Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation or anything about Gravitation. Simple enough.
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I look terrible.
After turning on the lights in my place, I waited on the couch, finishing up another cigarette, waiting patiently for Shuichi to come home. I'm still tired and I realize that Shuichi's going to see me in my two day-old clothes. "Damn," I curse, though I don't plan on doing anything about it while I ground my cigarette into the ashtray.
My buzzer is ringing nonstop suddenly and at one point it sounds like it's playing the beat of 'Blind Game Again' each time it buzzes. I actually know the name to his song. Actually I know the name to all of his stupid songs, thought that's another thing I don't plan on telling him.
"Cut that out," I say into my loudspeaker, but my voice isn't cold as I buzz him in.
It didn't take long to hear the constant pounding at my front door and his voice singing my name from the other side. After spending a whole month without Shuichi's energy charging through my expensive but drab flat, I realize I've missed it.
"If you don't be quiet out there, I'm not letting you in," I shout through the door.
"Yu-ki!" he cries.
"You'll wake the neighbors!" I shout back.
"Then open the door!" he begs. How cruel of me.
My fatigue and the lull of the tobacco racing through my system doesn't show any of my excitement as I open the door. Then again, when did I ever show excitement?
"Yuki!" he shouts, flinging himself toward me with such force I almost fall over. He's snuggling his face into my navy shirt.
"Don't do that, you idiot!" I reprimand as he's hanging from my neck, and against my words, I have an arm around his waist to keep him close while I shut the door. Already the scent of his shampoo is filling my senses. And wait… That's my cologne he is wearing! I knew the brat stole the bottle. I'd yell at him for being a thief, but he's hugging me so tightly I don't know if I can speak.
I had planned on kissing him first, but he had already beaten me too it as his lips met mine. It was a lot harder than what Shuichi usually does, but I find it desirable, so I don't mind. He's better than my cigarettes. He misses me so much when he is away that he doesn't seem to care about the way I taste, and the fact that I'm a good kisser keeps him from complaining.
"Is that what you learned in Kyoto?" I ask when he pulled away for air, but a new question sprung to my lips before he had time to answer. "What the hell?" Shuichi had always been shorter than me, but suddenly he's almost at face level. There's no way at nineteen that he was still growing, especially with all the energy he wastes running around.
"Oh! I warned you," he laughs, taking a step back. "They're uncomfortable but they make you easier to reach." He's wearing these ridiculously high-soled boots with the color of flames up the sides. In addition, he's wearing a floor length black trench coat that is to large on his small body, and now that I have the time to look at his face.
Is that--
"Is that eyeliner?" I question, reaching out to rub a finger below his brow line because I see something glittery. "And silver eye powder?" His violet eyes now stand out more with the smoky make-up he's wearing. The shocking pink of his hair that usually brushes in his face has been styled with some sort of gel or hairspray, making him appear as if wind has blown it back. I knew being on camera, from doing interviews myself, warranted make-up but this was more than a little face powder.
"Yep," he says, uncinching the knot in his coat and slipping it off his slender shoulders. "I told you we left the moment we finished. K-san let me borrow his coat so I wouldn't stand out as much while we-Hiro, Fujisaki and me-made a dash to his car. Car!" he repeats again with a shine in his eyes as if it was the first word he ever said.
Now I see why he wore the trench coat as he hangs it up on the coat rack in my foyer. I knew Bad Luck's new single would be coming out next month, and I heard from Shuichi's constant talks that it was a tad more on the lusty side than there usual songs.
This video had to be more than a tad lusty.
Shuichi looks a lot older. My brother, Tatsuha, is right about one thing- Shuichi's too thin to hold any fat-only muscle built from exuding so much energy, and he could seem feminine but I knew for a fact that he wasn't. The pants were loose black vinyl, tucked inside the long black boots. They were zipped but not buttoned and hung extremely low on his hips. His black shirt barely qualified as one as it hung crooked on his shoulders, one sleeve torn into shreds and the other sleeve gloved around his hand. The shirt was purposely made like this I assume, and no screaming fan girls trying to claw at him were involved. Our relationship was public news, but fan girls still flocked to his concerts, mostly either because Shuichi being involved with a handsome-fan-girl-loved-romance-writer like myself was dating him or they hoped they could make him straight, and that isn't happening as long as I'm alive. Damn fan girls. The slanted shirt exposed the V of his neck, and he was wearing a fake piercing on both of his ears and navel. At least I think they're fake. They weren't there when he left, and I doubt the little crybaby could sit though one painful piercing let alone three. Finishing off the ensemble was a bright pink buckle chocker for his neck.
