Disclaimer: Gravitation is Maki Murakami's, pure and simple.
Summary: Shu's tour ends with a bang, Yuki comes home.
A/N: I have to admit, I'm not totally satisfied with this chapter. I feel like my inner-Eiri is trying to tell me something and I might be missing the point a bit. i.e...I think this chapter's got the potential to be richer than it is. Honest reactions, in private or as reviews would be appreciated. And to readers, don't be surprised if this chapter ends up edited, eventually.
✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴
Yushu
Chapter Eleven:
Magical Mystery Tour
"On the international entertainment front, the hugely popular Japanese J-Pop band, 'Bad Luck,' finished its latest tour with typical melodramatic flare last night. In the final moments of their fifth encore, Shuuichi Shindou, their energetic lead singer collapsed on stage ..."
Eiri's heart stopped.
When that essential organ resumed its steady, if somewhat accelerated rhythm, he slowly lowered the lid of his laptop, removed his glasses and sought the large, flat-screen television mounted on the far wall of the mostly empty, sunlit sitting room. On the screen: a confused, too-tight shot of men in white carrying a stretcher off Zep Tokyo's small, intimate stage.
With a little gasp, Eiri remembered to breathe. Last night. Last night. In Japan. It couldn't be as bad as it looked. Hiro would have called. Dammit, he would.
The scene shifted to a shot of Shuuichi on stage, his stage, so he called it, insisting on ending every tour there. It was, so he claimed, how he knew he was home.
His eyes were closed, that slender hand caressing the mike as only he could. Eiri knew, even before the sound director floated that spectacular voice into the audio background, what song the kid was singing, could tell by the look on his face.
"Mere moments earlier, the pink-haired, heart-throb wonder was crooning another of the band's hit songs, a rather haunting ballad called—" The bespectacled announcer leaned closer to her teleprompter. "—Er, 'In the Moonlight.' The song, so insider sources say, was debuted last year at the Tokyo Bay Music Festival and was dedicated to—" Another squint. "His long-time lover, the popular romance novelist—Eiri Yuki?" The final words escaped in a startled squeak.
Good lord, woman, Eiri thought in a little-used corner of his brain, his primary faculties busy drinking in the sight of his pint-sized lover, what planet have you been living on? You call yourself an entertainment expert?
"...futari mita ..."
Anyone who knew him could see the signs.
"...anohi no tsuki o ..."
The tears were dribbling down his smooth cheeks (The idiot shaved regularly, despite the fact he had, maybe, three hairs on his chin. Maybe. On a good day.); his hands gripped the mike; his eyes were closed; the sway of his slight frame was fucking ominous ...
"...ima dokode kimi wa miteru ..."
Hiro had known. Hiro's horrified gaze was glittering in the shadows beyond the spotlight, unblinking, staring at his partner, and as those final notes slid out of that luscious mouth, Hiro's guitar twanged loudly, abandoned on the stage as Hiro leapt to catch the collapsing singer.
"Early reports out of NG-Pro's publicity department are not optimistic."
A series of paparazzi shots of Shuuichi in a hospital room overflowing with flowers and cards, stacks of pocky boxes and mounds of strawberries, of Hiro at his side, looking straight into each and every camera, giving Eiri the uncomfortable feeling the guitarist was staring straight at him...which he might well have been.
Shuuichi appeared oblivious, to both cameras and visitors. Curled on his side, bare shoulder peeking out from cover and oversized hospital gown, he hugged what appeared to be a large black stuffed animal—until it moved.
A gentle smile tugged the corners of Eiri's mouth. Only Shindou Shuuichi could manage to smuggle a cat into a hospital bed.
"According to NG-Pro, the singer is suffering from exhaustion resulting from this latest tour, and will be taking at least a month off. Unofficial sources suggest the popular 'Shu-kun' is suffering from a more serious condition, a total psychological breakdown resulting from his much-publicized ..." The 'reporter's' dark eyes widened and her voice took on that peculiar, vacuously rising note only newscasters surprised by their own cue cards could achieve. "...breakup with that same Eiri Yuki?" Her eyes sought someone off to the side. "So he's still avail—"
An off-camera cough and the idiot female gave herself a visible shake.
Much publicized, but never confirmed, Eiri corrected her teleprompt silently, as the scene shifted to some stock footage of the band. Oh, the papers had been full of it, but Shuuichi had never said a word, certainly NG hadn't, and he...well, he'd been long gone, now hadn't he?
Eiri turned his eyes to the bright California sun outside the picture windows. Six months here. Seven, since he'd disappeared from his lover's life. Three or more since he'd made his literary breakthrough on his own reality. He'd finished Shu's story, wiped the serial numbers off and turned it into his next best seller. Not even Shu would recognize it now.
