Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Junjou Romantica franchise, which is owned and authored by Shungiku Nakamura. I do not claim ownership of the characters depicted or the franchise involved. The following work is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of Nakamura-sensei's story canon. This story is for entertainment purposes only and is not part of the official story line. I thank Nakamura-sensei for creating such a lovely work of fiction, and cry myself to sleep every night over the terrible tragedy that it is not real.
A/N: Hi everyone! This will be my first official fanfic under this account, and I'm really excited to share it with all of you! I intend for this to be a multi-chapter story (probably ten to fifteen chapters) and hope that this first chapter piques your interest enough for you to follow the story to the end. As far as updates go, my personal schedule has been pretty sporadic lately, so I will try to update as often as I can.
In any case, please enjoy! Don't forget to R&R as well :).
what he taught him. - Chapter 1 - A Night Out
Hiroki really didn't want to do this. Or well, he really shouldn't be doing this, but since when did he ever listen to his better judgement? The truth was that he never did, but the fact remained that he really should not be doing this.
"Eh," he mumbled to himself halfheartedly while shrugging his slumped shoulders to someone who wasn't there.
And that was that.
So he in walked without so much as a coin to spend or a care to give, and with all of the pride, dignity, and already-wrinkled clothing to shed on such a night of suppressed self-restraint and eventual rebound sex. He was greeted by the lingering smell of smoke that permeated the new air around him, coupled with a set of sights that had yet to faze him: the crusty old geezers who sought sweet release for the night crowding around a decrepit wooden platform on which male dancers who sought profit for the night gyrated to the blaring beat of electronic dance tracks, the closeted CEOs and patriarchs of Tokyo's most influential families who sought escape for the night sitting in their usual corner booth to discuss matters of life amongst those who secretly understood, the comfortably homosexual wageslaves who sought casual intimacy for the night switching between bar and bathroom in search of their next bed buddy, and the comfortable regulars who sought companionship, whether it be of the platonic or carnal kind, floating freely about the disrreputable establishment.
To Hiroki and these other patrons of varying character and intent, it was all par for the course. Despite the decadence that clung to this place like the stench of tobacco to a smoker's body, they all felt a certain sense of belonging and asylum not yet found in the world beyond these walls. Hiroki figured that that was what had kept this dump in business for so long.
After stalling his lazy pace for a few moments to decide where he wanted to scavenge this time, Hiroki settled on the bar being his best bet for some poor sap to buy him a drink and maybe take him home for the night in exchange for taking his "virginity." It was an easy enough ruse for him to pull off as he still possessed the face and build of a teenage boy, despite him being 22 years old to the present date.
While he hated that his outward appearance deceived his actual age, Hiroki had to admit that it also came with its perks, free drinks and semi-frequent sex being only two of them. There would never be a more appropriate or necessary time for him to indulge in both vices than tonight. He was too desperate and depressed to think of a better remedy for his pain, but sex and booze were always the best remedy to him anyway.
The young man made his inelegant walk of shame over to the bar and stopped approximately four meters short of it to scan the scene before him for any empty seats. The area was surprisingly busy for a Wednesday night. All seats were visibly occupied, save for one between an older gentleman who appeared to be chatting animatedly with the person next to him and a guy who looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties hunched over the counter, head in one hand and drink in the other. He sat at the very end, away from the other patrons, perhaps as a non-verbal cue to leave him the hell alone. Or maybe he was waiting for someone, anyone, to take the seat next to him, a silent invitation to fill the void of inevitable loneliness that introverts in crowded places often felt.
One thing seemed certain to Hiroki, however, that even from meters away was quite noticeable: this man had a kind of melancholy quality about him that no matter how many times he laughed, smiled, or joked around, would never leave him. It was subtle, and Hiroki felt strangely drawn to it. He then began to ponder on the possibility of that empty seat being some beautiful work of fate. Such a thing didn't exist, he knew, but poor bastards like him had a penchant for wishful thinking.
Before he could detect it himself, Hiroki's legs moved to close the distance between him and the captivating stranger. He walked with awkward and clunky steps caused by an uncomfortable combination of nerves and those shots of sake he had downed before coming here, and the only direction he would allow his blurry vision to capture was straight. He never usually did the pursuing when it came to initiating relationships with other people, sexual or otherwise, and so this sudden resolve came as a shock to him. Nevertheless, he carried on.
