Wee! What fun desu. I spent two hours yesterday and two hours today writing this chapter and didn't let myself play video games or draw or write anything else less I forget to do this! I think I'll be getting out a chapter each week since school has started and a lot of my energy goes to that. I know, it would be ideal for me to get out two to three chapters each week but it's amazing for me to get out one!
I keep remembering important Gravi events as I write this but I'm always late in remembering! So, for the most part it's self-contained. I'll keep a few things when I can't think up anything but Mika, I mean Marianne, really won't have any part in this other than being Thomas's wife and trying to get Edward to go home. Meaning no briberies! I also added ASK to the list of characters. I wasn't going to have them in this story but everything drifted that way.
I actually know how I'm going to end it! Ahh I made progress plot-wise in my little break. It won't end for a long time, though! I write long stories – I'm seeing anywhere from 20 to 40 chapters. (I bet you're all screaming in terror now! I know I am.) It depends on how long the characters want to go for.
Thank you chibiukyou (erm... mansex? *coughs * I don't know about that...), ShadeAngel, ChibiFaery (etcetc too long of a name), Quarry, Sana_Chan (I know! It felt odd to me too when I wrote it, I hated it! I sort of fixed it.), and Eike for reviewing! Yay positive reviews ^_^
Cast:
Yuki Eiri - Edward Young - 22 - Accomplished Novelist
Shuichi Shindo - Stuart Shubrook - 19 - Aspiring Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician
Seguchi Tohma - Thomas Savage - 32 - Wealthy Publishing Company Owner
Sakano - Kenneth Saunders - 29 - Stuart's Agent
K - Claude K. Winchester - 36 - American Ex-Mafia gunman, works for Thomas as an Agent
Sakuma Ryuichi - Reece Swift - 31 - Accomplished Poet, Song Composer, and Actor/Musician (I found out those were common back then)
Nakano Hiroshi - Hugh Norris - 19 - Aspiring Violinist
Uesugi Tatsuha - Timothy Ulysses - 16 - Schoolboy
Suguru Fujisaki - Frederick Sullivan - 16 - Schoolboy and Aspiring Conductor/Composer
Noriko Ukai - Natalie Udell - 28 - Accomplished Pianist
Ayaka Usami - Anna Udolf - 17 – Schoolgirl
Seguchi Mika – Marianne Savage – Thomas's wife
Taki Aizawa - Terry Anderson - 22 - Popular new Actor/Musician
Ken-chan - Keith Bailey - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)
Ma-kun - Malcolm Clarke - 23 - Popular new Actor/Musician (usually in performs in plays written/starring Terry)
Disclaimer: Standard. I only own 'Smith' and Natalie's followers and the story plot.
Roses
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Chapter 6
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One week, that's how long it had been since Edward kissed Stuart. And the man was seriously regretting it. Not only did the boy hang off his arm whenever he saw him, but he made it his life goal to see him every, single, day. Occasionally the writer did enjoy the boy's company – occasionally. No matter how nice he seemed to be, he was very annoying. By the way the brat prattled on about his friend Hugh he was certain that man was sick of the redhead sometimes as well.
Today was a good day, though. He knew it when he woke up. The sun shone, light beams falling about the rooms, coming in through the gaps in the curtains. The bread he had gotten from the market a day before wasn't stale and the newspapers didn't have anything bad in them. Yes, it was a very good day. And good days were always the best days he could write.
So, the blonde retreated into his study and sat at his desk, pulling out pieces of paper and his ink well. He didn't exactly have any ideas for another story, but if he just jotted down things he'd be fine. Critics were still going on about how wonderful his new one was so he was certain that there was no rush to get out another story.
Of course, he knew the moment that he dipped the pen nib in ink there would be a knock at the door, and the moment the ink touched the paper that there would be a redheaded ball of energy clinging to his arm. And he also knew that just a second later he'd shove the redhead off, spill ink all over his clothes, and have to go change. Yes, after a week he'd already gotten used to this routine.
