Disclaimer: It's Gravitation and so obviously shonen-ai. PG-13 mostly for that reason plus some language. Also obvious; it doesn't belong to me. Gravitation and its characters are the property of Maki Murakami. I am simply a devotee. I appreciate all the criticism: please read, enjoy, and review. Thanks! Authors Have Parties Too? Part 4: In Need of Facts

Monday afternoon

Eiri arrived at the café early, but he had finished his coffee and couldn't find anything to watch on TV. Tohma hadn't been taking calls. His secretary claimed he was out of his office this morning. There hadn't really been time to get involved with his latest book again, since he had a tendency to loose time when he wrote. Instead, he killed time at the café. The temperature was in the mid-seventies and he sat outside, smoking and surreptitiously watching a lovers' spat. It gave him ideas for his writing-- although his version would involve infidelity and a fatal disease. Mizuki was ten minutes late.

"I'm very sorry I'm late, Yuki-san," she plopped into a chair and settled her valise at her feet. Eiri thought she looked harried. She sounded a little breathless, too. She usually wore a feminine-style business suit with a skirt and double-breasted blazer. Today she looked almost casual in a muted green pants suit with the jacket unbuttoned over a white blouse.

He waved to the server. "Whatever," he told her dismissively. Service was prompt; she ordered a Coke and he ordered another beer.

"So, I see you don't have another submission ready. What would you like to talk about?" She knew he was all business around her.

"Actually, I should have something for you by tomorrow. However, I wanted to talk about the new division. How much did you know about before the party?"

She shook her head. "It was a surprise to most of us. Apparently, a few of the senior editors had word of the plan before the announcement, but they were ordered to keep quiet." Mizuki tucked a fall of short, light brown hair behind her ear and leaned her elbows on the table, setting her chin on her hands. "I didn't know they were going to take publicity shots of you, either. Did you see the article in the 'Tokyo Times' entertainment section?"

He shook his head, ruefully. He didn't need the attention. He didn't read the paper regularly and neither did Shuichi. Most music industry news was covered in 'Music Review' or 'Pop Beat'. Reviews of his own work were generally covered in 'Literary Times'. He didn't really care what other people thought, anyway.

His editor shrugged. "The article didn't say very much." She pursed her lips. "It's very . . . interesting over at HQ, today. The new building is just down the street— toward the news stand on the corner— number 4012. They were putting up a large pink-lettered 'Never Ending Dream' sign on the front, today. You can't miss it, but it's the building with the all-glass foyer that's been empty for the last three months." He nodded recognition. "My office will be on the 3rd floor." Mizuki shook her head. "It's really amazing how almost everything is all prepared. It's like the entire building was just waiting for people to fill it. I'm not exactly sure what's going on, but there's a big kick-off meeting over there on Wednesday at 11:00. Supposedly, there will be an executive there to answer questions and fill in the details. The company is going about this all backwards, if you ask me."

Eiri nodded agreement. He knew Mizuki would tell him everything she could with little prompting. However, it sounded as if Eiko was keeping everyone in the dark until Wednesday. Weird; very weird, Eiri groused. "The other reason I wanted to meet was to ask . . . uh, a favor." He grimaced.

Mizuki's eyebrows hit her hairline. "Yuki-san? A favor . . . ? If I can help . . . " Her black eyes looked too wide with surprise.

Their drinks arrived and Eiri crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. "Yes. Could you find out if there are currently any proposals for a biography about Bad Luck or Shindou?"

Mizuki sipped her Coke. "I can ask, certainly," she replied. Settling back in her garden-style chair, she asked, "Is there some rumor you're tracing? Did you hear someone mention the idea at Saturday's party?"

Eiri sighed. "Not exactly. I'm just . . . " Being cautious? Watching out for my lover? Curious? Hah. Mizuki nodded again and gave him a pert, knowing smile. He had a drink. When did she gain the right to be so knowledgeable about my personal life, Eiri wondered in annoyance. Okay, Eiri thought, she's been my editor for . . . five years, already? Damnit, maybe she is entitled, he thought, grudgingly.

