingly familiar and painful face, pale like Schuichi remembered, but thinner and haggard with eyes deeper set. The golden eyes bore straight into his, as though into his soul.
"Hello, Shuichi," Yuki Eiri whispered.
-
"Don't you dare! " Tohma's voice rang out from somewhere behind Eiri as Hiro launched himself at the novelist, K simultaneously capturing the guitarist from behind.
Kicking and struggling, Hiro fired the fiercest, most degrading insults in known vocabulary into Eiri's face. Tohma roughly pulled the distracted writer a few steps back as it was obvious that K was only just holding the enraged guitarist out of range. But it really hadn't registered on Eiri, who was too busy staring at the face he hadn't seen in close to a quarter of a year.
Eiri had heard the boy's new songs, and each one had doused him in shame and remorse. Shuichi's face had kept appearing in candid photographs across the nation's press looking haunted and weary, and Eiri could see it in the singer's eyes despite the poor photography, that deep pain and sorrow.
So he had accumulated every tabloid and magazine that had anything to do with Shuichi, and listened to the new songs over and over again. It was self inflicted torture, in every spare minute of every day that Eiri had spent in that horrible Rehabilitation Centre. The novelist's psychiatrist had even deemed a bit over the top, but he needed to know and see, needed to keep the ramifications of his actions as close to home as possible.
Tohma was saying something, trying to get Eiri to come away. But he was locked on to Shuichi's gaze, trying desperately to will the boy to say something. He just wanted Shu to speak to him. The stare was broken when a huge and angry force rammed across the writer's face.
On the floor, dizzy and disoriented in the sudden shocked silence, Eiri looked up into Fujisaki's hard-breathing face. "Stay the i hell /i away from him!" the synth-master hissed.
Tohma was furious; his own cousin had decked his brother in law. Eiri really didn't care. They were right. He really should have just left Shu alone –it's not like he could give the young singer what was wanted of him anyway. And his latest sin was the crowning glory of his evil.
"Yuki."
Such a soft voice, it made Eiri choke; he couldn't look at the boy. Instead, he stared at the floor even after getting back up, having no idea what to say. There was nothing the writer could say, really.
Shuichi's shoes appeared within Eiri's field of vision, his feet and legs, slowly coming closer. Hiro was yelling again, telling Shuichi to keep away but he just kept coming. He stood right in front of the novelist, right within arm's reach and it made Eiri breathless.
"Shu," he whispered back, waiting. He still wanted Shuichi to be angry. He wanted i Shuichi /i to hit him. That would be better than these emotions the novelist had no idea how to handle.
As always, Shuichi did something else… something worse.
Shu touched Eiri's sore jaw, right where Fujisaki had hit him, gently and tenderly exploring the blossoming bruise. The writer shuddered. No, don't do that, he wanted to say, Please don't do that, it's just too much…
Eiri hadn't realised he had said it aloud until Shuichi paused, trembling fingertips still on his skin. The boy took a shaky breath, as though to gather courage and asked,
"Are you alright?" The question was his undoing. He looked up, amethyst gaze spell binding him instantly.
"Never," he whispered. Never without you, he silently amended. He took a steadying breath as the small hand dropped. "The newspapers today…" Eiri didn't know how to continue. He wanted to apologise, had read that bitch Clarissa's jazzed-up sideways confession and it had shaken him. Just the thought that Shuichi would see her gloating face in those tabloids, and the idea that Shuichi might read it, might i believe /i it – had sent him there.
Shuichi sucked his breath. Hiro and Fujisaki renewed their declarations of their opinion of me, how dare the writer speak of i that /i . Eiri dove in, speaking fast just needing his lover to hear as much as possible before the inevitable.
"It wasn't like that, she's dressing it all up," he paused when he realised he sounded as though he was defending her. Swallowing hard, he ploughed on with his words tripping over themselves –-ramblings of an insane idiot.
I'm digging my grave deeper, he thought frantically, knowing that his words must have become worthless by this point. Shu said nothing as he listened, his eyes simply empty and sorrowful, waiting.
Eiri couldn't take it anymore. There was no apology for what he had said and done, anyway. But he did have one last thing to do: He got down to his knees and solemnly bowed before the startled singer, forehead to the floor in full respect. Hiro resumed the insults, and Tohma had to restrain his cousin. But, amidst the din, it was just the two of them.
And then a flash…
The hallway erupted, Tohma and his secretary calling for security and K manhandling his band down the hall. Camera flash, Eiri's mind registered before Shuichi was yanked away from before him. Guards came crashing after the escaping journalist, while others pulled him in the opposite direction.
Tohma's secretary was saying something about getting Eiri to his car, silly woman. But he ignored her, able only to stare through and over the blurs at the disappearing Shuichi who returned eye contact right back, even as they bustled the boy away.
He had been smiling. It ripped the writer up inside to know that someone had given it back. Someone else had made Shuichi smile.
He kicked off his shoes in the foyer of his home, and made his way to his big and empty living room. He remembered how that smile and the small sparkle in Shuichi's eyes had died at the sight of him… him.
It hurt Eiri to know that he could destroy something as beautiful as Shuichi's smile with his mere presence. He thought about what else he had seen and noticed about the young man he had shared the last two years of his life with.