Except... When his pen dipped, the house was silent. And then when the sharp tip scratched along the rigged paper his arm was free from constrictions. And when he looked down he saw there was no large ink puddle in his lap. The silence in the house alone was enough to alarm the author. Of course, being the cold bastard he was he never showed he was disturbed. He simply placed the pen down, stood, and walked to his door.
And noted that there was no one out there other than the regular pedestrians. No ball of red with large dots of violet, no screeching youthful voice, and nothing clinging to his arm. With a shrug, the man turned and went back to his study. It must just be too early for him. Or something...
~-~
"Uh, Mr. Saunders...?" In actuality, the redhead had no intention of being at Edward's house that day. In fact, he was due to some sort of appointment or rehearsal of some sort that his agent set up for him. Something about Mr. Savage wanting his clients to expand and then something about wanting to impress the devious publisher. He didn't really catch anything the agent said; it's not like he ever listened to him.
"Not now, Stuart! I'm busy!" The agent waved off the younger man and turned back to face whoever he was talking to. After the last meeting with Mr. Young, Mr. Savage had told the frenetic man that he wanted Stuart to be one of his 'test subjects' in music. Since the publisher himself was more of a music guru than a writing one, he wanted to have some talented musicians. And since Stuart seemed to be better at singing than he was in writing, he wanted the boy to perform in a musical.
Perform in a very big musical with a very, very, small solo. Mr. Saunders had begged his superior to start the boy out in dinner theatre but the publisher told him all the arrangements had been made.
"Alright..." Stuart sighed and turned, propping himself up against a wall. He'd never been in a musical before, really. He had worked backstage in one – a long time ago, but that didn't mean anything. He hadn't performed in one before. And here Mr. Saunders was telling him he was going to sing. The man he was talking to seemed a bit familiar, not by much, but Stuart was certain he'd seen his face somewhere on a poster before. And he heard Mr. Saunders call the man 'Mr. Anderson' a couple times. Anderson... where had he heard that name before...
"Terry!" A young voice called out behind Stuart, then a blonde rushed past him to his agent and Anderson. In some fourth-wall, odd thought, Stuart wondered where all these blondes were coming from lately, but quickly dismissed the thought.
"Malcolm!" The two men hugged, then Anderson gestured to Stuart's agent, "This is Kenneth Saunders. He's the manager of that kid," he nodded to Stuart, "over there. Mr. Savage supposedly pulled some strings and got him in. He's filling in for Smith, you know, the guy who broke his leg."
"Who is he?" Malcolm looked at the redhead. Anderson shrugged and watched Stuart,
"No clue. Some new comer."
"Ha, good luck to him then! He's going to need it. Well, we need to practice that scene." The two men nodded to Mr. Saunders and hurried off. Sighing, the agent walked over to Stuart and dabbed his forehead with his ever-prominent handkerchief.
"I don't know what Mr. Savage is thinking, getting you in this. I don't know how I'm going to cope with all of this! First it's Mr. Young, now it's Mr. Anderson! He's a real popular act now, and that man, Malcolm Clarke, is really big too! And you, in there with the lot of them! I'm going to go crazy!" He bit the linen, pacing in circles. Stuart sighed and patted the frantic agent on the back.
"It's alright, Mr. Saunders, I'll be ok."
"What about me?"
The poet sighed again and shook his head, "Should I be practicing?"
"Practicing! You don't even know the lines and they're having the first performance next week! What am I going to do!" With that, the agent rushed off to who-knows-where in a fury of screams. Stuart hesitantly followed after him, excusing him and apologizing whenever the agent knocked someone over.
"Stuart?" A soft, masculine voice stopped the redhead, causing him to turn around and forget about his insane mentor. Standing before him with a brown hair tied back in a ponytail, a violin in one hand, and a string in another, was Hugh.
"Hugh!" Stuart bound towards him, clinging to the other man's waist. Quickly, the brunette put his violin down on a seat and patted his friend's back.
"What are you doing here?"
"I should ask you the same thing! I've got a solo part that Mr. Savage set up for me!" The redhead pouted, "Some poor guy broke his legs and can't play it anymore... I wonder how that happened..."
