Title: The Best Laid Plans
Authors: Tokyo Nightingale and Mistress of Darkness
Disclaimers: Gravitation doesn't belong to us; hence the FAN part in FAN fiction. Though we wouldn't mind getting pet Yukis for Christmas, this is the best we can do .
Warnings: Angst, angst, and did we mention angst? Mild language, shounen-ai -- but if you're reading a Gravitation fic and you weren't expecting it, then I think its time for you to beat a hasty retreat
Nightingale's Note: This is our first collaboration here at FFN ... and for both of us, this is our first Gravi fic. We did our best to keep everyone in character, but the majority of this was written during POD class and College Math, and our writing styles are fastly different; so be nice. Comments are much appreciated -- I'm a review whore . This is a work-in-progress, so look for updates soon. Shameless Plug: If you like what you see, both of us have our own FFN accounts ::hinthintnudgenudge:: Enjoy!
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Shuichi peeked furtively through the window on the studio door, trying to assess the various moods of his band mates before making his grand entrance. It was typical for him to be late – but four hours was pushing it, even for him. And judging by their irritated expressions (and the startling number of guns that K had laid out on the table), they weren't taking it very well.
It wasn't entirely my fault, Shuichi sulked, his cute face drawn up in a pout. Yuki-kun was sick today! Of course I had to stay home and take care of him! It's not my fault that he made it really, really difficult for me …
Sighing a little, Shuichi stood and put on his most winning smile. He quickly opened the door and breezed into the room before he could change his mind and sneak back home.
"Hey guys! Sorry I'm – AHH!" He ducked in self-defense as K snatched up one of the guns and fired it at him, shattering the window he'd been peeking through earlier.
"Not another window," Sakano muttered to himself. He made no move to intervene, though; after months of working with the American, he knew there was no point.
"Well, since you're finally here, let's get going," Hiro said as he shoved Shuichi into the studio.
They made Shuichi practice for three hours straight, despite all the whining he did.
As he was going out of the building a sneeze racked Shuichi.
"You alright?" Hiro asked.
"Yeah!" Shuichi answered him, super genki as always. Trotting home he thought over how he was going to help Yuki.
"Yuki! I'm home!" he called. There came no answer but Shuichi had half-expected that. So he decided there was only one thing to do; make soup.
Yuki cracked an eye at the sound of his housemate's energetic greeting, an irritated frown quickly replacing drowsy confusion. Bleary golden eyes shifted towards the digital clock on the bedside table. Had it really been three hours? He felt like he'd just fallen asleep.
Groaning to himself, feeling as though his head might explode at any given moment, he crammed his pillow down over his ears to block out the sounds of Shuichi's whirlwind progress through his house. But though he tried to ignore it, he couldn't quite help following the noises and charting his lover's course. Sound of the front hall door slamming … toilet running … the television blaring, and then Shuichi's loud stereo, which was now in direct competition with the television program. And then … it was hard to hear, especially over the garbled interference of all the major electronics in his house, but … it sounded like Shuichi was banging pots around in the kitchen. Frowning suspiciously, Yuki hazarded taking the pillow away from his ears, strains of Ryuichi's latest single flooding in to replace the buffer. But now there was no mistaking it; Shuichi was definitely banging pots around in the kitchen. Which could only mean one thing.
Shuichi was trying to cook.
"BAKA! GET THE HELL OUT OF MY KITCHEN!!!!"
Even from behind a closed door and a hoarse, scratchy throat, Yuki's voice cut through the garbled racket straight to the heart of the kitchen and its would-be chef.
"But Yuki!" Shuichi tried to protest. He was already in an apron and a chef's hat.
"NO!" cut off any more whining. Shuichi stuck out his bottom lip and suddenly the ears and the tail appeared, eyes even bigger and shinier than normal.
"I said NO!" came the response to the whining that Yuki knew was coming. His throat feeling like it was on fire, Yuki crashed back into the mound of pillows with a groan.
