The Few And the Far Between
Author: Myaku
Series: Gravitation
Pairing: Shuichi x Eiri (implied)
Always.. the few and the far between.
The soft lamplight illuminated the room, haloing the magenta haired vocalist who slept peacefully on the bed. Sheets had been tangled, covering portions of his body. Patches of fair skin were revealed in the tangle of white sheets, and glowed softly in the dim light. To the quiet author.. he looked beautiful.
But for some reason, that night, Yuki Eiri didn't feel like sleeping. And he rose from the bed, crossing the room to the doorway. Wistfully glancing at the boy who slumbered in his bed, he exited from the room, wandering down the hall to his office, where he quietly opened the door, and slipped through. Socked feet made their way across the floor to the chair that sat before the laptop. He leaned forward, pressing the small button and he heard a whirl from deep inside the machine as it began to boot.
The coldness seemed normal to him. The shell that he'd secluded himself into so many years ago seemed a normality. And at first, he didn't want to let the annoying brat, that was Shindou Shuichi, destroy everything he'd worked so hard to create. Everything he'd worked so hard to protect.
He was set in his ways, and yet everytime the vocalist came around, it seemed to change everything. Small habits began to form, and the affectionate ways from so long ago surfaced every now and then, even though it was much against his will. It wasn't as if he wanted to love the boy.
It just sort of happened.
And then it became a needy thing. Visits became fewer as Shuichi began to spend more time at the studio and Eiri on his new story. The writer found himself rising earlier in the morning, just to see a glimpse of the vocalist's sweet smile before he ducked out the door carrying his papers and a quickly cooling breakfast.
An idiot, Eiri mused.
But Shuichi was his idiot.
Fingers slowly tapped the thin plastic, and he watched as letters began to appear on the screen. Letters formed words, and the words formed sentences that slowly began to mingle and formed paragraphs of beauty and harmony.
And then his finger hovered over a particular key on his keyboard.
And the button was pressed.
And the screen cleared.
Romance. Why did everything surround romance? So many of his stories surrounded his relationship with Shuichi. Of course, his publisher, and his fans, even Shuichi himself didn't know that. Though Shuichi didn't read his stories either. The boy could barely keep still for ten minutes. Eiri would love to see him try to sit still long enough to read.
Fingers struck the keys again.
Three hours and two cigarettes later, Eiri had finished two chapters and the girlfriend was near death.
A disease. He decided not to choose one yet. Let the thought linger and make her death slow. A smile slid across his face and he rolled the chair back slightly, staring at the screen. He didn't care if she died. It was just a character.
Even if it was the character that normally portrayed Shuichi.
It was his story. They were all expendable. And that's all he kept in mind.
His finger reached to touch that button again, and he paused, and changed his mind of the deletion. Instead, momentarily satisfied, he saved the story onto the computer, closed it carefully. He listened to it hum quietly, as he left the room.
Turning, he walked back down the hallway towards his bedroom. Twisting open the doorknob, he pushed it open, letting the warm air hit his face as he took a step into the jungle-like atmosphere that hung in the room, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Beads of sweat clung to Shuichi's face. Eiri reached out to brush them away and then caught his hand as fingers brushed along the soft hair, and mid- movement and pulled away. It was Shuichi's own fault. He always came home and cranked up the heat, claiming that Eiri's apartment was as cold as he could be.
And hearing that hurt sometimes, too.
He stared at his fingertips, which had only seconds ago ran along the edge of those magenta locks. He didn't understand why the feeling of those silk tendrils felt so pleasant against his calloused fingers, and for a minute, he felt dirty.
This wasn't right. He didn't deserve this.
He reached down into the drawer of the nightstand, and pushed aside random tubes of lubrication, packs of cigarettes that had been hidden away, and discarded alcohol bottles. A drawer in which he knew the lyricist would never look was where he stored the little box entangled in soft green velvet. He opened the little box, and looked lovingly at the gold band. A single amber crushed between two amethyst stones, reflecting both men's eyes, and just how Eiri felt everyday. Smothered. But it wasn't something he regretted.