"Oh, Smith. That was very unfortunate, no one knew how that ladder could have fallen when it was bolted to the ground..." Hugh shook his head and pushed the boy away, "Any way, it's nice to see you here!"
"Is this the gig you got? Third string?"
Hugh nodded slowly, leaning against the stage, "Yes, apparently the group does music for some performances. How odd that you're here."
"Well, I'm really glad you're in the music! I didn't want to be stuck in this thing and not know anyone!" Stuart stepped over to the brunette's side and whispered into his ear, "Have you met that Anderson fellow? He's so weird! Is he always like that?"
Hugh chuckled, "Yes, he is, from what I've seen."
"Who's that Malcolm person that was with him?"
The musician took a step forward and picked up his instrument, then held it carefully by his side, "Those two are in all their musicals together. There's another guy in the troupe – Keith Bailey. They're all really odd. Kind of full of themselves."
Stuart smiled, "Those two seemed like it! Where's the other one?" Hugh shrugged and looked up, hearing someone call for him. A young woman with very dark purple-hued hair was standing across the theatre, looking at Hugh with her hands on her hips.
"Ah, sorry, Stuart, duty calls."
"W-wait, is that – it can't be!" Stuart blanched, looking at the shapely woman.
"Natalie Udell, you mean?"
"Is it really! I thought she was retired and only did really big shows!"
"I overheard that she owed Mr. Savage a favor..."
"Got his fingers in all the bowls..."
"Well," Hugh smiled and gave his friend a light hug; "I better go before I get in trouble. Break a leg," the brunette waved and ran off to meet the woman who now was surrounded with adoring fans – er – some of the other orchestra members. Stuart sighed and turned around, disappearing into the nearby wing to practice his solo.
"What took you so long, Mr. Norris?" The pianist quirked an eyebrow at the orchestra member.
"Ah, I was just talking to my friend."
"Is he Mr. Smith's replacement?" Hugh nodded and followed her and her horde of followers – er – the other gathered orchestra members to the side of the stage to practice.
"Yes." Natalie glanced at the young man before seating herself at the grand piano. No wonder Thomas had been so enthused - well, as enthused as he could get - about that boy when he'd mentioned him. It almost seemed worth it to lose the previous cast member. Something about the redhead reminded her of the exuberant singer who'd written music for her.
"I see. What's his name again?"
"Stuart Shubrook."
"Shubrook..." The blackish purplish haired woman rolled the word off her tongue and stretched her fingers out. "Interesting. Are you two friends?"
"Yes."
"I see... how odd that both of you wound up working in the same musical." Hugh shrugged and hoisted the violin onto his shoulder and tucked it under his chin. Natalie smiled, resting her long fingers on the smooth ivory keys. The conductor moved over to his stand and tapped his baton, signaling the rest of the orchestra to concentrate on him and the music, not the woman at the piano.
Hugh chuckled and rose the bow to his violin, connecting the strings, and practiced along with the rest of the orchestra. Faintly, Stuart's voice sang out from the wings, along with the song. Apparently he'd gotten a hold of all the music.
~-~
Today was going to be a good day. It had to be a good day; the other previous ones were good. Sort of. Almost. Not really. The sun had been beautiful, there was no bad weather, and the newspaper headlines were all pleasant. Not to mention the many good ideas he'd come up with for his next novel. Only, there was one thing missing.
The writer unfolded the newspaper and saw a rather sad headline – someone had been murdered. No one that important, but it was still there. And then lightning flashed and rain poured down in torrents around the house. He also found that when he went to sit down to write he had absolutely no ideas, and that he thought all the previous scribbles were pure crap.
Alright, so today wouldn't be such a good day. Not a big deal, he'd had worse days. The light flickered in the room. The electricity he had was rather unpredictable – even the slightest bit of rain and the lights would go out. He sighed and rest his chin on the propped up hands. Well, there was one thing good out of those – Stuart wouldn't be over today. Why would he go out in the rain to be harassed about his poor poetry?
