This story was requested by the wonderful Orange-Maple. This was a little late in coming, so in apology, the next update will be far sooner.
Disclaimer: I own nothing…save the plot. I'd take the guitarist any day, though.
Pairing: KxHiro…Kiro? Insert shinigami here
Warnings: None
Sugar, Sugar?
By Cory
February Third: Monday
Dear Hiro,
Even the hottest of guitarists need a little something to warm them up when these season winds come. For future reference, I'd heat you up…so long as you say please.
Yours truly (even if you don't know it!)
Hiroshi Sakano's biggest fan, and I don't mean for the music
"Wow," Shuichi breathed, lightly running a hand millimeters above the divine surface of the fur, as if petting the coat would cause it to detonate into a blazing inferno. "This guy is so not cheap."
Hiro simply looked curiously and doubtfully at the coat. "Apparently."
February Fourth: Tuesday
"It's good to see that you actually can keep your goddamned mouth shut. You say one thing out of line to Mr. Seguchi and I'll—"
"That's very nice, Mr. Tsumaki, but I'm sure that they understand," a petite, benign voice clipped from behind the mass of bodyguard.
Tsumaki nodded a head that was roughly the size of a misshapen watermelon and stepped back to reveal a musician with his hands clasped before him. Seguchi's smile was perfectly sweet and innocent as he motioned for them to take their seats. Hiro reluctantly parked himself beside K, so close that their knees brushed. His eyes trained unblinkingly on the producer.
"I'm sorry to call you in on such short notice," he murmured as he took his own seat behind his desk, the chair spinning reflexively until he face them, "but there are a few things that have been brought to my attention that are unsettling."
"Sir?" K asked in a detached but worried tone when Seguchi did not continue.
"Sales are declining rapidly, for one, but there has been a leak on some internet fan sites," Seguchi murmured. "I suppose that the two may be correlated," he added as he spun the screen of his computer to reveal picture of a very familiar vocalist in a compromising position of sorts, with a fletched riding crop in one hand while the other was smearing some gel that appeared to be crushed strawberry shortcake over his stomach, thighs, and everything in between. Strawberry pocky tipped past his smirking lips, and it appeared that a few strands of blond hair were just peeking in from the edge of the photograph.
In unison, all turned to stare at a very shocked Shuichi.
"But I—!"
"Shuichi! What in the hell were you thinking?!" K bellowed, lunging at the lithe singer. With a yelp, the poor, humiliated young man whipped out of the room at a flat run, the American right on his heels, roaring death threats and insults.
Five hours, sixteen minutes and forty-one seconds later, Hiro sauntered up the stairs to his condo, a look a sheer exhaustion and tight nerves burning across his visage. That idiot, he thought as he turned the hallway's corner to face his door. He had been mauled by the press outside N-G until he had blasted away from the mob of bawling reporters. Next time I see him I swear I'll…Oh.
His foot had nudged another present—or rather, it seemed to be one. It was a mere envelope of thick, ridged, expensive paper. With a curious tilt of his head, he reached for it and unlocked his door.
Tossing his jacket on the back of an overstuffed armchair that sagged comfortably before a glossy plasma screen television on the way to the kitchen, he gripped a pair of kitchen shears and sliced open the in one fluid move. The paper released a sprinkling of dusty whiteness, airborne until it fluttered to the ground invisibly as it gave with a shrrik noise.
He flipped the envelope upside down over his upturned hand to catch a silky, wafer-thin slip of paper and a sheaf of ordinary notebook paper. His eyes snapped over to read the thinner piece of paper first. It was a soft ocher color, with hand-inscribed calligraphy with sloping, spidery writing. It was a certificate for a lifetime-lasting all-expenses-paid stay at a remote spa that he hadn't ever heard the name of. There were two locations listed: one in the Himalayas and the other in South France.
Hiro grunted. Then he frowned and sniffed the paper. It even smelled luxurious; like it had been sprayed with a very faint, elusive scent that he realized after a moment of consideration to be freesia.
He glanced at the note and quickly read with grateful abandon.
Dearest Hiro,
Stressful days occur even on the seemingly most innocent of days. Even if it was caused by a star-struck who apparently has never heard of "sexual discetion".
So I hoped that you might actually use this. I'll just see you tomorrow, hmm?
Yours truly, so long as my hair is long,
A man who's been trying to catch your eye for an irritatingly long time
