Fracture
Yuki felt agitation prickling under his skin even before Shuichi opened his mouth and said the wrong words. It was a matter that had been nagging the back of Eiri's mind long before he realized what was bothering him. Not that the realization made things any better.
Three weeks ago, his latest novel went into print. It was the first one he'd written from cover to cover while he had been with Shuichi, and right away he could tell this one was different. When he'd finished the manuscript, he didn't feel his usual sense of weary accomplishment. Instead, he felt his pulse throbbing in his throat. When he delivered it to his publisher, he carried with him a feeling of twisting anxiety. By the time his book was in print, he'd started experiencing regular chest pains.
Copies flew off the shelves, shattering his previous record for opening sales. The fan response was frenzied. But none of it brought him any peace. Even during Yuki's publicity interviews or rare book signings, Shuichi was oblivious to it all.
The boy's only reaction to the completed manuscript had been: "Great! Now you can spend more time with me!" When the novel hit bookstores and drew media attention, Shuichi only opened a copy long enough to fawn over the photo of Eiri splashed on the inside of the dust jacket.
He hadn't read a page. And for some strange reason, it was driving Yuki crazy. A bitter malaise settled in his stomach, deepening each day Shuichi showed no interest in his novel. Eiri told himself repeatedly that he shouldn't care, that it didn't matter, that Shuichi wouldn't understand his work anyway. But nevertheless, it did bother him.
Resentment gnawed at the author's insides, leaving him irritable and hollow. Like a log that had been chewed away by termites, Yuki was left with a pristine exterior but a core that was brittle, empty, ready to crumble at the slightest provocation.
Weeks later, the swelling tension finally burst. Yuki couldn't even remember how the argument had started. Admittedly, he'd been more testy than usual since the discovery of Shuichi's disinterest. It was likely that Yuki was the one who had started this particular bickering match, but it was one last comment of Shuichi's that finally set him over the edge.
"You never understand how I feel," Shuichi said sullenly, wiping dampness from the corner of his eyes, "For someone who writes romance novels, you're awfully insensitive."
The words touched a raw nerve and Yuki's lips drew together in a hard line of displeasure. How dare he bring up the novels as fuel in an argument without having read even one of them?
He looked down at Shuichi through a cold gaze. The boy's eyes were red and swollen from fighting back tears. His mouth frozen in a petulant frown. In that moment, he looked like a stubborn child in the midst of a tantrum.
"I don't have time for this crap," Yuki said tersely. "I'm going back to work." He turned his face away and headed towards his study.
"You always do that!" Shuichi blurted, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "You don't care about anyone but yourself!"
Anger rose in the back Yuki's throat like bitter bile at these words. How dare Shuichi accuse him of being selfish?
Yuki had gone to Shuichi's concerts. Watched his television interviews from home. He endured Shuichi's constant ramblings about the music scene, and his whining when things went wrong. He had been silently supportive through all the rock star's highs and lows.
Shuichi, on the other hand, hadn't read any of Yuki's novels, including the recent one that had tied painful knots in his chest. Rather than empathizing with Yuki's need for artistic expression, he complained endlessly about the amount of time Yuki spent writing in his study. In Shuichi's limited understanding, he surely thought that Yuki locked himself away as a silent punishment rather than a necessity of the writing process.
Shindou was the selfish one, playing the tragic hero oppressed from all sides. He wallowed in self-pity during times of artistic difficulties, expecting others to talk him back up when he was down. But through it all, it was as though it had never even occurred to him that Yuki's writing might be as important to him as singing was to Shuichi.
A hanging silence followed, suspended in the air after Shuichi's outburst. The boy tensed, eyes cringed shut, not regretting his harsh words, just fearing Yuki's reaction.
Yuki's expression remained serene, but he clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. He wanted to yell at the brat, point out his hypocrisy. He wanted to ask Shuichi why he'd never taken an interest in I his /I life and art. But expressing himself verbally had never been Yuki's strong suit. Anything he wanted to say sounded pathetic and desperate and he wasn't about to lower himself to that.
"You're right," he said flatly. "I'm sure you'd be much happier with someone else. Why don't you go off and work on that?"
Yuki waved towards the door carelessly, hoping Shuichi would leave. The tightness in his chest continued to build as long as he stood there. It was becoming hard to look his lover in the eye without an unsettling pain forming in his throat.
"No!" Shuichi said, his eyes wide with alarm. His stubbornness had instantly vanished, replaced by fear of abandonment. He knew Yuki wasn't entirely serious, but the harshness in those words warned him against taking him too lightly. "I just meant… I mean… You could be a little nicer to me." He offered a weak smile of apology.
Always thinking of himself…
Yuki ignored his words and snatched his coat from the countertop, swirling it around his shoulders and thrusting his hands roughly into the sleeves. His hope that Shuichi would finally realize what he'd been doing wrong lay shattered across the tiles of the front foyer. He couldn't stand this feeling any longer he didn't have the energy to kick Shuichi out and deal with his protests. He would rather be turned out of his own apartment.
"I'm going out," he said simply.
"Y-Yuki," Shuichi said meekly, "I'm sorry…" His earlier anger and bravado was gone. He never could stand up to his lover for long.
Yuki grabbed his keys and a pack of cigarettes from the tabletop by the front door. "You're in my way."
Shuichi didn't stand aside, so Yuki walked around him, pushing through the fog of desperate protests, leaving them behind.
Yuki drove through the city, appreciating the solitude that the car afforded him. He had no particular direction in mind as he drove, but he still felt as though he was being led somewhere. When he pulled to a stop and cut the engine, he found himself in a familiar place, but not entirely where he'd expected to land.
Feeling in no mood to argue with destiny—or anyone else for that matter—Yuki approached the front door and knocked casually with the back of his knuckles.
The man who opened the door looked bored and disinterested until he recognized the face of his visitor. "Eiri-san," Tohma breathed, his face eclipsed with a combination of surprise and wonderment.
Yuki took a final deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled through the corner of his mouth. "Mind if I come in?"