Hiroki's peculiar gait allowed him to make significant progress in closing the gap, and he was only steps away from his target. Upon closer inspection, the man had jet black hair that reflected the neon glow of overhanging party lights and pale skin that seemed to cast his exposed flesh in an almost angelic light when offset by the dimness of the surrounding fluorescent light. His posture conveyed the same resignation Hiroki had sensed from afar; this bewitched the somber scavenger all the more. His calloused hands implied a passion of sorts, though for what Hiroki wasn't sure. Closed eyes hid under a curtain of wild bangs, and his angular jaw was clenched as the man seemed to think deeply about something. In totality, he truly was a sight to behold, if not in broad daylight, at night perhaps. Hiroki hadn't struck gold like this in a long time, and he thanked his god for making him luck out after having experienced the worst day of his life.
He took a moment to savor the sight of his new venereal prospect before passing the point of no return.
What a pity I'll be too drunk to remember an otherwise unforgettable night…
Hiroki's hand barely grazed the topmost bar of the empty seat's backing before he felt his center of gravity shift without warning.
"Oh my word," sounded a woman's voice from nearby, "I am so sorry, Sir!"
He must have tripped on something beneath his currently limited field of view or collided with someone he didn't see coming. He didn't have much time to consider the cause, however, as the already staggering youth began tipping backwards on his uncoordinated feet.
Panic set in as he began his involuntary descent into the cement floor below. Hiroki's reasoning may have been impaired at that moment, but a hunch told him that hard surface plus hard impact plus unprotected head equaled a concussion, or perhaps worse.
He didn't want to die, even with his current life circumstances. He had his whole life ahead of him, so why now?
"Quick, someone help! He's about to fall over! Someone catch him before he hits the floor!" It was the same voice as before, only much more shrill and overbearing on Hiroki's pounding ears.
"Out of the way!" It was a man's voice this time, which was starkly deeper and raspier in comparison to the woman's voice.
In his blurry gaze Hiroki could only see patches of the colorful lights above him and the dirty white ceiling from which they loosely hung. As the electronic dance music played on, the overlapping voices that had previously obscured it to the background now came to a sobering halt. The stench of smoke assaulted his senses more than ever, and he felt nothing but the sensation of being suspended in midair. Alas, no sooner had he experienced this wonderful, weightless feeling than he felt himself being lifted down to the cold, hard floor. The movement itself was gentle, but the sudden chill he received on the nape of his neck was unpleasant to say the least.
He saw the same colorful lights and dirty white ceiling as before. The blaring music thankfully stopped, but the intensity of the smoke stench remained the same. It conjured images of his closest friend to mind, and he strained to see the colorful lights and dirty white ceiling over the bittersweet imagery of his very best friend that somehow managed to manifest itself in this wavering reality.
The image, or perhaps the man, projected himself against the dirty whiteness of the ceiling, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. His piercing violet eyes were as dead and as passionate as always, and his shaggy ash-blonde hair shrouded the precise arch of his brows that cemented his nagging expression.
Hiroki wanted to scream in torment at the sight of this, squeezing his eyes shut to seek escape from the beast of burden. The taunting image remained.
He vaguely felt something warm and soft graze his forehead, and heard something about being okay. He didn't think it sounded too certain, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. He also appreciated the beautiful juxtaposition of it: its words were simple and definite, but its tone was unsettled, unsure, unsteady even. It matched his outlook for the future in a way that validated and soothed him at the same time, and his nerves momentarily deescalated from the hallucinatory torture emanating from both outside and within.
And, as the blackness of his vision thusly consumed the colorful lights and the dirty white ceiling, he saw Akihiko for the last time that day.
"It's gonna be okay," he heard the man's voice say in a hoarse whisper, so quiet that it was inaudible to everyone but Hiroki. Those same words he had heard earlier were stronger and more certain than before, and it unsettled Hiroki in a way that triggered his malady once again. This time, there would be no escape. The veil of unconsciousness had fully lowered itself, thus concealing Hiroki's mounting efforts to stay awake.
The fight was over, but his nightmare only began.
A/N: And that's the end of Chapter 1! I honestly didn't intend for it to come out that angsty, but writers can't be choosers, now can they? ^^;
I am curious to see how this story fares given the fact that the Junjou Romantica fanbase seems to be dormant in recent years. In any case, no matter how little or how much traffic this story receives, I will see to it that it gets the proper ending it deserves. It saddens me to see just how few Hiroki x Miyagi fics are out there, so I thought I would add to the sparse collection, and possibly convince others to see the hidden potential of this pairing in the process.
As a parting word, I ask that you please leave a review with constructive criticism as you see fit. I know every writer says this, but it truly does help the writing process tremendously. I can't wait to see what you guys think.
Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and are looking forward to the next chapter!