This was incentive enough to keep my attention, and I couldn't help but stare at him, my golden glare penetrating beneath those clothes, and now I'm starting to think like one of the characters in my romance novels. I hate it when he does that to me, too, and I'm starting to wonder if he planned this sudden return on purpose after I made him promise (or yelled, however it was perceived) to not pester me while I work. But he isn't acknowledging my glance. I can't believe I'm attracted to him in this outfit with face paint on. It could be the combination of no sleep, him being away, cigarettes and alcohol. Oh please let it be the combination of no sleep, him being away, cigarettes and alcohol!
"I am so totally exhausted after the shoot," he said, trying to remove the high boots, almost falling over from standing on one leg and wobbling until he hit the wall with an 'oomph.' The second shoe was easier to remove and he walked right by me, now at the height with which I usually associate as Shuichi. He couldn't have been home for five minutes before messing up my clean apartment. With single pulls he removes all three silver hopes from his ears and navel (yep, they're fake) and tosses them on my coffee table, and starts searching through his stuff for his oversized mug.
Maybe four in the morning isn't that bad after all, I think, watching him go to the kitchen with mug in hand and rummaging through the cabinets and fridge for something to eat, which are all empty except some beer in the fridge. The meal of champion writers!
"This isn't healthy, Yuki," he complains as he pokes his head into the light of my refrigerator. "You're too beautiful for such harmful things. You can't drink and smoke all day."
"Yes I can," I counter, taking a seat on a stool, watching that skin on his uncovered hips. Just observing Shuichi gives me some ideas to break my writer's block, but I never wrote about him per say, in fear he might read one of my books one day and hold the fact that he was my occasional muse over my head. The pairings in my books are always men with women so I can always find a way to avoid anything about our relationship, my lover being another male and all.
He must not be in the mood to argue, because he drops his worry about my health and goes back to his story, settling on downing a glass of water. "Kyoto was a lot of fun. I can see why your family lives there, even if your father stays at his temple all the time. Well, we didn't have much time to do a lot of--what does K-san say--" he contemplates, looking quite adorable as he taps his chin. "Free-loading," he says in the best English he can muster to imitate his American manager before returning to Japanese. "Otherwise I would have paid your temple a visit."
"I'm sure my father would have loved that," I comment with sarcasm dripping off my words, though they're lost on him.
"I did get some free time after wrap-ups in the afternoons. Tatsuha visited the set constantly! He was fun to hang around with. I let him in on my secret, but I made him promise not to tell you," he continues with a sly smile. What is this surprise? My brother never mentioned anything about going to see him when he called me earlier in the week.
"I think he was disappointed that Sakuma wasn't there to visit as well," Shuichi shrugs.
"That's obvious," I sigh. My younger brother is obsessed with the lead singer of Nittle Grasper, Ryuichi Sakuma; on the status of God in his and Shuichi's eyes. The man is twice his age, even though he doesn't look it. He's older than me! The 31 year old has this ageless face of a teenager, but he acts like a little kid, carrying a pink stuffed bunny wherever he goes. Tatsuha is an idiot. Ryuichi Sakuma is an idiot. Maybe they would fit well together.
"He was a big help in my studies."
"Studies?"
"We had this shot our director wanted to film with me in this car, and I was saying that I didn't know how to drive, so they made Hiro do it since Fujisaki doesn't know either being only sixteen. I was all mad, because everyone was looking at me like I didn't know how to add two-and-two together at the age of nineteen. So, I took classes and--"
He began to bite his lower lip, another attractive habit he has, as he reached his fingers into a pocket in those vinyl pants. With sparkling eyes heightened by the smoky make-up, he jumps in front of me, holding a laminated card with two hands. "You are looking at an official licensed driver of this great nation of Japan. Shuichi Shindou! Driver extraordinaire!"
"More like the Pink-Hair-Terror-On-Wheels. What is our nation thinking, giving you permission to operate machinery?" I tease, taking the card and staring at his ridiculous picture as if he didn't know they were taking it. Was he drunk? Maybe he was if the kid actually passed. "You don't need to drive. You don't have a car, you run everywhere, and being on tour won't warrant one of these. You did this for your own selfish reasons in a music video."
"Man!" he begins to whine. "I'm a great driver. K-san let me drive us from Kyoto to here in his car."
"So that explains why Hiro was screaming at you to get off the phone," I say. "You were driving."
"Yuki you jerk! Everyone is safe. I'm here aren't I?" he says defensively, stomping a foot and gesturing at his body.
I can't resist it any longer and I drop this piece of plastic he's proud of on the counter, freeing my hands so I can grab his naked waist. "Yes, you are, but are you really safe?" I smile, allowing him to see this one purposely before my lips are on the dent in his collarbone, causing him to shiver and arch his neck. His body is pushing towards my frame as he begins to slightly moan, and those hands I missed are brushing through my hair before sliding down to the collar of my shirt. I suppose I'll finally be out of my two-day-old-clothes soon enough.
TO BE CONTINUED
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