Disclaimer: PG-13 for suggestive situations and language. Obviously, it doesn't belong to me: Gravitation and its characters are the property of Maki Murakami. I am simply a devotee. Authors Have Parties Too? Part 3: Musings

Saturday night

On the way home from the party, Shuichi was quiet. Perhaps the singer was wary of Eiri's uncertain mood. Eiri had a lot to think about and he was tired. Phony public performances like that took a lot out of him. It annoyed him how Shu was watching him carefully. "It's not your fault," Eiri said harshly, hoping to displace some of his lover's tension. He was upset but didn't want to take it out on Shuichi.

Shuichi nodded. "I could tell you didn't like it— the attention, I mean. You're so cool!" Shuichi looked at him with wide admiring eyes. "I would have cracked."

"Hmph," Eiri sighed, blowing smoke out the slightly-open window.

"I like it," Shuichi said, seriously. "I always feel so good when everybody tells me how much they like my singing." Shuichi was smiling softly, perhaps recalling his own experiences in front of an applauding audience. "Why does it bother you?"

Eiri flicked his eyes to the speedometer, concentrating on not letting his irritation translate into another speeding ticket. He gritted his teeth. "I don't want to talk about it." Shuichi wouldn't understand what he felt— which was that he didn't deserve the applause.

"Later?"

After a pause, he replied, "Maybe." Shuichi smiled again and flicked on the radio. Airplane burst through the speakers. It seemed like the song was on the radio every five minutes, lately. It was halfway through the third verse. Eiri had already had the track memorized before he'd ever heard it on the radio. He admitted privately that he liked it, largely because Shu had written it for him. It was about running away. The song had a nice sound to it, which could be attributed to Fujisaki's deft handling of the arrangement rather than Shuichi's musical composition. The original tune hadn't been anywhere near as good, in Eiri's opinion.

Shuichi burst into song, singing duet with himself. It used to be eerie when he did that. Now, like the kid's babbling; it was a comforting sound. It lightened Eiri's mood, which was probably the reason Shu had done it. His lover really was beautiful, pouring his heart out in song. Eiri scolded himself to watch the road.

The song ended and Shuichi's voice dropped into speaking range, talking over the next song seemingly without a pause for breath. "So, you never answered me: do women still put phone numbers in your pockets?"

Eiri shook his head and turned onto their street. "Idiot." He'd forgotten the snappy comeback he'd planned to use before. Instead, he said, "you're the one who does the laundry. Do you find phone numbers in my pockets?" Shuichi frowned and he touched his chin: a sign of deep thought.

Would that baby-face of his ever wrinkle or get laugh lines? Eiri wondered. Before Shuichi had barged into his life, he hadn't thought about much of anything long-term. Now he was looking forward to seeing his lover grow old?? Arrrggh! And there his lover sat, taking his time thinking about it the possibility of Eiri cheating on him? He narrowed his eyes and glanced at Shuichi, waiting for an answer.

"Sometimes I find bits of paper in the lint trap, but most of the time, they're my notes that I forgot to take out of my pockets."

Eiri's eyebrow twitched into an arch of its own accord. When he said 'my notes' was he implying notes for him, or by him? Shuichi looked as innocent as he usually did. Eiri parked the car crisply. "Get out," he ordered snappishly. Shuichi grinned at him and jumped out of the car, understanding his harsh exterior. The kid ran to his side and attached himself to Eiri's arm.

Eiri stomped on his spent cigarette and leaned down, pulling Shuichi into an embrace and kissing him soundly. "Stupid tease. You're the only one for me and I'd better be the only one for you!" Shuichi squealed and hugged him so tightly that his breath was forced out. "Uff. Hey, enough!" Shu eased off and Eiri tousled his fine, pink hair. "Let's go home . . . and go to bed." Shuichi's answering smile lacked its usual innocence but held plenty of mischief.

Monday afternoon

"I'm serious, Mizuki, I want some answers," Eiri said into the phone. "I've been trying to reach you all damn—"

"Yuki-san, that's an unusual switch." She sounded distracted. Eiri heard voices and movement in the background. Normally her office was quiet.

"Yeah, it is a switch. Now—"

"I'm sorry, but I'm very busy. Tech support is taking away my computer and I—"

"Why?"

"It's the move to the new building. Upper management is really pushing this. I can't talk now, but how about we meet at that café at . . . 4:00?" She must have turned from the phone, because her voice faded and she was yelling, "Hey! I'm not done with that! Just a minute . . . !"

"Okay, Mizuki, 4:00." He hung up. Yes, it was rude, but he felt it was justified. Hell, she probably appreciated him cutting the call short. It sounded like she had other things to deal with right now. The offices must be chaos. Mizuki was really flustered and she's one of the most patient souls Eiri knew. He figured she could explain it all later.