This was something he wanted, yet he knew he couldn't follow through. He knew he didn't deserve it.
He was tired of seeing those large, adoring violet eyes gazing at him with tears when the blonde man couldn't whisper, "I love you", or couldn't give the attention that the vocalist desperately needed.
His fingers tumbled over the box, fingering the small ring as he laid it out on his pillow, knowing the vocalist would see it in the morning. He grabbed a pen and a piece of paper, and elegantly etched the kanji across the pallid sheet. Leave it to Eiri to write like a westerner, kanji from left to right. He scanned over the words again, and nodded. Innocent, yet direct. It wouldn't raise suspicion nor questions from the lyricist… well, not too many, he mused. Taking one last glance, he crossed out "Yuki Eiri" and wrote in his real name. "Uesugi Eiri". There was no need for his penname anymore. He laid it softly next to the ring, and stared at it for one more moment, before lowering his vision.
He tried to imagine the boy gone. He felt the saline prick the edges of his golden eyes, recalling the month long tour that BAD LUCK had gone on recently. He couldn't stand the silence, and was so used to the whiny voice that grated his nerves, but deep down he truly loved.
Of course, he'd never admit that.
Yet during that month, the writer had barely finished his new story in time, and had ended up dropping his sales as critics attacked him brutally, screaming about a lack in storyline and a deep hatred that had welled for the female character, which resulted in her death in the end. The media blamed it on Shuichi, and their new found love. Little did the critics know that the book would have never been made without the magenta-haired vocalist.
He wondered why it was so difficult to function without the nuisance there, hanging off his every word, and jabbering like a love-sick school girl when he came home from school. Yet without it, the writer felt incomplete. But in the end, the solution was simple.
Shuichi was his balance. Shuichi helped to tip the scale on days when stress was at its peak, and wandering thoughts of alcohol and suicide as a 'pro' seemed much more 'con' appropriate, once the lyricist had stolen the spotlight to help ease the day.
But not anymore.
He had lived alone before, and he was sure with enough adjustment, he could do it again. Though it bothered him, because he couldn't remember what it was like back then. He couldn't remember solo breakfast, or sleeping without the warmth, and smaller body whispering silent phrases against his neck.
But that would all change, and the familiarities would change back to the norm. After all, everyone learned to adapt to change. It was a way of life, and Yuki Eiri's life was no exception.
He got up and got dressed in the dim light, fingers groping along the wall until he came across the cool handle of the closet. Noiselessly sliding it open, slim digits grasped hangers, and clothes were ripped from the metal wire and slipped quietly into the navy luggage bag. He turned and walked across the room, and opened the dresser drawers, knocking the contents from the drawers into the duffel bag he held below. For once he was happy that Shuichi could sleep through a tornado, it made the process a lot less nerve wracking, and he didn't have to worry about the vocalist waking and disturbing his flight into the darkness.
Satisfied with what he had grabbed, he took one last glance at the boy, heaving a sigh, and walked out the door, slipping it shut behind him. He tiptoed into his study and shut down the laptop, loading it into the sturdy leather case and walked back out. The time would come and all his other belongings would follow, but for now, it would just be.
He walked back to the bedroom once more, and slipped in, walking over to the bedside where the young boy slumbered, chasing after his dreams. He gently reached down and placed a soft kiss on the magenta-haired vocalist's lips, and hurried from the room as his vision began to blur.
He walked back out into the living room, and walked over to the small table, where a photo laid encased in glass. The good times, when he'd been able to please Shuichi without making him cry. Yet even then, he knew the boy suffered. It wasn't easy, but he knew this would be for the best. He scooped up the stack of CDs, his eyes scanning the covers rapidly. They were the first press copies that Shuichi had given him of BAD LUCK, when the band had first released their CD. It was special, and something he still wanted to take with him. Taking one last look at the picture, he picked it up as well, and tucked it under his arm as he walked back to the counter, dumping the newly obscured objects in his bag. Picking up his luggage, he stood there for all of a second before exhaling into the stale air, and grabbed the bags. Irritation caused those fine blonde brows to curve downwards, and he grabbed his keys off the counter.