Edward really didn't understand that boy. How could he come back day after day only to be told how awful he was and how little talent he had? Well... he hadn't been by the previous days. Vaguely the writer recalled Thomas telling him about some musical Stuart was supposed to be in. Good for him, maybe now he'd give up on writing and give the poor man's head a rest.
But did he really have to practice every day? It's not like he was the lead. Or was he? Edward took a cigarette and a match and lit the tobacco. He shook the flame out of the match and tossed it into the trashcan. The only light in the room now came from the cinders on his cigarette. When had the lights gone out...?
That stupid tree of his was rapping on the windows. He really needed to cut that thing down before it fell on the house one night and crushed him in his sleep. Edward chuckled – Thomas would love that headline. "Famous Romance Novelist Killed in His Sleep by Runaway Tree." That would just make his day. Maybe he'd keep the tree after all.
However, as the wind died down the tree was still rapping – and a bit louder, too. And coming from his front door. Strange... the tree had always been at the side of his house, not in front of his door. Edward shrugged and stood, walking out of the study and to the front hall. Maybe it sprouted legs and walked over there. Damn, that meant it probably wouldn't be crushing him in his sleep anymore. Edward grinned. That was genius, he'd have to kill of his next heroine that way.
But strangely the tree also had a face now, the writer mused as he looked out the small window in his door. Since when was his tree a short redhead boy with – wait.
"Figures..." He sighed and pulled the door open, letting the dripping boy into the house. He pointed to the kitchen to signal Stuart to go in there and drip all over the place, but obviously he wasn't paying attention since he just shook his hair like a dog. Edward sighed and pulled the distinguished cigarette out of his mouth. "I don't think I needed a bath..."
Stuart smiled and jumped the man, wrapping his arms tightly around the writer's waist. "Young! I'm sorry! I wasn't here yesterday or the day before and I almost wasn't here today, but I wanted to see you so I went out but it started to rain really hard and I'm wet and really cold and it's nice and warm here and you're warm but you're kind of wet now...and why aren't you saying anything?" Stuart blinked and took a step back, looking at the author.
There was a rather large wet body print on his now soaked clothes. Edward sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You should have stayed home."
"But... I wanted to see you! And, and, I'm supposed to be here anyway! Where's Mr. Savage? And Mr. Saunders?"
"Thomas said he wasn't coming and I doubt your agent will either because of that." The blonde turned and started up his stairs, followed closely by Stuart.
"Oh... so it's just you and me? Cool! But I'm really cold... and how come it's so dark in here? Is the electricity out? That happens at my house a lot, too, when it rains, everything gets dark and – " he was silenced when some sort of fabric was throne in his face. Edward was already changing into different clothes in his room and apparently took pity on the redhead by giving him spare.
This, of course, made Stuart collapse into a little puddle of mush since the writer was actually sharing his clothes with him. "Thank you!" All he got was a grunt in response but he didn't honestly care. The young man ran into the bathroom and quickly changed.
When he emerged he was somewhat drier and in clothes far too big for him. But that was to be expected since they were Edward's clothes after all. The redhead ran to Edward's room poked his head inside, saw no there, and then ran down the stairs.
The boy glanced into the study, figuring that the writer would be sitting at his desk, grumbling about something. He tip-toed into the room, figuring that he could give him a sneak attack since it was so dark, and pounced the chair behind the desk.
The empty chair behind the desk. Stuart blinked and stood, rubbing his sore chest, "Young...?" Lightning flashed quickly, illuminating the room and revealing that the only person there was Stuart. The redhead blinked again, a bit taken aback, and made his way out of the room. And since this was the middle of a thunderstorm, and thunderstorms had thunder, the aforementioned act of nature boomed and shook the house in all its thunder-ness.
And since Stuart was a girlish boy wandering around a dark, seemingly empty, strange house during the middle of a thunderstorm, he jumped when he heard the sound. Stuart rushed out of the room and into the hall. There was a flickering light coming from the parlor door and the sound of crackling wood. Stuart grinned, inching into the room. There was Edward – sitting in the couch in front of the fireplace. The redhead snickered and tiptoed towards him, intent on pouncing and scaring the writer shitless. He hoped he could do that. He really had yet to succeed in getting the writer to flinch in anything other than annoyance.