Eiri still had a little more than an hour until four. Shuichi was due home at six.

He moved into the kitchen and went about the process of brewing fresh coffee. This new book division was suspicious. It was announced on Saturday, and personnel were moving to new offices on Monday? Bizarre. I wonder if this is actually a quiet merger? Eiri thought. Had Eiko somehow usurped a smaller publishing company? That would explain how the editors already had a new office building. Who do I know that would have the truth of the story, Eiri mused. He decided if the story didn't appear in the media within a week, he would track it down.

Until then, Eiri planned to focus on the possibility of a Bad Luck biography. The idea of a whole book's worth of tabloid junk about the band had really upset Shu. It bothered Eiri, too; more than he let on. The upheaval at Eiko headquarters would make it difficult to track down information there, right now. Eiri brushed his hair back, resting his hand on his head. Going to senior management about this seemed a little overkill when he still didn't know if such a project existed. Of course, he could just write a personal request letter, asking the company to not release any unauthorized biographies concerning Shindou Shuichi or Bad Luck. They would probably comply. It would be awfully embarrassing to them if they created a new book division because of my books and then lost my contract, Eiri thought, smugly. Under his current contract, he only had to write two more books. That fact gave his threat some weight to throw around. I could even put a written stipulation in my next contract, Eiri considered. Yes, I think I will, he thought.

Eiri thought he should do some snooping of my own, too. He pondered the problem. First, he could ask Mizuki to see what she could dig up, but Eiko certainly wasn't the only publishing company in Japan. The coffee steamed and Eiri listened to it trickle into the pot. The smell prompted him to look for a cigarette.

A biographer would want to interview people close to his subject, Eiri thought. Who would talk, Eiri questioned himself, as he lit up. Maiko, Shuichi's sister, was the first option that popped into his head. She might be really flattered if someone tried to interview her about her famous brother-- and her mouth was almost as big as Shuichi's! Eiri frowned. Maiko was still in school at this hour. Maybe he'd call her later and . . . and what? Ask her if anyone had asked her personal questions about her brother? She probably got those every day from friends and school-mates and happily blabbed all about his life. Tell her not to talk to strangers about Shuichi? Hah! She was about as tactful as her elder brother, too, Eiri groused. At least Shuichi didn't talk to his sister about intimate details.

Maybe Shuichi should deal with her? He was on pretty good terms with her-- as far as Eiri knew. Shu didn't talk about her much, but Eiri knew he would have heard all about it, in excruciating detail, if brother and sister had had a falling-out. The coffee pot clicked, setting itself to keep the coffee warm. Eiri grabbed a mug and poured, inhaling the warm steam and the wakeful scent. The mug was black with white letters that boldly read, "LEAVE ME ALONE." It was a gift from Shuichi. He half-smiled in the (currently) private sanctity of his kitchen and sipped his coffee; black and strong. When Shu drank the stuff, he polluted it with cream and sugar. Eiri held it under his nose, savoring it. This was the way to enjoy it, Eiri thought.

If could convince Shu to confront his sister, how could the kid question Maiko without getting himself all upset? Maiko should at least be warned to keep her trap shut, Eiri thought. After all, Izumo had seemed to think that it was only a matter of time before a biography came out. Eiri hesitated to even think it, but . . . maybe a family visit was the solution? At least Shu's family wasn't as dysfunctional as Eiri's. The down-side was that both Shu's mother and sister were readers and fans of his books. He sighed and took another drink. I'll wait to see what Mizuki can turn up, he told himself. There was no need to jump to extremes, yet.

Who else might talk? Hiro had a dead-beat brother, didn't he? Some kind of failed actor or something? Getting him to talk would probably be a piece of cake; a simple matter of waving money in front of him. Eiri thought the man had some sense of honor, but guessed the right amount of money could overcome a lot of hesitation. Eiri didn't know anything about Fujisaki. Shu didn't talk about him much, except to complain. Did that kid have inconvenient family members, too?

The more Eiri thought about it, the more he felt ill. Life had been so much simpler when he didn't care about anyone. A new thought occurred to him: what if the potential biographer went to Tohma for permission instead of directly to the band? Tohma was a shark and his company did hold certain publicity rights. To him, almost any publicity was good publicity. Tohma would not qualify what material went into print—unless something was printed about Eiri, himself. If Eiri wanted to protect his Shuichi from some rotten tell-all biographer, he needed to get busy. The coffee soured on his tongue.

Author's Note: The story grew past its original title, but I've left it alone for consistency's sake.