And then he'd begun work on his own biography, a manuscript that would have only one reader, other than himself. A most important audience of one.
If he was willing. If, sweet Buddha in heaven, he would grant the man who deserted him that one final kindness.
But that, Eiri knew, was indulgent self-pity thinking. Shuuichi would always give him one more chance, that was the problem. Shuuichi would try desperately to understand—and to make excuses for him if he fucked things up. He had to be ready to make the determination of whether life with Yuki Eiri was good or bad for the infinitely forgiving Shuuichi.
The problem was, he wasn't certain he'd have the strength to leave again, should he decide to the negative, and that uncertainty had kept him here, well past the time he'd been declared 'cured.' He had his own definition of that word, and the crux of that definition lay in the completion of that autobiography.
There was still so much he needed to understand.
"He still loves you," Hiro had written, in the note accompanying the last smuggled CD. "There's been no one else. No one."
That, and no more. On the one hand, no more was needed, as Hiro had seemed to realize. On the other, the question had remained, did Shuuichi still want him? Still... need him?
He'd learned many things about himself, writing Shuuichi's story and his own. He loved Shuuichi. He wanted him. More, he needed him—for a hell of a lot more than just sex. He needed the joy, the hope, the inspiration, the irritation and the frustration. All those things that made his world sing and his writing thrive.
He also knew his pride couldn't take this fundamental needing without being needed in return. Shuuichi...fulfilled him, provided significant missing parts. He didn't think he could stand being less than that for Shuuichi. Theirs was a love of checks and balances, of mutual creative inspiration. He couldn't stand it being less, couldn't stand it being one-sided, with him on the taking side.
Better to remain alone. For both of them. He couldn't accept being some kind of emotional and spiritual vampire, taking and taking, supplying nothing but sex in return. In the end, such an arrangement would destroy them both.
And so, that question had remained: Did Shuuichi need him?
His eyes returned to that screen which had moved on, now, to a weather disaster somewhere in the world.
Seven months. Seven...very long months. And Shuuichi had been doing fine. Better than fine; he'd been flourishing. Songs had happened on schedule. Good songs...Eiri knew that from the CDs and videos Hiro had managed to send from Japan—and hadn't that been a circuitous routing...all to avoid Touma's spies. Eiri had thought he'd have time to finish that second book, the one he'd hoped would explain...everything.
He'd thought he'd have time. He'd thought he had his answer, that Shuuichi didn't need him.
Another glance at the screen which saw not flooding, but a small figure surrounded by everyone and everything except the one person who should be there.
He'd been wrong.
✴✴✴
The condo was unchanged—on the outside. Within...a fresh, citrus scent filled the outer entrance hallway, and on the door, some welcoming plaque, complete with (god help him) a painted pink Kumogoro.
At least his key still worked.
There were lights on in the living room, and the TV was going. Wonder who was housesitting for the brat...surely they hadn't released him from the hospital yet? The reports had been...dire at best.
Exhaustion hit him like a sledgehammer to the solar plexis. He didn't want to deal with anyone at the moment. He'd come here hoping to shower and sleep, to gather his wits after the long flight and prepare himself for...whatever awaited him in the hospital. He'd planned on a private meeting with Shuuichi's physicians...all of them, thank you very much. And another, more personal meeting with Shuuichi's best friend and confidant. Dammit, he had to be certain he read those looks correctly. He...they...couldn't afford any more...incorrect assumptions.
That's why he hadn't called. He didn't want Touma or Mika or even Hiro meeting him at the airport and filling him with extraneous details. He'd wanted the doctors' reports—and he'd wanted to see Shuuichi. Time enough for all the stress of dealing with his family and their recriminations after his concern for Shu was settled.
Nothing for it...He forced his muscles to strict obedience...no collapsing allowed...and headed for the living room, where he found familiar mahogany hair gleaming in the light from the TV.
"Welcome home, Yuki-san."
✴
What the hell was it about Nakano Hiroshi? Eiri thought, sitting a couch away from Bad Luck's skinny guitarist. He was tranquillity incarnate. No wonder the hyperactive Shuuichi had gravitated toward him all those years ago; no wonder Shuuichi still turned to him as an adult when the world got too confusing for him...which most of the time.
This time, it was Yuki Eiri's chance to bask in that serenity.
There were no recriminations...for all he'd placed a heavy burden on Hiro all those months ago. Hiro alone had known where he was and Hiro alone had had the ability...and the right, to call him back, no questions asked.
Hiro hadn't done that. Hiro had remained silent, because, according to Hiro, Shuuichi had been coping well on his own.