"Goodbye… Shuichi."
* * *
The vocalist woke up to a cold bed and an even colder body. He cracked open his eyes, wondering where Eiri could possibly be at this hour in the morning. The writer almost always depended on the lyricist to wake him up, so this truly didn't make sense. He hadn't had any meetings today, so where could he have gone?
Rolling over, he yawned, a pink tongue flickering over chapped lips, and recoiling back into the cavern of his mouth. He rubbed his eyes, stretching over the length of the bed as his hands brushed up against the piece of paper that had been laid out on Eiri's pillow. Curiously he leaned up, and his eyes fell on the ring that laid on the bed.
Could it be…..?
His eyes watered and he picked it up, nuzzling it against his cheek and clutched it tightly in his palm as he let the tears spill over. "Oh Eiri, I love it so much…" he murmured into the silence. "But why…?" He reached out and picked up the piece of paper, scanning the contents. Damn the writer and his habits of writing. Couldn't he write like everyone else? But no, his lover had to be unique.
"Dear Shuichi…
I've been called away on a promotional business trip for my new book. If you need me, I'll be on the cell. (01) 3918-9834.
Practice hard and eat right. Remember to take care of yourself while I am gone.
Uesugi Eiri "
A plucked pink eyebrow rose slightly at the conclusion of the note. Eiri never used his last name. Shaking his head, he clutched the ring tighter, and quickly got dressed, slipping it on his finger. "I'll call him when I get home tonight…I'm going to be late for work!"
* * *
He trudged in the door quietly. It was unusual to not hear the usual tapping of keys on the laptop, but then he remembered Eiri was away. And it all made sense. Dropping his bag, he hurried over the phone, and picked up the piece of paper, reading the numbers again as he plugged them into the phone. He hoped he wouldn't be interrupting anything, but Eiri was usually working on his laptop at this point in the day, so he was pretty positive that he'd get through alright.
"Sumimasen.. this number is non-existent. Please try to dial again. …… Sumimasen, this …"
He looked at the phone for a moment, and then set the paper down, hanging up the phone as he scowled at the numbers. Had he dialed it wrong? He quickly pushed the numbers again, repeating them aloud as he hit the final '4', and waited for it to ring.
"Sumimasen.. this number is non-existent. Please try to dial again. …… Sumimasen, this number is non-existent …"
Tears pricked his eyes, and the sleek black phone slipped from his grasp, and fell to the floor, clattering along the linoleum. He stared down at it as he heard the mechanical woman's voice repeat that same phrase again. He kicked the phone, and watched as it ricocheted off the floor and collided with the wall. As it fell to the floor again, it reminded the lyricist of a body being hit by a car, and resting silently as soon as death turned the person's vision black.
"Eiri.. how could you?"
Maybe he was jumping to conclusions, Perhaps the writer's phone was out of the service area, or in his rush to leave he'd written the number wrong? But too much began to add up, and Shuichi hit himself in the head for being so naive. He pulled the ring off his finger and examined it, as the tears began to slip down his cheeks.
It wasn't real.. it couldn't be real…
"Sumimasen…."
Yet he knew it was.
They'd been through so much in the past, yet then, every time Eiri had left, he'd always returned. Yet this time, Shuichi didn't feel hopeful at all.
He fell to his knees, clutching the ring. Arms gathered around his body and he began to sob violently. "Eiri, come back, please…" yet he knew his cries were merely in vain, and his heart sank lower every time the voice continued to repeat loudly from the receiver. Grabbing his keys, he hurried from the house, slamming the door behind him. He needed to get away. He couldn't deal with this now.
Nothing could remain normal.
It was always the few and the far between.
