Yuki Eiri, Shuuichi mused sourly, had the ability to make grown women act like giggling school girls. Then again, he made Shuuichi act like a school girl, so maybe that wasn't so surprising.
He glared at the television screen, at the star struck talk show host who sat opposite his lover. She had the overly made up look of all talk show hosts, immaculate in a cream coloured shirt that displayed too much bosom, and a matching peach coloured skirt and jacket ensemble. Yuki, however, wore his perpetually bored expression, chin propped up on one slender hand, golden locks of hair falling at a charming angle in front of guarded amber eyes.
The camera zoomed in lovingly on that best selling face, then panned around the studio, at the mainly all female audience. The love struck looks in Yuki's rabid fan's eyes, and the squeals of "Eiri-sama!" were enough to send smoke billowing out of Shuuichi's ears. One could almost see the sparkling shoujo manga style lights pop up as the camera refocused on the writer.
"Eiri-san," the host giggled insipidly. "Regarding your new book, KOIBITO, many fans think that the heroine, Chiriko, is actually based on your lover, Shindou Shuuichi of Bad Luck. Is that true?"
As the camera swung back Yuki's way, Shuuichi was plastered against the screen, lavender eyes teary. Yuki...
"Saa," was all Yuki said, a long breath flicking strands of hair out of his eyes. "I really couldn't say. Certain...irritating attributes might have come from Shuu-chan." Squeals from the audience at the adorable nickname, while Shuuichi deflated.
"YUUUKI!!!!" He wailed to the empty apartment, fists flailing. "So cruel..."
"-But you would have to agree, that Chiriko, and even the whole tone of KOIBITO is very different from the rest of your novels? Everyone is liking this change in style Eiri-san - it's refreshing to read something more upbeat, more cheerful, of yours."
"I'm glad that my readers are enjoying it." He certainly didn't sound or look particularly happy.
"But Eiri-san, you have to agree, that KOIBITO does seem to slightly resemble recent events in your life?" The woman smiled. Shuuichi growled. "After all, all of your previous novels have been set in America, while KOIBITO is set in Japan, Tokyo no less!"
"Perhaps it might." The steely light in those tawny eyes, and that tone of voice was warning her to go no further. The talk show host gulped, and quickly reapplied her smile.
"Well, thank you for your time, Eiri-san. Perhaps some questions from the audience?"
"Eiri-sama! Would you go out with me?" Laughter. Shuuichi shut down the TV with a vindictive flick. Yuki had better not stray, or when he came home...
Of course, Shuuichi had known Yuki had recently released a book. Five months ago, the author had been practically barricaded into his study, meeting a deadline. But there were always deadlines, and Shuuichi hadn't thought much about it...
With a sudden pang of guilt, he realized that he hadn't even read one of Yuki's famed books. Not a one. And Yuki had never failed to turn up to Shuuichi's concerts, though he didn't tell Shuuichi he would ever be there. He just was.
Determination flashed into violet eyes. Where's the nearest bookstore?
Bookworm
By Aishiteru
Part 1: SNOW
Yuki was tired. Yuki was grumpy.
Yuki really just wanted his Shuu-chan to make him a drink.
The author fumbled with his keys, then quietly opened the door. That was strange - there was no stampede of footsteps thundering down the hall, no "YUUUUUKI!!!! I missed you so much! Welcome home!" hollered, nothing but....silence.
The brat was obviously asleep.
He made his way through the darkened apartment, into his bedroom. Peculiar...the sheets were flat. He patted them. No Shuuichi under there.
Where was he? Nakano was busy today with Ayaka, so he couldn't be at that guy's house, or at NG records...By all accounts, Shuuichi had said he would be home.
Maybe he ran out of Pocky. Typical.
The apartment door opened, then slammed shut. Yuki waited for the usual bellowing of "I'm home!" But there was nothing. Frowning, the author went back out to the living room, just in time to see Shuuichi peering into a bag, about to pull out-
"Yuki!" the singer exclaimed. He gave a nervous smile, and shoved whatever it was back in. "You're home!"
Eiri raised a finely shaped eyebrow. "Isn't that obvious?"
Shuuichi laughed, a little strained sounding Yuki noticed. "What on earth is in that bag?"
A fifty million dollar question. Shuuichi jumped to his feet. "Nothing!" The bag retreated behind his back. "Anyway, Yuki's not allowed to see! I'm putting this away, and no looking when I'm out, okay! You're not allowed to see yet!" With that, he was scurrying away down the hall, to the room Yuki had finally allocated to him, because his junk was infecting the whole apartment.