Shuichi had looked much too thin, dressed in new clothes. He had not come back for his old ones, and those he'd been wearing were obviously new. It signified he had no intention of coming back for his stuff. That stung, Eiri's stomach bottoming out again.
The brat had looked winsome and cute despite his new, rougher look in those black denim trousers and cropped punk rocker shirt. He'd had a lot of Hiro's style, with the studded leather collar at his throat. Even his hair was shorter, back to its natural soft brown, the pink had grown out. Eiri lit up another cigarette as he lounged back on the couch, remembering. Shuichi had just stopped and stared, like he had forgotten who the hell Eiri was, the tremble in his sexy body the only giveaway…
The writer mentally smacked himself.
How dare he have lustful thoughts? But then again, it reminded him of what he had thrown away. He had hurt his lover beyond repair. Taking a deep pull on a cigarette, Eiri realised he would need to go back to the life he had been living before he met Shu.
He chuckled bleakly.
Not living, he realised, he was going back to existing.
-
"That bastard had had the gall to come to Shuichi! There really is no limit to his arrogance, is there?!" Hiro was fuming.
Fujisaki was looking equally offended but Shuichi just stared out the window not saying anything, sitting with his best friend in the back seat of the car.
"Calm down, Hiro," K's usual horrible Japanese adding a measure of a lighter mood to the air in the car, glancing at the angry guitarist in the rear view mirror as he drove. "We can kill him later!" He brandished his side arm in a frightfully joyful manner. Hiro sat back and studied Shuichi, who looked a thousand miles away.
"Hey," he suddenly muttered to the two in front, "Turn that music down for a bit," They obliged, and he sat back to wait for it. He knew it was coming.
"He was there…" Shuichi whispered to no one in particular. They all waited patiently, straining to hear. He wasn't talking to anyone, just thinking out loud, and they wanted to hear what he was thinking. "He looked so sad…"
Hiro gritted his teeth to stop from yelling and pulling Shu out of the trance. If Hiro drew the boy's attention to the fact he was thinking aloud, he might stop.
Softly, eyes welling with tears, "I can't bear it when he looks like that, when he has no one there for him." He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat. "I still miss him…"
The angry guitarist slammed the door of the car before it had come to a full stop in the garage. He left the rest behind and went into the official Bad Luck house. He, Shuichi, Fujisaki and Mr K all lived there, and they could take care of Shu, get him thru the door. He had decided he needed some quality time with that punching bag in the recreation room.
Jeans and boots gone, just in his boxers and tank top undershirt, Hiro got down with that bag for a solid hour. Sweat dripped off of him and his arms and legs hurt, but he went at it for all he was worth.
He remembered the first month here in this great house, when they had all just moved in and together were taking care of Shuichi. They had made sure that at least one of them was with the singer at all times. Six weeks in, one evening on K's shift, the gunman had been called away suddenly.
"Yo, Hiro!" He had exclaimed, sounding rushed, "The head honcho called says he needs me in on a new deal going down right now, so you gotta get back here as soon as you can coz I'm on my way out the door."
Hiro had blazed over on his bike as quick as he could, Shu couldn't have been alone for more than an hour. But it had been enough. The sun had set and none of the lights had been turned on. The house was silent as death when he walked in. Death, the word flooded the guitarist's mind and he ran to find Shuichi.
In the doorway to K's room and breathing hard, his heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sight before him. Please, no! Hiro gulped. Clearing his throat, he steered his voice to sound calm and focused.
"Hey, Shu, buddy," It had not come out as playful sounding as he would have hoped. He eyed the nine-mil calibre in his best friend's hands that frightened him more out of his wits than he had ever been in his life. "You know K's not gonna be happy with you smudging his carefully polished baby."
Shuichi slowly looked up toward the general sound of Hiro's voice, gazing through the young man. He whispered, confused, "Hiro?"
"Hey, I'm here, Shu." He leaned over and rumpled the boy's hair fondly, "I'm here for you, buddy, so please don't take my best friend away from me and please hand that over…" Hiro slowly reached over and took the firearm from the boy's thankfully limp hands. He set it down on the bureau away from Shu, careful not to take his eyes off of his best friend. Hands free again, he bent and gathered the singer into his arms, just picked the thin form off the floor and took Shuichi to his room.
Hiro kept Shu all that night, held him close as he cried his steady tears. No sobbing, no hiccupping and no breathless panting; Just silent tears that kept overflowing from his staring unfocused eyes.
His eyes…
Hiro thumped the bag harder, feeling the strain in his shoulders. Things hadn't started to get better for another few months after that. Months! He had only just come back and now this! That bastard had mistreated Hiro's best friend, walked all over him, and had finally cheated on him. Shuichi should be free now! It made the guitarist's head hurt. His hurting head made his eyes sting and the sting made tears track down his face amidst the perspiration.
Hiro wrapped his arms around the hanging sand bag, shoulders heaving, and poured it out.
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It gets better here on out, I promise. The viewpointing here is REALLY short but as the story progresses, things settle much more firmly in the scene. The next three chapters are 1st person POV (which I have come to hate and intend to translate into 3rd person) but those are mainly for background on the story and the relationship. If you can, please leave a review or comment! Thanks.