In the kitchen Shuichi was giving his best glare (which meant that it was pathetic) in the direction of Yuki's room. Looking around, he decided that he might as well just keep going. The kitchen was already a mess as it was.
He was lighting the gas burner when the doorbell rang. Throwing down the towel he had in his hand he went toward the door. Little did he know the towel landed on the burner and caught on fire.
Opening the door he saw Tohma standing there with a covered pot in hand. "I heard Yuki was sick so I brought some soup," Tohma said with a smile. He came inside only to start sniffing. "What's that smell?" he asked. They heard a door burst open and a yell come from the kitchen.
Shucihi's eyes went wide as understanding dawned at last, and he raised his hands to his face in a gesture of horror. "My soup'll be ruined!" he wailed in despair, not even considering the future state of the kitchen ... or what his lover was going to do to him once the fire was out.
Tohma reacted quickly, pressing the bowl he carried into Shuichi's arms and making a beeline for the kitchen before the younger singer could figure out what he was doing. "Eiri-kun!" Shuichi heard him ask in concern, "are you alright?"
It suddenly occurred to Shuichi that perhaps he should be concerned as well. What if Yuki had been burned by his recklessness? Without thinking, he followed quickly in his producer's wake, forgetting the bowl and dropping it to shatter on the living room floor in passing.
The television and the stereo were still creating a disharmonious distraction in the background, which was probably for the best since it kept the neighbor's children from hearing the violent stream of unprintable profanity issuing from Yuki's lips as he struggled with the fire extinguisher. In a matter of minutes he had put the fire out, though now the majority of the kitchen -- including its owner -- was covered in cloying white foam.
Shuichi burst through the doorway, only to retreat a hasty step in response to the vicious death-glare Yuki shot him upon his entry. "What. Did. I. Tell. You. About. Cooking. In. My. KITCHEN?!" he snarled, punctuating each word with another threatening step in the singer's direction. Shuichi continued to backpedal into the leaving room, hands raised in a gesture of supplication.
"Y-yuki-kun ..." he stammered, trying to look cute and imploring. It wasn't working.
"Answer me! What did I say?!"
"Um ... not to do it?" Shuichi hazarded with a sheepish smile. Yuki's hands were reaching out towards his roommate's throat, amber eyes blazing. Tohma looked on, infinitely amused by the whole situation though he did a good job hiding it. He wouldn't want that uncontrollable rage turned on -him-.
"I swear, you stupid baka, that I'm going to -" Yuki was interrupted by his own coughing fit, a racking bark that doubled him over and sent sharp stabs of pain lancing into his head from somewhere behind his eyes. "Son of a bitch," he snarled in irritation, which only made the coughing worse.
"You should be in bed, Eiri-kun," Tohma stepped in swiftly, the sweetly concerned friend once more. Shuichi looked on in bewilderment as Tohma placed steadying hands on Yuki's shoulders and coaxed him around in the direction of the bedroom.
Wasn't that supposed to be -his- job? And just why the hell was Yuki listening to Tohma when he never took Shuichi's own advice?
"Yuki-kun ..." he whimpered softly, looking hurt.
Even though he was really pissed Yuki went back to bed. But, this time Shuichi was not going to get off the hook.
Tohma sat by Yuki's side, looking intently down at his brother-in-law. "Do you want anything?" he asked.
"Yes," Yuki said darkly. "Get Shuichi in here."
Tohma bowed his head in response and rose.
"Eiri wants to see you," Tohma told Shuichi. The singer perked up at this and bounded into Yuki's bedroom. The glare Yuki was giving off was almost enough to stop Shuichi in his tracks. None the less, he crept to Yuki's side.
"Are you an idiot?" Yuki asked him matter-of-factly.
"I ... well ... just ... um ...," Shuichi, always one for words (note the dripping sarcasm), stuttered.