A quizzical look in his eyes, Yuki looked at his lover's swiftly retreating form, then shrugged. Not allowed to see yet, huh?
In the relative safety of his room, back propped up against the door, Shuuichi withdrew Yuki's first book from the pile. The nice girl at the shop had recommended he read them in order first, because "Eiri-sama only improves with every book, and his first was incredible, although really depressing."
The cover bore the word "SNOW" in stark western letters, heavily embossed to a silvery blue shine. In intricate kanji below, Yuki Eiri had been printed in gleaming black ink, both title and name almost the same size. The cover was practically bare except for those three words, printed a pale cold white blue, with a barely visible veil of snowflakes falling behind the text.
He ran sensitive fingers over the smoothly textured cover, then carefully opened the book. Taking a deep breath, redolent with the sharp smell of fine ink and paper, he began to read, mist-purple eyes widening, anguished, as the brutally familiar tale unfolded.
It had begun in the snow. It was fitting that it ended in the snow.
Strange to think that Eiko had only met him a bare year ago. Walking through Central Park on her way back home from school, she had stopped when a trail of papers scribed with fine lettering had blown past, reaching out to seize them in mittoned hands. "Thank you," that light alto had gasped, the first time she had heard his voice. As she turned, the wind had gusted sharply, sending the pages tumbling from her grasp.
She faced him again, tears streaking her face. Strange - just seconds before she had been so heated with righteous (fearful) anger, but now it had all drained away with that one fateful gunshot, and the cold was seeping into her. The snow was falling.
"Sensei," she whispered brokenly. "Sen...sei!"
And with that, she collapsed to the floor, lifeblood flowing steadily from the gunshot wound at her breast. "Sensei..." Vision wavered, blurring the man in front of her, brown eyes starkly cold, all facade of warmth torn away. A gun smoked in his hand, a gun he had wrested away from her moments before.
.....Why do you hate..me...Sensei...
"Eiko!" The raw sound of panic. But not from him, never from him. The pounding sound of footsteps, quick up the stairs. Face set, Kitamura Akira moved quickly, ignoring her fallen form as the door shuddered inwards. She reached out with a pleading hand, but he was gone.
Imploding inwards, the door smashed open, revealing Seiji's worried face, and disarrayed clothing. "Eiko," he moaned, throwing himself down, and pulling her cold form into his arms. His tears fell, freezing into her hair. "This is all my fault!"
The ambulance came quickly, bearing her away in a haze of flashing lights and blaring sounds. She wanted to tell them not to bother - that she was dirty, that she wasn't worth saving. That the person she loved most in the world reviled her, wanted her dead, so she should just die. But Seiji's gloved hand grasped hers, clasped against his forehead, blonde curls brushing against her hands.
"Please...live."
"Shindou-kun? Is something wrong?" K looked at his singer, pale blue eyes curious. "Trouble with Yuki again?" A sinister smile.
Shuuichi waved his hands in denial, attempting a nervous grin. "Not at all K-san. No problem," He imitated his manager's bad English awkwardly.
K laughed delightedly. "Oh no." He stalked away still snickering, blonde ponytail bobbing.
Left alone, Shuuichi's face reassumed it's pensive expression. He didn't feel like singing. He didn't feel like writing. He just wanted to keep on reading SNOW. Why had Yuki made himself be the one shot? Why had Yuki written that most private story at all? And where was the 'story' going anyway? Right now, 'Eiko' was on the way to the hospital, and the police were searching for 'Kitamura Ueno.' Shuuichi's brow wrinkled. Yuki certainly hadn't tried very hard to disguise the people. The descriptions were the same as the living things, except Eiko being a girl and all, but even the names were pretty close. He supposed Yuki's fans wouldn't know anything about that incident, it all having been successfully smoothed over by Tohma, but for anyone who did know the barest facts, it was obvious!
Yuki, you idiot!
"Shuuichi, you might be able to momentarily fob K off, but we all know something's wrong. Spill." Hiro's amused voice cut into his musings. The guitarist of Bad Luck still looked smugly satisfied from his date with Ayaka.
Shuuichi shrugged, then decided to confess. He badly needed someone to talk about the books with, and Hiro was always insightful. "I'm reading Yuki's books. You're not allowed to tell him though!"
"Yeah, yeah. What's really wrong?"
Shuuichi frowned. "I want to finish to the book first. Can't I just read, while you and Fujisaki-kun compose? Pleeeease, Hiro?" He wheedled.
