Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation.
Dedication: To Laura (AKA WinBulter) who introduced me to Gravitation and FanFiction and without whom this story would never have come into being. ALL HAIL THE HYPNOTOAD (and fizzy fish too)!
Warnings: Language - English. Oh, that kind of language; no we shan't be having any of that here thank you.
Violence - Moderate
Sex/nudity – None (Expect some in the future and it will be boy on boy but if you weren't expecting that you wouldn't be reading a Gravitation FanFiction would you?)
Drugs (and rock'n'roll) - None, smoking is not cool kids.
And now that that's all done with…
Chapter 1 - 3:41 am
I'll begin with a short authorial intrusion to let you know that we are now two years into the future since where the television series left off. Eiri is struggling increasingly with his writing because it was always his tragic past that fuelled his creativity but now he has, as far as possible, come to terms with this he is beginning to fade into the background of the writing industry failing to fight competition from younger, gifted novelists.
Eiri scrolled down the document on his computer skimming through and picking out mistakes. It was his autobiography, a final attempt to leave a good impression on the public after their disappointment and criticism of his last novel before putting his pen to rest.
"Tohma was a friend of Kitazawa in school and told me endless stories of how he was extremely talented and achieved high marks in every exam, he was athletic and good looking and had a sense of humour that was incomparable to anyone else's. In his final year he was head boy and captain of the football and hockey teams. Privileges and admiration from everyone at the school inflated his already impressive sense of self and he strutted majestically along corridors parading his prefect gown and badge. During his time at university in America he lost most of his immature arrogance and had become a sophisticated young man with incredible potential.
"When I was 16 I was still bullied in school but I was able to confide in my close friend and future brother-in-law, Tohma Seguchi, and to this day we have always kept each other's best interests at heart. Together we travelled to New York to meet Kitazawa and I saw for myself everything Tohma had described. He was kind, and he was good-looking, and charismatic, and talented. But I feel in hindsight that I admired his talent too much and he took advantage of my affection."
He reflected for a moment on what he had written; he was about the same age now as Kitazawa was when he died; he felt guilty to think of what he would have done without him, Kitazawa had inspired him and mentored him but he would not have achieved the fame he had if he had been competing against him. He was fortunate to even be alive after the events in New York but these thoughts were quickly overtaken by humiliation. How could he have been so foolish? Why had he trusted him? Why had he cared for him; loved him even and held a hope for his recovery, judgment clouded by his falsely foundered admiration for his tutor?
A few paragraphs further on he searched for a passage describing one of the most terrifying times when he had been living with Kitazawa.
"At the worst times he would come home well into the early hours of Saturday morning. The pub shut several hours before but he roamed the streets until his associates passed out and he would arrive at the house to point an intoxicated finger at me. I made futile attempts to sleep but my mind was agitated by thoughts of what he could be doing, or going to do. Emotions of anger, fear and hatred turned over and swelled inside my brain, pressure built up, pressing my head into the pillow which smothered me in its delicate goose down. To go to sleep would mean leaving my scrawny teenage body completely vulnerable to his attacks.
"Instead, I curled up on the sofa with my legs pulled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. I fought sleep with a cocktail of caffeine and additives, colourings and stabilisers from the American junk food my diet now consisted of. My brain absorbed an unbroken steam of television programmes and advertisements as my eyes rested unfocused on the screen. I didn't laugh at comedies; I didn't cry at tragedies; I didn't cringe at horror films but it blocked out my thoughts and feelings and left me with only the primitive instinct of survival.
"Stumbling footsteps on the stairs to the apartment followed by the thudding of a fist on the wooden front door and the rattling of metal lock with metal key shook me back to reality. I glanced at the illuminated digital display on the video recorder, 3:41am, and then stood up to cautiously open the door. Without warning, a bottle was hurled through the glass window at the far end of the room. Fragments of glass shattered across the dinning table and the flower arrangement toppled scattering the elegant carnations and spilling a cascade of water onto the carpet. My throat was too dry to scream. I hid between the sofa and the wall, armed with a heavy reference book, listening to my shallow breathing and the rapid thumping against the insides of my ribcage. I was helpless prey cornered by my predator.
"Another window smashed, this time above me and splinters of glass scratched the back of my neck and head. Cool rain was blown through the opening and sprinkled over me. Tears of terror trickled down my cheeks. I was going to die. I crawled out to the edge of the sofa and saw three men, Yuki and two strangers, respectable men reduced to savage animals by alcohol.
"He saw me. His eyes glinted, his tongue licked along his lips, his tail twitched, he pounced. I sprinted towards the door but his hands clawed at my shirt pulling me down and he roared with rage. I slipped on the spilled water from the vase and my chin hit the table and nothing.
"Some nights he didn't come home at all."
Eiri closed his eyes, removed his reading glasses and ran his fingers through his long hair. Course stubble was beginning to sprout on his chin which was propped up in the palm of one hand while the other reached across the desk for his mug of coffee. Black and icy cold it sent a bitter spasm down the muscles of he back.
He blinked and looked up at the ceiling as though gravity could pull the tears back into his eyes. It's in the past; he's in the past he thought furiously. He heaved a frustrated sigh and glanced at the framed photograph on his desk. A candid shot of a young couple, one pink-haired one a dirty-blonde, arms round each others waists and gazing adoringly at each other. Love: the deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection towards another person. That was why he had believed in Kitazawa and stood by him.
The scratching of a key in the front door lock alerted him to how late it was; Shuichi was home. He glanced at his watch, 3.41am, the coincidence was chilling and he stayed put while Shuichi cautiously opened the door.