"I told you not to cook. But did you listen? No, you're just a hairless excuse for a monkey with the brain capability of a single-celled organism," Yuki spat. Shuichi just stood there, mouth hanging open, tears beginning to glisten in his eyes.
"I was just trying to help," he tried softly.
"Next time, don't, because you're useless," Yuki bit off every word. That was too much for Shuichi. Bursting into tears he ran from the room and straight out of the apartment. Tohma entered the room cautiously.
"Wasn't that a bit harsh?" he asked. Yuki turned his glare to Tohma.
"Leave," he said. It wasn't an option, it was a command. Tohma bowed to Yuki's wish and quietly left. Yuki rolled over and faced the wall. Maybe he had been too hard on Shuichi but what was done was done.
Out in the pouring rain Shuichi wandered aimlessly. He did nothing but love Yuki with his whole heart. Why was the writer always so mean to him? Feeling pent-up rage building in him Shuichi stopped in the middle of the road he was walking down and just started to scream. Tears poured down his face to mix in with the pelting, icy rain. Tilting his head back he just let it all loose. Hot white rancor poured forth. He stopped only when there was no more breath in his lungs. His chest heaving, he listened to the booming thunder that echoed his feelings. Then suddenly the anger left and he was there only with misery. Bowing his head he trekked towards Hiro's.
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Hiro supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to open the door on a very wet and very forlorn Shuichi; random, unannounced visits like this had become the norm since the singer had moved in with his notoriously fickle lover. The guitarist was technically on his way to meet Ayaka for a long-overdue dinner, but he took the time to set his best friend up with dry clothes, blankets, and liberal amounts of mint chocolate chip ice cream. "I gotta go, Shu," he said, apologetic, once the younger man was comfortably installed on the couch. "We'll talk about it when I get home though, okay?" Shuichi nodded glumly, and Hiro gave his friend's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze before snagging his coat and heading out.
Shuichi waited a few minutes in silence before getting up, blanket clutched about him with the long hem whispering against the carpet as he crossed the floor. He carefully turned all the lights out in the apartment before wandering into the kitchen, settling himself at the table so he could watch the storm from the window beside it. A jagged bolt of white-hot lightening rent the tormented grey clouds, the echoing clap of thunder loud enough to shake the whole house. But quiet violet eyes never even flinched, gazing out at the storm with a rare sort of thoughtful introspection. He thought of the last storm he'd watched like this, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket that smelled comfortably like his lover's cologne. He had settled himself cross-legged on the floor before the large glass door that led to the balcony, silent and still as he watched the lightening and the rain.
He had been so silent, in fact, that Yuki had come up behind him, convinced that something was wrong but damned if he was going to ask his lover what it was. Yuki had been quiet, but Shuichi could smell the smoke from the cigarette dangling loosely between his lips. "It's beautiful, ne Yuki?" Shuichi asked softly, calmly serious as he made eye-contact with his lover's reflection in the rain-spattered glass.
"Hn." Yuki looked away from him to catch the next flash of forked lightening, and the answering boom of thunder made him wince. "It doesn't scare you?" he asked into the following lull, attempting to mask his genuine curiosity behind a nasty jibe. But Shuichi refused to rise to the bait.
"No ... I think its beautiful. And ... it calms me." He smiled softly.
"You, Shindou Shuichi, the crybaby who sleeps with a nightlight because he's afraid of the dark, find comfort in a thunderstorm?"
Shuichi merely nodded his agreement, and Yuki slowly settled himself on the ground at his lover's side. "I hate thunderstorms," he admitted after a pause. His voice was neutrally indifferent, but he'd began to twirl his cigarette agitatedly between his fingers. "They are beautiful, but --" he was interrupted by another deafening crash of thunder, and though they weren't touching Shuichi could sense Yuki tense beside him. "-- They make me nervous," the author finished, though there was no need.
"It was storming that night, wasn't it? ... That night in New York."
