None of their Business
14 June 2007
Fandom: Gravitation
Rating: PG
Summary: Eiri gets every right to be annoyed
Warnings: Sticky romantic fluff

Author Notes: This chapter is for Cat--Demoness who, I think, is going to curse me again. And my thanks go to Kirayasha for the kind words. Vindaloo, I miss you lots. Good luck with those vamps.

--

"If you would please be so kind, Eiri," Touma said with his usual calculated sweetness, "I really need Shuichi to stay with the band."

"He's in Tokyo, it's the end of the tour. I don't see why he can't just stay with me the way he usually does," Eiri argued. "He doesn't need to stay with his band mates one more night and if he honestly wanted to, he would have told me."

"I doubt he would mention this one to you," the NG President said with some conviction. "I happen to know you have not spoken to each other in several days."

Curious, Eiri asked, "And do you happen to know why that would be?"

"Let's just say that this is one of those times where he would find it difficult to talk to you," Touma gently suggested.

A sliver of fear streaked through the writer's heart, and he wondered –not for the first time— if someone had stole the brat away from him over the tour. He hadn't been very patient with Shuichi's calls and he hadn't been to any of the brat's out of Tokyo shows. In the next moment, he decided that would be—

"Bullshit."

"Can I not make this a personal favour?" Touma asked, clearly attempting a change in tactic.

Eiri asked slowly, as though considering the question, "On this occasion where it concerns Shuichi and you are not making sense?" He huffed then stated very firmly, "No."

"This will be very beneficial to Shindou-san, Eiri," Touma insisted gently. "I promise you."

"He won't do any better staying with the band," the writer insisted.

With very well disguised triumph, Touma pointed out, "Then there would make no difference in him staying with you or not."

Eiri snapped, "What the fuck is this really about?"

With a sigh, Touma explained, "Shuichi needs rest and some… space. I also believe that with more time with his band he will be better prepared to meet this coming concert."

Sensing more than ever that there was something afoot, Eiri growled warningly, "Touma…"

"I am also of the opinion you need your own space," the synth-master said brightly, "You have a deadline coming up soon. So isn't this a grand opportunity to get more work done without him there to interrupt you?"

Eiri rubbed at his temple tiredly, "Touma."

"Honestly, you would think I had other—"

"I happen to know you have another motive," the wrtier snapped, "Now spit it out."

Definitely pushing it, Touma declared, "I never spit."

Completely frustrated and definitely not in the mood to deal with his best friend's intricate word-play, Eiri growled, "One more deviation from this conversation and I will drive down to your office for the sole purpose of knocking back in the logic your fashion senses have robbed you of."

"Are you saying I don't dress well?"

Eiri put the phone down and stood. On his way out of his office, his mobile phone rang. He ignored it and proceeded to the bedroom to fetch a clean shirt. The mobile rang out as he was pulling his old shirt off, but moments later the house phone began to ring. As he buttoned up, Touma's voice came over loud and clear over the answering machine,

"You are much too violent, Eiri-san," chided the synth-master. There was a dramatically executed long-suffering sigh before, "And to tell you the truth, Shuichi has been rather… down lately and I thought that since you might have had a… disagreement, this would be a good opportunity for you each to have some space from the other." Eiri snorted, and as if hearing it Touma continued, "I know you're scoffing at me now, but I would rather not have you both involved in another of your heated discussions that inevitably result in both your… dissatisfaction."

Annoyed beyond words at Touma's careful understatements, Eiri snapped to no one in particular, "Why is it that every time the brat gets depressed over something, everyone assumes it's my fault?"

--

Instead of driving like a lunatic to NG to bash in Touma's skull, Eiri drove like a lunatic to NG to find his wayward lover.

He knew his lover's habits and subsequently was quite familiar with Mr K's rigorous insistence on certain things –like last song checks and final preparations. No matter what anyone said, Shuichi's job did bring him a semblance of habit and discipline. And it did affect their life together… or good and bad.

Thankfully, it gave him a pattern to follow.

Sure enough, the notification light for Studio Four lit a bright red. Ignoring it, Eiri kicked in the door and stalked in, patience barely restrained. Touma must have had the security on lookout because just as he bull-dozed his way past the recording technician and barrelled over a begging and weeping Sakano, Touma called from behind him,

"Eiri-san, I beg you not to make a scene."

"I am not making a scene," Eiri snapped over his shoulder before proceeding toward the glass door into the recording room. "I am here to collect my lover."

"Please, Eiri-san--"

In the threshold of the doorway, Eiri took in Hiro's defensive posture and Suguru's bored expression… and the fact that Mr K had drawn his gun. Ignoring them, Eiri's eyes sought and found the thin, pale face of his lover. They stared at each other rather blankly and Eiri realised that in the four weeks he hadn't seen Shuichi, the kid had lost a lot of weight; he was a mess. Hadn't they been feeding him?

"Shuichi," Eiri called sternly, catching how the boy flinched at his tone. He moderated his voice and said, "We're going home."

"Y-yes," Shuichi stumbled on the single syllable, worrying the writer. He moved to collect his bag but Hiro stood in his path, worried.

"You don't have to go with him, Shu," the guitarist said softly.

Eiri saw red. With fists clenched, he took a step in Hiro's direction but found Mr K in his way. Meeting the American's blue eyes, he ordered bluntly, eyes blazing, "Move."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Yuki-san," Mr K said jovially, hoisting his firearm toward the ceiling. "I think Shuichi should stay right here with us until this is all sorted out."