Author: Myaku
Series: Gravitation
Pairing: Shuichi x Eiri (implied)
Always.. the few and the far between.
The soft lamplight illuminated the room, haloing the magenta haired vocalist who slept peacefully on the bed. Sheets had been tangled, covering portions of his body. Patches of fair skin were revealed in the tangle of white sheets, and glowed softly in the dim light. To the quiet author.. he looked beautiful.
But for some reason, that night, Yuki Eiri didn't feel like sleeping. And he rose from the bed, crossing the room to the doorway. Wistfully glancing at the boy who slumbered in his bed, he exited from the room, wandering down the hall to his office, where he quietly opened the door, and slipped through. Socked feet made their way across the floor to the chair that sat before the laptop. He leaned forward, pressing the small button and he heard a whirl from deep inside the machine as it began to boot.
The coldness seemed normal to him. The shell that he'd secluded himself into so many years ago seemed a normality. And at first, he didn't want to let the annoying brat, that was Shindou Shuichi, destroy everything he'd worked so hard to create. Everything he'd worked so hard to protect.
He was set in his ways, and yet everytime the vocalist came around, it seemed to change everything. Small habits began to form, and the affectionate ways from so long ago surfaced every now and then, even though it was much against his will. It wasn't as if he wanted to love the boy.
It just sort of happened.
And then it became a needy thing. Visits became fewer as Shuichi began to spend more time at the studio and Eiri on his new story. The writer found himself rising earlier in the morning, just to see a glimpse of the vocalist's sweet smile before he ducked out the door carrying his papers and a quickly cooling breakfast.
An idiot, Eiri mused.
But Shuichi was his idiot.
Fingers slowly tapped the thin plastic, and he watched as letters began to appear on the screen. Letters formed words, and the words formed sentences that slowly began to mingle and formed paragraphs of beauty and harmony.
And then his finger hovered over a particular key on his keyboard.
And the button was pressed.
And the screen cleared.
Romance. Why did everything surround romance? So many of his stories surrounded his relationship with Shuichi. Of course, his publisher, and his fans, even Shuichi himself didn't know that. Though Shuichi didn't read his stories either. The boy could barely keep still for ten minutes. Eiri would love to see him try to sit still long enough to read.
Fingers struck the keys again.
Three hours and two cigarettes later, Eiri had finished two chapters and the girlfriend was near death.
A disease. He decided not to choose one yet. Let the thought linger and make her death slow. A smile slid across his face and he rolled the chair back slightly, staring at the screen. He didn't care if she died. It was just a character.
Even if it was the character that normally portrayed Shuichi.
It was his story. They were all expendable. And that's all he kept in mind.
His finger reached to touch that button again, and he paused, and changed his mind of the deletion. Instead, momentarily satisfied, he saved the story onto the computer, closed it carefully. He listened to it hum quietly, as he left the room.
Turning, he walked back down the hallway towards his bedroom. Twisting open the doorknob, he pushed it open, letting the warm air hit his face as he took a step into the jungle-like atmosphere that hung in the room, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Beads of sweat clung to Shuichi's face. Eiri reached out to brush them away and then caught his hand as fingers brushed along the soft hair, and mid- movement and pulled away. It was Shuichi's own fault. He always came home and cranked up the heat, claiming that Eiri's apartment was as cold as he could be.
And hearing that hurt sometimes, too.
He stared at his fingertips, which had only seconds ago ran along the edge of those magenta locks. He didn't understand why the feeling of those silk tendrils felt so pleasant against his calloused fingers, and for a minute, he felt dirty.
This wasn't right. He didn't deserve this.
He reached down into the drawer of the nightstand, and pushed aside random tubes of lubrication, packs of cigarettes that had been hidden away, and discarded alcohol bottles. A drawer in which he knew the lyricist would never look was where he stored the little box entangled in soft green velvet. He opened the little box, and looked lovingly at the gold band. A single amber crushed between two amethyst stones, reflecting both men's eyes, and just how Eiri felt everyday. Smothered. But it wasn't something he regretted.