"I'll ask around, quietly," Mizuki said. "I don't want to see Shindou-kun hurt, either. The two of you are good for each other." She hurried on, knowing he wouldn't like her impudent remark, "I won't be able to get much else done tomorrow, anyway, until my computer's hooked up again. They plan to run phone-line checks tomorrow at the new building, too." She sighed. "It's a mess."

He was frowning darkly, but muttered a passable, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, brightly. "You said you'd have something ready for me by tomorrow? How are the latest chapters shaping up?"

They spoke briefly about the status of the book while she finished her Coke. They planned a meeting for Wednesday evening so she could update him about the company's new division, any information she found, and give him the new office phone numbers. She also reminded him about the book-signing appearance scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. It was a special promotional grand-opening for a prominent book store chain. The store was paying a considerable amount of money for the privilege of having Yuki Eiri there, too. He always drew crowds. The last time he had attended one, the book store ran out of copies of his latest book. His fingers had been sore for days after, from all the unaccustomed writing he'd done with a pen.

Mizuki left the café and Eiri stayed to finish his beer. Since he wouldn't be home tomorrow at dinner time, he wanted to make a little effort to spend time with his lover tonight. Bad Luck was going on tour again in another week and a half. Eiri hated the needy feeling that took him over, urging him to spend extra time with Shu while he was here, at home, in Tokyo. This feeling seemed to prick him most just before tours cropped up. He realized it was a pre-curser to the loneliness that set in when the singer was absent.

It was becoming a predicable, cyclical routine between them. This time, the band was due to be gone for a month before coming back here. Then, they would continue the tour for another two months. Eiri always debated with himself whether or not to go along with the tour. There were pros and cons for going and staying. If he stayed . . . he did work best in silence, and he often finished a lot of writing. His peace of mind couldn't tolerate unending silence anymore, though. Tohma, Mika, and Tatsuha checked up on him constantly when Shu was gone, too. They all acted as if he was incapable of taking care of himself. Okay, he admitted to himself, they have reasons for doing it, but they don't need to be so annoying about it.

On the other hand, if Eiri traveled with the band, he never slept well; transferring to a different hotel room every night. He never accomplished much writing on the tour bus, either. Not writing left him with nothing to do all day, except entertain Shuichi. The biggest reason to go was that they both functioned better when they could be together. It was a weakness that he hated and Shuichi thrived on. Maybe I'll go with them for the second stretch of the tour, Eiri considered. By the time he was done with the beer, he had just about enough time to get take-out and get home before Shu came home.

Tuesday night

Eiri cringed when he opened the apartment door. Shuichi's distinctive loud wailing echoed through the apartment. He hurriedly shut the door and locked it. He really didn't want to deal with this tonight. He was tired. His hand and fingers hurt from book signing. He was hungry, too. He had been hoping for a massage.

How that idiot could have heard Eiri's entrance over his own bawling was a mystery but as soon as Eiri turned away from the door, the wailing got louder and Shu threw himself into Eiri's arms. "It's aw-aw-aawful," he sobbed. "M-M-izuki said . . . WAH!!" Eiri's emotional wreck of a lover blubbered incoherently against his chest, wadding the writer's suit coat up in his small fists. Eiri held Shuichi—mostly out of reflex because he'd been knocked backward into the door with the force of Shu's spastic welcome.

Eiri wanted to hang up his coat and take off his shoes and tie. He wanted to relax. It wasn't going to happen unless he took control over the situation. "SHUT UP!!"

Shuichi snuffled and hiccup-sobbed a couple more times before he backed off. "I'm sorry," he said in a small voice. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt which was much better suited for soaking up tears than Eiri's designer suit.

"Idiot! Let me in the door. Let me put my coat away and take my shoes off, first!"

"I'm sorry," Shuichi whimpered. "I'll get you a beer!" He scampered away.