The concert tour, however, had taken its toll on Shuuichi, physically and mentally. He'd almost called, Hiro said, a dozen times that last week, but he hadn't heard from Yuki, hadn't gotten the 'all clear and ready to surface' message he'd been waiting for, and as long as Shuuichi held it together, he'd wanted to give Yuki all the time he needed.
"One thing Shuuichi doesn't need," Hiro said, in that warm, quiet voice of his, "is another failed attempt."
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Yuki responded to the implied question. "My doctors declared me ready to leave weeks ago."
"But you didn't trust them?"
"My body was ready, my heart wasn't."
Hiro nodded. "I understand that." A sly grin, offer of a secret, shared amusement. "No sensei could truly understand the challenges of living with Shuuichi."
He returned the smile, but only enough to acknowledge the shared secret. "Challenges, yes. More...responsibility. It's...terrifying to be the object of that kind of love. He has no checks, no sense of self-preservation."
"I don't think," Hiro said slowly, "that it's all that different from what you feel for him. He's ... really very lucky."
"Lucky? After how I treated him? Considering how I likely will treat him in the future? We can't be naive, Hiro. I am what I am. I'm going to get wrapped up in a plot, I'm going to be channeling some asshole of a character, and I'm going to bite his poor pink head off when he pokes it unexpectedly into my office. I'm going to have deadlines. I'm going to ignore him for days on end. I'm going to miss concerts I promised to attend, because I'm wrapped up in a scene and forgot to look at the clock."
"I have only one question. Are you going to hit him again?"
"No."
"Pretty quick to answer."
"No question in my mind."
"Come to terms with yourself, then, have you?"
"As much as any writer can afford. His isn't the only muse in need of protection."
Hiro's slender shoulders heaved, his head dropped, and suddenly the strain of the last few months showed. He stood up, set an exhaustion-heavy hand on Yuki's shoulder, and headed for the door.
"Want a ride home?"
He shook his head. "I'll manage."
"You could sleep here."
A faint smile. "Somehow, I suspect both of you would rather otherwise."
"I'm not sure about that."
"You will be. Good night, Yuki-san."
✴
The door clicked shut behind Hiro. Moments later, the sound of his bike leaving rumbled in through the open window.
Even the motorcycle sounded tired.
Yuki stared at the array of pills on the table before him: Shuuichi's prescriptions. He was all too familiar with the lot; had taken them all at one point or another. Knew the side effects...intimately.
Hiro shouldn't have bothered. If Shuuichi was on all these, he'd barely know what planet he was on. He certainly wouldn't be interested in the sort of activity reunions between lovers usually entailed.
But this wasn't really a reunion; it was an ambush.
Dammit, he hadn't meant for it to happen this way. He'd planned on the protection of the sterile hospital environment, of the restraints on behavior dictated by such a locale, had thought to give Shuuichi that chance to reject his return gracefully.
He hadn't planned on facing a Shuuichi held captive by a cartload of soporific drugs and in the bed they'd shared.
Well, one thing he'd learned in these past months was to punt.
He sighed and stood up, began closing the last of the chasm between them one slow step at a time.
God, he hated sports metaphors.
TBC
✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴
Next Chapter: Coming Home: Yuki and Shu's reunion.
Reviews: ANKuma: thanks for sticking with me despite your reservations! Regarding the cocaine: in my admittedly limited experience, people do very stupid things when they are self-medicating for symptoms rather than addressing underlying psychological problems. I wanted a drastic behavior to trigger a drastic behavior and not only is cocaine, unfortunately, all too common in the creative world, but it can cause the kind of behavior I needed to trigger Yuki's decision to leave and actually do something about the smoking. In my inner-Yuki's defense, he does only use it once before coming to his senses. I put him in rehab because that's what our society believes will work, but you'll notice, he cured himself. ;-) I suspect Shu resonates for Eiri in a whole lot of ways. I, too, find the parallel between Shu's rape and Eiri's to be pretty inescapable and fundamental to their relationship and to the story itself. Happynoon: Regarding Kitizawa and his motivations... I have a feeling that something major has been lost in the translation of the manga. I'd dearly love to know how MM actually interprets this part of the story. Regarding Touma's actions...there's a bit more explanation in the upcoming chapter. In this case, he did something quite ethical which simply had a horrific fallout. Dambae: Thanks for reviewing and OH NO! (My muse just gained ten pounds.) (Is anyone else here addicted to pocky? Men's pocky, the dark chocolate one, is my personal downfall. Loved the reverse strawberry best, but it's all gone now. WAH! I've one box in my freezer awaiting a special occasion.)
These responses/notes got kinda long, so...Everyone at FF-net...I love you! Thanks so much!—Vin
A/N: As always, my thanks for reading and reviews are greatly appreciated!