"What the fuck are you talking about, until this is sorted out?" Eiri snarled, "There is nothing to sort out. He is my lover, he is in Tokyo, and he is going home." He turned to find Shuichi had his bag on his shoulders, Hiro's hand on his arm whispering something to the singer. Shuichi looked determined, whispering right back. Snapping, Eiri demanded, "The fuck are you two muttering over there?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Hiro called sharply, releasing Shu's arm and stepping back. He told the singer softly, "Call me anytime and I'll come get you, okay?"

"I'm not going to call, Hiro," Shuichi insisted, just as softly. He rounded his best friend and started toward his lover.

Incensed that Shuichi might leave him, Eiri's temper began to unfold. When Shuichi reached his side, he growled, "What is wrong with them? What is wrong with you?"

"Can we talk about this later?" Shuichi asked, eyes pleading.

"Huh," Eiri scoffed, stepping away from K, "Let's go."

Out the door, through into the hall, with a final glare at Touma, and toward the elevator, Eiri maintained a close ear on the sound of Shuichi's following footsteps. At the elevators, he took Shuichi's bag and slung it over his own shoulder, his other arm circling the singer's shoulders to guide the kid with him into the lift. There, he tightened his arm around his lover and relished the feel of the kid snuggling into his side.

The hell were they all making noise about? Shuichi was supposed to be home, with him, not wasting time being kept up late and against his will when he had such a long day tomorrow. Shit, had they even fed him today?

"You hungry?" Eiri asked, watching the lights on the floor numbers count down to the lower parking level.

"Yea," Shu murmured into the writer's side, his warm breath seeping through the fabric. "It's been a long time since lunch."

"What do you want?"

"Beef," said the kid.

"I'll make something when we get home," Eiri said softly. The elevator gave a loud ping and the doors opened. Together, they strode toward Eiri's black Mercedes where the writer was sure to put Shuichi into the passenger side before crossing around and getting into the driver's seat.

The ride home was short. Home; where Shuichi belonged. And once there, they went straight for the kitchen. Eiri immediately washed his hands and began to prepare dinner. Shuichi sat in one of the stools, quietly contemplating the patch of sky visible in the window. In the silence, Eiri wondered what had gotten Shu to this state. He didn't like it and he didn't want things to stay this way.

Bluntly, he asked, "What happened?"

"They wouldn't let me talk to you," Shuichi said softly, miserably. "When you yelled at me that last time we spoke, I cried and they thought we fought." Shu flashed him a weary smile, "Well, technically, it was a fight but you know it wasn't like a real fight or anything. And they wouldn't believe me when I said it would be okay to call again the day after."

"Or the day after that, or the day after that," Eiri growled moodily, chopping up strips of beef for the stir-fry.

"Yea," Shuichi said softly. "I wanted to come home but they wouldn't let me either. I was surprised to see you there, actually. Seguchi-san said you were really busy."

Eiri flashed Shuichi a startled look, "The hell are you talking about? Touma told me you wanted to stay with them."

Shuichi looked startled himself, sitting up in the stool, "I didn't!"

"Well, I didn't know that," Eiri growled, venting his anger by chopping the vegetables with very quick strokes. Meddlesome bastards, he thought.

"Eiri, be careful," Shuichi begged. "You're angry and you're handling a knife."

Dumping the vegetables into the pan and giving it all a quick toss, the writer frowned darkly at the cooking food, contemplating the band and Touma's bizarre actions of late. He growled to himself about it, so absorbed in mentally dismembering them one by one that he almost started when two arms wrapped around him from behind, Shuichi's small form pressing against his back.

"I'm sorry," the moppet said, "I didn't mean to make you worry."

"Huh," Eiri huffed dismissively. But then he mentioned, "I have a spare phone in my office."

"Thanks," Shuichi nuzzled into his back, and Eiri wished he wasn't still wearing his blazer, "I hate not being able to talk to you, too."

Even after he shut the stove fire, the writer remained still, one hand over Shu's arm and just letting the singer hug his fill. It took a while but Shu soon realised Eiri was too still and that the food was done. He stepped away, giving the writer a soft appreciative smile before retaking his seat. Eiri served the meal, making sure his lover had enough to eat on his plate.

"Who do I kill?" Eiri asked, taking his own seat.

"No one," Shu said with a quick frown. "They didn't know."

"It's their fault," the writer insisted. "And someone still has your phone."

"Are you going to rescue my phone, Eiri?" prodded Shuichi playfully with a wink.

"I am going to punish the person who stood in our way," the writer grumbled.

"Ne, Eiri," Shuichi smiled lovingly, "I love you too."

"Huh," Eiri huffed, mortified to realise there was a rise in temperature in his cheeks.

Shu said nothing, picking up his chopsticks and resuming his meal. Eiri watched him from time to time, noticing how the colour seemed better on his face and that he seemed to exude the same cheery optimism he always had. The kid had brought back a brightness to the kitchen… to the damned entire house… that had been missing since he'd left to go on tour.

"I'll bring you home tomorrow," the writer decided, finishing his food. "I don't want to wait after your concert. Just pack up before your last set and get straight into the car when you leave the stage."

"Okay," Shuichi said. "But if either of us is caught, I don't know a thing," he sighed. "I wouldn't want to face Seguchi-san after you've had your 'talk' with your… victim."

"Now, how did you know I was going to have a 'talk' with someone?"

"Hmph," Shu snorted, "I saw you notice my phone was sticking out of his breast pocket."

"K is so dead," Eiri affirmed then he scowled as he collected their dishes and muttered sarcastically, "Nice to know I'll have your support."

Wide-eyed and innocent-looking, Shu nodded solemnly, "Anytime."

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