"You might as well. We won't get anything out of you until you do, right?"
"Right!"
She learnt about what happened to her Sensei through the reporters. Before then, she had thought Seiji was protecting her by keeping her so isolated, but now...
"Miss Uotani! How do you feel about testifying against your former tutor?"
"Were you close?"
"Is it true that you were trying to shoot him?"
"The police caught him soon after. Apparently he didn't struggle. Miss Uotani, how do you feel about this entire situation? Mr. Kitamura could walk free!"
"Miss Uotani!"
"How do you-"
"Can we-"
"-What do you feel-"
"-interview, on the evening news-"
That had been the day she left hospital, still weak with blood loss. Seiji had rung his people, and since then the reporters had been kept efficiently away from her. She had been taken back to a remnant of her old life, her bedroom in Seiji's opulent penthouse apartment. Before, she had loved living there, basking in her brother-in-law and her tutor's constant companionship. Now it seemed like a cage, and oppressed her with unwanted memories.
Yuki scowled. It was too quiet.
Shuuichi had barricaded himself into his room again, since the early hours of the morning. The only time he came out was to eat, and it was pissing Yuki off. Especially since it occurred to him that this was probably exactly what he did to Shuuichi when he was busy writing. But that was completely different of course.
Yeah right.
The blonde man was finally at the end point of his patience. "Shuuichi! Just what exactly is so enthralling in there?" He rapped impatiently on the door. There was a muffled thud in response, and a hasty rustling of something being stuffed back into a plastic bag.
Shuuichi appeared, looking a little flushed and disheveled. It appeared that he hadn't brushed his hair today. He was clad not in his usually obnoxious casual gear of baggy pants and brightly coloured tops, but rather in an ancient pair of tracksuit pants that only came up to midcalf, and a loose t-shirt that looked like it should have been used to wash cars a long time ago. Yuki growled.
"Just what are you doing?"
Shuuichi smiled innocently, violet eyes widening. "E-eh? Nothing..."
His eyebrows snapping together, Yuki shoved his startled lover out of the way and marched into the room. He was about to search for that mysterious bag, when a pink-haired missile launched itself at him, knocking them both over. "YUUUUUUUUUUUKI!!!!!!! I told you you're not allowed to see!"
Lavender met amber stubbornly. Yuki sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. Abruptly he yanked Shuuichi's head down for a quick kiss, the singer making a startled sound. "Hurry up and finish whatever you're doing." His voice was gruff.
A sloppy smile on his face, Shuuichi replied dreamily, stars in his eyes. "Hai..."
They were all staring at her.
Hard eyes, sympathetic eyes, curious eyes. None of them cared. None of them knew her.
Directly across from her, lean body clad in one of his formal suits, was her Akira-sensei, brown eyes empty. He looked calm, in control, a civilized wronged man taking the time to clear his name from the mischief of his former student. His attitude condemned her, and she looked down at her feet.
"Miss Uotani, please explain the events leading to that day."
The words would not come.
"Miss Uotani? ...The report you made at the police station...spoke of rape."
A sigh rippled across the audience.
"Did Mr Kitamura rape you?"
"....No."
"Miss Uotani, please. I know this hard for you, but it's important. In your statement, it says that there were two men...."
No, please, god, no. She was shuddering uncontrollably, huddled up on the stand. Please, don't make me show my dirtiness to everyone, don't make me show them, don't let them know, especially not in front of him again, please please please....
"Miss Uotani."
In a dry unemotional voice she recited what had happened. She was shaking so badly that her voice rattled at several points though.
'C'mon, don't take all the fun Akira!'
'Yeah, we'll pay you ten dollars!'
'After you.' Palely accented English, that last words she had heard that beloved clear voice say.
'Sensei...'
Hands all over her. She couldn't breathe, and at last she couldn't speak. "-I don't know who they were. Sensei knew - they called him by his name, and gave him ten dollars. Then he left, and they..." She couldn't breathe, her chest was tight with too many conflicting feelings. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to scream.
She wanted to kill him.
"Miss Uotani, what happened after?"
Silence, thick and heavy like smoke in the room. The eyes were overwhelmingly sympathetic. She didn't want it.
"They left after- ...after. I went home. I burnt my clothes. I had a bath."
-Limping home, body in torment, clothes in ragged torn strips. Scorchingly hot water, and the rasp of soap again and again on her skin-
"Then, I got Seiji's gun from his study, and I went to Kitamura-sensei's house."
"And then?"
