Title: Monday Morning (1/?)
Author: Kameko-chan
Pairings: Strong Hiroshi Shuichi friendship, Hiro x ?, various canon
Warnings: Deathfic
Notes: Inspired by the Prozzak song of the same name
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What do ya do when your best friend goes one day
Somebody takes their life away
Don't want to wake up... Monday morning
-Prozzak, 'Monday Morning'
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Something wasn't right.
That was the thought that kept going through Shuichi's mind that night. It wasn't something he could see right before him, it wasn't the fact that Yuki's cigarettes lay untouched, for once, or that the blonde hadn't hermitted himself away with his computer to write his smutty works. There were plenty of domestic inconsistencies tonight, but no, this was something bigger, something important, and, infuriatingly, something that Shuichi couldn't put his finger on. He didn't know how he knew that all was not well, he just knew, and that was enough. All evening, worry gnawed in the pit of his stomach as he tried to figure out what had triggered this feeling. As the night grew later, Shuichi grew more silent as the feeling of wrong intensified.
Yuki tried to ignore Shuichi's odd behavior, tried to take advantage of the fabled state of quiet that he'd forgotten actually existed. He tried, but alas, he failed. Shuichi was never this quiet, and even though he'd never, ever say so, it had Yuki worried (just a little, mind you). Sighing, he set aside his novel and turned to the pink-haired boy beside him. "Well," he asked, irritated, "what is it?"
Shuichi turned his head slowly to the left looking faintly surprised, as though he'd forgotten that the other man was there. "Something's wrong."
Yuki's fist clenched slightly as he resisted the urge to smack Shuichi upside the head. "And what, pray tell, is that?"
"I don't know."
Sometimes, Yuki thought, Shuichi made no sense at all. Deciding to wait until the brat stopped being evasive (after all, he always ended up hearing all about everyone and every thing that had any impact on Shuichi whatsoever. Sometimes he wished Shu came with a mute button) he went back to his book while Shuichi continued to brood.
Something wasn't right, and he didn't know what, and it was pissing him right off. Maybe he'd forgotten something. Yes, that would make sense, he was very forgetful sometimes. But what could it be? Ah, wait, he knew what he'd do; he'd ask Hiro. Hiro was sure to know what it was; after all, Hiro knew everything. Well, maybe not everything, but everything to do with Shuichi and his cracked-out head. The boy grinned in triumph at finally thinking of a course of action that seemed somewhat productive, and he didn't give Yuki a second thought as he crawled over him to reach the phone (he did note, however, that Yuki did not shove him off. Victory!). Hiro was supposed to be visiting his mother that day, so Shuichi dialed the number he'd dialed a million times throughout their school years and waited patiently for an answer at the other end.
After twelve rings, Shuichi finally hung up.
"There's no answer," he said quietly, not really caring if Yuki heard him or not. "There's always an answer." Something wasn't right. Oh god, something wasn't right at all. Shuichi turned to look at Yuki. The tawny-haired man had flipped on the television, turned it to the news channel. His eyes were wide in disbelief.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Shuichi walked towards the illuminated box in a daze, touched his fingers to the familiar motorcycle depicted there, but it was a wreck, why was it a wreck? What was that dark stain on the road?
There was a pretty young woman with a microphone standing before the carnage, voice bland and unfeeling. The perfect reporter. Was she even thinking of how her words would impact someone's life? Did she know how that clinical expression would haunt Shuichi's nightmares until the day he died?
News had no to be the body of Hiroshi Nakano, guitarist for the popular band Bad Luck. He was dead upon arrival, and police..."
Blood, dear God, it was blood staining the road, and it was everywhere. Or maybe it just seemed that way to Shuichi. Maybe the blood stands out more when you know who it came from.
Shuichi slid slowly to the floor, still staring at the television, unable to tear his eyes away from the spot where his best friend in the world had taken his last breath. He was barely aware of Yuki roughly shaking his shoulders and yelling into his ear. Shuichi's whole world had become the flickering box.
Mrs. Nakano was crying, and the whole world watched her mourn.
Something was very, very wrong, and Shuichi knew at that moment that nothing would ever be right again.
TBC
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This is my first fic in the Gravi fandom, so if you're going to pelt the newbie with anything, please let it be constructive criticism?