This was something he wanted, yet he knew he couldn't follow through. He knew he didn't deserve it.
He was tired of seeing those large, adoring violet eyes gazing at him with tears when the blonde man couldn't whisper, "I love you", or couldn't give the attention that the vocalist desperately needed.
His fingers tumbled over the box, fingering the small ring as he laid it out on his pillow, knowing the vocalist would see it in the morning. He grabbed a pen and a piece of paper, and elegantly etched the kanji across the pallid sheet. Leave it to Eiri to write like a westerner, kanji from left to right. He scanned over the words again, and nodded. Innocent, yet direct. It wouldn't raise suspicion nor questions from the lyricist… well, not too many, he mused. Taking one last glance, he crossed out "Yuki Eiri" and wrote in his real name. "Uesugi Eiri". There was no need for his penname anymore. He laid it softly next to the ring, and stared at it for one more moment, before lowering his vision.
He tried to imagine the boy gone. He felt the saline prick the edges of his golden eyes, recalling the month long tour that BAD LUCK had gone on recently. He couldn't stand the silence, and was so used to the whiny voice that grated his nerves, but deep down he truly loved.
Of course, he'd never admit that.
Yet during that month, the writer had barely finished his new story in time, and had ended up dropping his sales as critics attacked him brutally, screaming about a lack in storyline and a deep hatred that had welled for the female character, which resulted in her death in the end. The media blamed it on Shuichi, and their new found love. Little did the critics know that the book would have never been made without the magenta-haired vocalist.
He wondered why it was so difficult to function without the nuisance there, hanging off his every word, and jabbering like a love-sick school girl when he came home from school. Yet without it, the writer felt incomplete. But in the end, the solution was simple.
Shuichi was his balance. Shuichi helped to tip the scale on days when stress was at its peak, and wandering thoughts of alcohol and suicide as a 'pro' seemed much more 'con' appropriate, once the lyricist had stolen the spotlight to help ease the day.
But not anymore.
He had lived alone before, and he was sure with enough adjustment, he could do it again. Though it bothered him, because he couldn't remember what it was like back then. He couldn't remember solo breakfast, or sleeping without the warmth, and smaller body whispering silent phrases against his neck.
But that would all change, and the familiarities would change back to the norm. After all, everyone learned to adapt to change. It was a way of life, and Yuki Eiri's life was no exception.
He got up and got dressed in the dim light, fingers groping along the wall until he came across the cool handle of the closet. Noiselessly sliding it open, slim digits grasped hangers, and clothes were ripped from the metal wire and slipped quietly into the navy luggage bag. He turned and walked across the room, and opened the dresser drawers, knocking the contents from the drawers into the duffel bag he held below. For once he was happy that Shuichi could sleep through a tornado, it made the process a lot less nerve wracking, and he didn't have to worry about the vocalist waking and disturbing his flight into the darkness.
Satisfied with what he had grabbed, he took one last glance at the boy, heaving a sigh, and walked out the door, slipping it shut behind him. He tiptoed into his study and shut down the laptop, loading it into the sturdy leather case and walked back out. The time would come and all his other belongings would follow, but for now, it would just be.
He walked back to the bedroom once more, and slipped in, walking over to the bedside where the young boy slumbered, chasing after his dreams. He gently reached down and placed a soft kiss on the magenta-haired vocalist's lips, and hurried from the room as his vision began to blur.
He walked back out into the living room, and walked over to the small table, where a photo laid encased in glass. The good times, when he'd been able to please Shuichi without making him cry. Yet even then, he knew the boy suffered. It wasn't easy, but he knew this would be for the best. He scooped up the stack of CDs, his eyes scanning the covers rapidly. They were the first press copies that Shuichi had given him of BAD LUCK, when the band had first released their CD. It was special, and something he still wanted to take with him. Taking one last look at the picture, he picked it up as well, and tucked it under his arm as he walked back to the counter, dumping the newly obscured objects in his bag. Picking up his luggage, he stood there for all of a second before exhaling into the stale air, and grabbed the bags. Irritation caused those fine blonde brows to curve downwards, and he grabbed his keys off the counter.