Eiri shook his head and rubbed his temples. This did not bode well. The shoes came off and the coat found its way into the closet. Eiri loosened his tie and took the opportunity to change clothes. He put on a pair of loose, black pajama pants and an unbuttoned over-shirt. At least he'd be comfortable while Shuichi cried on him. Mizuki must have turned up a biography. There wasn't much else that she would say to upset Shu.

When Eiri came into the living room, Shuichi was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch. On the table, he'd set out a dinner of rice and sushi, beer, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter. Shu's eyes watched him hopefully, timidly. Eiri knew that pleading look. It asked for forgiveness, even though the singer didn't need to apologize. He is adorable when he's being so submissive, Eiri mused, but a flip of mood can reveal his stubborn strength. Eiri loved that side of the bratt, too. Eiri settled onto the couch and Shuichi immediately laid his head on the writer's leg, wrapping arms around his calf. Eiri ran his fingers through his lover's fine pink hair, knowing the touch would calm him down.

"Okay. I'll eat and you can tell me about it," Eiri said. He picked up the plate. Flexing his abused fingers, he grasped the chopsticks and dug in.

"The message is on the 'machine," Shu started. "She— Mizuki said . . ." He sniffled a little and started again. "Mizuki said that Miyamoto guy is writing a Bad Luck biography. She said it-it's not good, 'cuz for some reason, the guy doesn't like you a-and . . ." Shuichi degenerated into tears again.

Eiri rolled his eyes and set aside his dinner. He'd only had two bites. "Forget it, Idiot. Come here."

Shu looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. His nose was running, too. "But you're not finished with—"

"Let me take care of it." Shuichi nodded and climbed into his lap, fitting himself against his lover like a long, heavy overcoat. Eiri combed his fingers through Shuichi's hair, releasing the scent of the herbal shampoo the kid used.

"Eiri, she said it was bad. She wouldn't say that if she didn't mean it."

"I know." Miyamoto, eh? Why would a popular non-fiction author have a grudge against him? As far as Eiri knew, he'd never even met the guy before Saturday night's party. After a few minutes, Shuichi's breathing steadied and his grip relaxed a little. Eiri could tell he was falling asleep. Idiot probably wore himself out, letting his emotions loose and his imagination run wild until I came home, Eiri thought. He held Shuichi against him, leaning forward to grab his dinner.

Eiri knew he had the clout at Eiko to block Miyamoto's book, but it wouldn't prevent the author from taking his manuscript to another publisher . . . unless Eiko had already bought the publishing rights, paid him an advance, or if his contract stipulated exclusive association with Eiko. Maybe Mizuki's message would have some other useful information. Eiri had his personal request / threat letter all typed up— just to be prepared, he'd told himself when he wrote it. He'd send it, or maybe hand deliver it tomorrow.

Eiri's rice was cold by the time he ate it. He gave up on it and leaned forward again, holding Shu, so he could reach the cigarettes and lighter, along with the ashtray that sat in its usual place on the table. Shu must have emptied it for him. He was glad the younger man had had the foresight to set these things out for him. Shu often came across as a klutz and a screw-up, but he was really very caring and considerate. Eiri might not say it, but he appreciated it. He lit up. Even the TV remote was within reach, on the couch cushion. Eiri punched it on, automatically turning the volume down. Shu had a tendency to listen to the TV at a much higher volume than Eiri liked. Predictably, the TV had been left on the music video channel and Shuichi stirred against him when music first burst from the speakers.

Shuichi was warm and cuddly against him. Eiri almost wished he could sleep in this position and not wake up sore. Hmph. So much for my massage, he thought, disconsolately. In the morning, Eiri would have to coach Shuichi and tell him what to say regarding the biography. If he didn't, Shu was likely to start a panic among his band mates and NG staff members. Then, Hiro and K would come over here, knocking on the damned door . . . or knocking it in— either looking for information or blaming Eiri for making Shuichi depressed. He didn't need that shit. Eiri hoped he would be able to speak with Tohma, tomorrow.