There was a long stretch of silence where Shuichi thought he wasn't going to get an answer, and he regretted that he'd said anything. Sure enough, Yuki began to shift beside him, and Shuichi thought he was going to leave. Which explained Shuichi's absolute shocked surprise when Yuki rested his head against the singer's slender shoulder. And that was answer enough.
Yuki's hard, golden eyes were still focused somewhere beyond the window, as though by refusing to acknowledge his actions he could later deny them. "... Explain it to me," he ordered quietly, after the space of a few thunderclaps had passed. "Why you find it comforting. Explain it to me. Make me understand."
Shuichi had thought it over a moment before shifting so that the blanket could envelope them both. And then, finding inspiration in the quiet patter of the rain, be began, ever so softly, to sing.
Remembering this made Shuichi feel even more depressed, and he buried his head in his arms and began to cry.
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When Hiro returned home much later he found Shuichi in front of the window, curled up in the blanket. His eyes looked puffy and Hiro was pretty sure he had been crying most of the time he was gone. Picking up the much younger man he deposited him on the couch.
"Sweet dreams, Shu," he said softly before turning in himself.
The next morning Shuichi was woken by the sound of Hiro leaving. Sitting up on the couch it took him a bit to figure out where he was. But then it all came back to him. He sniffed back tears and rubbed his nose. An idea came to him. As he contemplated the idea his courage grew, in little bits at first till it grew in leaps and bounds.
"I could do it!" he exclaimed as he stood, striking his fist into his open palm.
Leaving Hiro's he marched quickly back to Yuki's apartment. He made it as far as the front door before the steam left him. He would not just yell at Yuki. It was not his nature.
Surprise met him as the door swung open to reveal Yuki. Shuichi couldn't help it. He collapsed against the other man and burst into tears. Yuki knew it would be useless to try and pry the singer off so he just backed up into the apartment, Shuichi hanging from him. Yuki almost frowned when he felt a surge of pity well up in him. What was wrong with him? Maybe it was the fact that he was sick. Maybe he was finally, completely losing his mind. Either way, he wrapped his arms around Shuichi and just held him tight.
So preoccupied was Shuichi with maintaining his death-grip on the author that it took a moment for him to realize it wasn't necessary. Yuki wasn't protesting.
Yuki wasn't protesting?
Cautiously, Shuichi pulled back just enough to gain a clear view of his lover's face. Those yellow cat-eyes were as hard and expressionless as always, but he didn't drop his arms from around Shuichi's waist. "... You're not mad at me?" he ventured skeptically.
"I kicked you out in the middle of a thunderstorm," Yuki reminded him, deadpan.
"After I almost burnt down your kitchen."
"You're pushing your luck," Yuki warned him with a little scowl. Shuichi glanced away, effectively subdued. With an exasperated sigh, Yuki locked slender fingers around Shuichi's chin, forcing his face upward so he could plant a quick kiss on sullen lips. Despite his depression, Shuichi found himself automatically leaning forward for another, like a moth drawn to the flame it knew would be its destruction; but Yuki pushed him away.
"I'm sick, baka," he reminded him roughly, "and the last thing I need is to have to take care of you because you caught my cold."
Shuichi went starry-eyed, beaming a smile at the other man. "Ne, Yuki would take care of me if I got sick!"
"How many times do I have to tell you not to push your luck?" Yuki growled, raking his fingers through his tousled blonde locks. For the first time, Shuichi noted how exhausted he looked. "I'm going back to bed," he informed the pink-haired singer shortly, picking up on the sudden concern in Shuichi's eyes -- and not liking it one bit. "Keep yourself quiet, or I'll kick you out again -- for good this time."
Shuichi saluted obediently, watching his lover wander back to his room. He really didn't look well. There was only one solution, of course; he'd do what he should've done yesterday, and take the day off. Second chances were there for a reason, right?
And this time, he vowed not to mess up.