Strangely, as the boy approached the older man, there was no change in the writer's posture. Usually he sensed the pounce and would smack Stuart before he got took close. But when Stuart was just a couple inches from him he didn't do anything, and when the boy had his arms firmly around his neck and was nuzzling his face like a cat, he didn't flinch. He just... sat there, staring at the fire.
Obviously there was something wrong with Edward. And an Edward in a bad mood was not one to be picked on. Stuart sighed and rounded the couch, sitting a cushion away from the writer. The two sat there in silence, listening to the falling rain and watching the embers dance from the fire.
"Thank you for the clothes..."
Edward remained silent, but shifted his position an inch or so. Stuart glanced out of the corner of his eye at him; "I like rainstorms. Do you?"
"They turn off the electricity."
Stuart smiled, thankful that Edward said something, "Candlelight is pretty, though. I kind of miss that. Everything here is lit up from light bulbs. I miss the flickering light."
"I don't like it much."
The boy twitched and fell silent again. Lightning flashed again and thunder boomed loudly overhead, shaking the house. "I don't like thunderstorms much..."
Edward tore his gaze away from the flames and looked at Stuart, "Afraid, are you?"
"A-ah, no! Actually... they're not really that bad." Stuart turned his face to Edward and closed his eyes, smiling, "When I was a kid I would go into my sister's room and we'd huddle under the covers until it went away. We used to tell each other stories and see who could get the other more scared." Stuart opened his eyes and pouted, "She always won."
Edward grunted quietly and looked away from the redhead and back at the fire. Stuart sighed and looked down at his hands. He really liked the author and all, but he really was a poor conversationalist. For all the wonderful dialogue and characters and imagination that a story took to be successful, this one writer sure couldn't say much more than insults in reality.
"If you don't like fire then why did you make one?"
"I didn't say I didn't like fire..."
"Well, I mean, firelight..."
The blonde shrugged and tilted his head up, watching the shadows dance on the white ceiling, "I didn't want you to catch a cold and have that weighting my conscious."
"Oh... Young?"
He lowered his head and looked over at the redhead, "Don't call me that, it disturbs me."
"Well," Stuart shifted his weight and sat facing Edward, "What should I call you then? Edward?"
"No."
"But - "
"No."
The boy sighed and nodded. He didn't think the stoic man would let him call him by his first name. But really was being rude that way, "Mr. Young then?"
"Fine." He looked back at the fire, sighing. It seemed odd to have this boy so attached to him. And, even though he'd never admit it, hearing him call him so formally disturbed him more than his previous nickname.
"Alright. Mr. Young?" Stuart turned with his back to the back of the couch and his legs tucked beneath him. The boy scooted towards the author and hesitantly leaned against his side, nestling his head in the crook beneath his raised arm. "Thank you..."
Edward's expression flickered with the dimming firelight, gone as fast as it came. He inaudibly sighed and left the boy stay where he was. Another flash of lightning and an immediate burst of lighting resonated throughout the house, but the two didn't flinch. Stuart smiled, nuzzling the writer's side, and sunk into a peaceful sleep.
The blonde glanced down at the boy beside him, checking to make sure he was asleep, then rest his hand on the redhead's back. This was wrong – he shouldn't be in this situation, he shouldn't be sitting here in front of a fire with an adorable boy completely enamored with him by his side. But... he could allow himself to pretend it would be ok for now. Even if it was just for a short while, he'd let the boy play make-believe and he'd tell himself that he wasn't enjoying this. He'd convince himself that this didn't mean anything to him and that he wouldn't cry when the boy left.
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You know, mush is just as fun as angst is to write! I'd never really noticed that until but that was really fun! My mind was racing while I typed up the last couple pages; I knew everything that would happen and the exact words I would use paragraphs before I would write it. It's a nice feeling ^_^ It's like your fingers can't keep up with your mind!