"I confronted him at gunpoint."
'Sensei! Why!? Why did you do that? Why do you hate me?' Screamed words, torn from her throat, demanding an answer. Those once-soft understanding eyes mocking her, refusing to reply.
"He wrested the gun away from me. Sometime....it went off. I was shot."
"Was Mr. Kitamura the one who called for the ambulance?"
"....No. Seiji did that."
"What did Mr. Kitamura do?"
"....He ran away."
"Did he try to help you?"
"......"
"Did he try to help you at all?"
"...No."
Shuuichi flung the book across the room, and wept.
Yuki knew something was very wrong.
After days of doing nothing but his mysterious activity that Yuki wasn't allowed to see, Shuuichi had emerged, tears running down his face, and flung himself into Yuki's arms, refusing to let go. The author still hadn't been able to extract himself, even after his sobbing lover had cried himself to sleep, face buried in Eiri's shoulder, completely ruining yet another shirt.
So he sat in his twilight lit apartment, musing on the city's starkly black horizon line against the flaming orange and rose sky. One hand absently stroked through pink tinted locks, and down the long curve of the neck, pulling between curved shoulder blades for a moment, then returning. He really should be starting to draft a rough plan for his next novel, but he was unusually content right now, and didn't feel like it. Shuuichi was a warm heady weight in his lap, arms twisted around his neck, head nestled in the curve of his shoulder. He sighed in his sleep, and cuddled a bit closer for comfort. Yuki allowed himself to smile briefly. It wasn't like there was anyone to see it.
He sighed for a moment. It was still hard admitting the brat had wormed his way into a permanent part of his life. Unnerving even. And harder still to admit that he missed the pink haired ball of energy when Shuuichi was touring. Or locked up in his room, busy. Or an hour late from going out with Nakano.
Very hard.
"Yuki?" His heart jumped slightly at that weary tear strained voice.
"What."
"Nothing."
They sat there together for a long time.
Eiko still couldn't quite believe it.
Kitamura-sensei was dead.
It had been months since the trial. Months since the last of the newspaper coverage had died down, and she could at least walk out in public without people accosting her, in accusation of her besmirching an innocent man's name, or in useless pity.
It had been months since Kitamura-sensei had walked free of that court room.
And now, a week since he had died in a car accident.
Seiji had smiled.
He had an arm wrapped around her shoulder now, as she stared disbelievingly at the grave. The graveyard was a quiet peaceful place, framed with bright borders of brilliantly green grass, bathed in sunlight, shadow dappled by the trees. A place much like the one they had met everyday, under the trees, and he had turned those silently smiling eyes in her direction as she raced down the path, and called his name eagerly.
And her eyes burnt bright with tears, and her breath caught, reading those stark unchangeable words again and again.
Here lies
the body of
Kitamura Akira
I hope to heaven his soul has gone.
Seiji took her arm, and led her gently to the car. They were going home.
The book lay there, seemingly simple and innocent with it's glossy cover, and sharply edged pages. Such a deceptively slim volume for all it contained.
Shuuichi was coming close to loathing it.
Not because it was Yuki's writing. But because it was the expression of Yuki's pain. How had he written that? How could he bear the pain of thinking, of describing that time?
Mika-san was right. Even though Yuki told me everything, I still didn't understand him...I still can't understand him. How can I? What am I supposed to do?
With a small sniffle, Shuuichi padded across the room, and stowed the book back away with the rest of the books. A title, printed in red caught his eye. The newest of Yuki's books - written when Shuuichi had been present to bug him, coax him into late deadlines, and play silly tricks. A book written in between their arguments, and their quieter times.
KOIBITO.
"We're lovers. This is something very precious to me, even more then my writing."
"Yuki," Shuuichi breathed. With gentle, reverent hands he lifted the book from the stack, and flipped it open to the first page.
To be continued...
Author's Note: Oh dear, I've started writing Gravi fanfiction. Fear not, I am also half way through the next chapter of Meiji Heights (my Kenshin fanfic). Although, be afraid, readers of Grown, I'm hopelessly stuck with Kuja again. And it's going to have a SAD ending, mwahahahah!!!!! Besides, this story shouldn't be more then another chapter.
Anyway, I hope you all liked it, and that the characters were reasonably in character. My friend, and this time beta reader said that Hiro sounded scarily like me. sweatdrops.
Anyway, this fic was supposed to be part angst, and part humour, but it looks like the angst part took over. Oh, well, should be more upbeat next chapter.
R & R onegai shimasu!