"Goodbye… Shuichi."
* * *
The vocalist woke up to a cold bed and an even colder body. He cracked open his eyes, wondering where Eiri could possibly be at this hour in the morning. The writer almost always depended on the lyricist to wake him up, so this truly didn't make sense. He hadn't had any meetings today, so where could he have gone?
Rolling over, he yawned, a pink tongue flickering over chapped lips, and recoiling back into the cavern of his mouth. He rubbed his eyes, stretching over the length of the bed as his hands brushed up against the piece of paper that had been laid out on Eiri's pillow. Curiously he leaned up, and his eyes fell on the ring that laid on the bed.
Could it be…..?
His eyes watered and he picked it up, nuzzling it against his cheek and clutched it tightly in his palm as he let the tears spill over. "Oh Eiri, I love it so much…" he murmured into the silence. "But why…?" He reached out and picked up the piece of paper, scanning the contents. Damn the writer and his habits of writing. Couldn't he write like everyone else? But no, his lover had to be unique.
"Dear Shuichi…
I've been called away on a promotional business trip for my new book. If you need me, I'll be on the cell. (01) 3918-9834.
Practice hard and eat right. Remember to take care of yourself while I am gone.
Uesugi Eiri "
A plucked pink eyebrow rose slightly at the conclusion of the note. Eiri never used his last name. Shaking his head, he clutched the ring tighter, and quickly got dressed, slipping it on his finger. "I'll call him when I get home tonight…I'm going to be late for work!"
* * *
He trudged in the door quietly. It was unusual to not hear the usual tapping of keys on the laptop, but then he remembered Eiri was away. And it all made sense. Dropping his bag, he hurried over the phone, and picked up the piece of paper, reading the numbers again as he plugged them into the phone. He hoped he wouldn't be interrupting anything, but Eiri was usually working on his laptop at this point in the day, so he was pretty positive that he'd get through alright.
"Sumimasen.. this number is non-existent. Please try to dial again. …… Sumimasen, this …"
He looked at the phone for a moment, and then set the paper down, hanging up the phone as he scowled at the numbers. Had he dialed it wrong? He quickly pushed the numbers again, repeating them aloud as he hit the final '4', and waited for it to ring.
"Sumimasen.. this number is non-existent. Please try to dial again. …… Sumimasen, this number is non-existent …"
Tears pricked his eyes, and the sleek black phone slipped from his grasp, and fell to the floor, clattering along the linoleum. He stared down at it as he heard the mechanical woman's voice repeat that same phrase again. He kicked the phone, and watched as it ricocheted off the floor and collided with the wall. As it fell to the floor again, it reminded the lyricist of a body being hit by a car, and resting silently as soon as death turned the person's vision black.
"Eiri.. how could you?"
Maybe he was jumping to conclusions, Perhaps the writer's phone was out of the service area, or in his rush to leave he'd written the number wrong? But too much began to add up, and Shuichi hit himself in the head for being so naive. He pulled the ring off his finger and examined it, as the tears began to slip down his cheeks.
It wasn't real.. it couldn't be real…
"Sumimasen…."
Yet he knew it was.
They'd been through so much in the past, yet then, every time Eiri had left, he'd always returned. Yet this time, Shuichi didn't feel hopeful at all.
He fell to his knees, clutching the ring. Arms gathered around his body and he began to sob violently. "Eiri, come back, please…" yet he knew his cries were merely in vain, and his heart sank lower every time the voice continued to repeat loudly from the receiver. Grabbing his keys, he hurried from the house, slamming the door behind him. He needed to get away. He couldn't deal with this now.
Nothing could remain normal.
It was always the few and the far between.
