"I promise! I promise I won't call you Yuki anymore! I won't cheat on you! I'll do anything you want for as long as I live! I promise! Please just hold on. Don't die…please…"
……………
"In order to be great, Eiri-kun, you have to understand the truth about life," Sensei says, motioning in the general direction of the world around us. I glance around the park, silently watching all the other pedestrians strolling along. Everyone looks so different all the time, I begin to forget that anyone is different from anyone else at all. That's what I love about America.
"But no one understands that," I reply lazily, leaning back against the tree, still letting my eyes linger upon the passersby. New York is almost intolerably sunny this time of year, releasing a heat wave laced with thick moisture that becomes painful. Still, no matter how harsh the summer becomes, this tree never fails to protect us. It seems almost magical in a way, like an element of a children's story.
"See? You're already on your way," Sensei says with a slight chuckle. "It's impossible to tell what's real and what's just a figment of our imaginations."
"I'm real," I mutter without even thinking about it. Immediately I begin to rip at what little grass remains around the roots of this gentle tree, almost wallowing in what I've just said, waiting for Sensei to reply.
"You're sure about that?" Sensei says at last, cocking his head to the side with a playful grin on his face. "What is real? What is the truth?" He pauses with a sigh. "In the end, everything comes down to individual beliefs. And it's these beliefs that signify greatness. What do you believe, Eiri-kun?"
"I believe," I start, though my words die away as I wonder what Sensei's trying to get out of me. How many things does one person believe in? I certainly believe in far too many things to be able to list them all out for Sensei. Because of that, I know he's looking for something else, but I find my brain is too fuddled from the heat to be able to ponder it for too long. With a smile of resignation, I continue, "I believe that I really love to write." I can tell right away, though, from the look on Sensei's face, that I didn't given him what he wanted.
"Do you believe in Ayame?" he asks, his eyes hardening as he too gazes out across the park.
"Ayame?" I repeat, mouthing a name that sounds so distant and yet so familiar at the same time.
"Don't you remember her?" Sensei asks kindly, his eyes lightening once again. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. After all she's done to you, I'd choose to forget her too."
"All she's done to me?" I repeat, suddenly aware of my body's reaction to his words. It seems almost frightened, but I'm not sure why. Ayame… Don't I know her?
"That makes me wonder though," Sensei says, his thoughts clouding both his face and his voice, "why you didn't choose to forget me as well."
"Why would I forget you?"
The smile that touches his lips looks almost cruel for a second, and his eyes seem crazed and detached from the world. My body is flooded with fear, and I quickly trip over myself while trying to scamper away. However, the expression is gone as fast as it came, and I allow myself to relax just the slightest bit.
"What I did was much worse than what she did," Sensei says, sadness now masking his face.
"What are you talking about?" I question, sinking back down into the ground now that the potentially dangerous situation has seemingly passed.
Sensei, though, seems to be insisting on ignoring me. "Well, forget Ayame if you so wish it. What about Shuichi? Do you believe in him?"
"In Shuichi…" I whisper, narrowing my eyes in confusion.
"Or maybe to question is, will he believe in you?" Sensei adds, his eyes wandering away from my face, downwards to the ground at my side. "Just look at him."
I follow the direction of Sensei's gaze and find Shuichi lying there limply at my side, once again soaking in the sickeningly dead aura, and now I find, to my very own horror, his eyes are open, staring at me with a blank, dead expression, begging me to release his soul. I let out a strangled scream and scramble backwards, but it is no use, I realize as my hand is jerked forward away from my body, entrapped in the tight fist of Shuichi's death grip. I shriek and try to yank myself away from him, but to no avail; he holds on, his strength never wavering the slightest bit.
"You love him, don't you?" Sensei continues, ignoring my horrified state. "You admitted it to yourself, so why couldn't you admit it to him? Tell me, Eiri-kun, why is that?"
"I was afraid!" I scream out, tugging my hands away, but at sixteen I am still much weaker than I should be.
"Afraid of what?"
"I didn't want to hurt him!" I cry, tears already streaming down my face. "I didn't want him to end up like you!" I swallow my fear for just a second and manage to look down at Shuichi once again, though I find I cannot look away once I catch his eyes, his dead gray eyes, staring at me. I suddenly become aware of my surroundings again, despite my rapt attention to his gaze, and shudder in fear of the darkened apartment and the sun glaring just outside the window. I've been here before. I've seen these eyes before. His cold hand sends shivers down my spine.
"And why would that have happened?"
"How could it not have? It happened to you, Yuki."
I hear Sensei snicker, a wicked noise that twists my heart, though I do not remove my gaze from Shuichi's eyes to see him.
"Who is Yuki? I thought you were Yuki," Sensei says in an almost sarcastic tone, his voice mocking my stupidity. "Shouldn't it have happened to you?"
It should have happened to me, right? It did happen to me. I am Yuki. Shuichi did kill me, didn't he? I am on the ground, in this cadaver, with a chill air enveloping my entire being. I'm staring at Shuichi with these dead gray eyes, begging him with all that I have to release me, to let the last of me out of this body, but his fist still holds onto my hand all too tightly for me to be able to escape.
Wait, no, I don't want to escape. I want to stay here with Shuichi. I'm not Yuki. I shot Yuki six years ago. Yuki's dead, long gone, with only his ghost around to haunt me. I am…
I can see out of the corner of my still eyes the form of a girl leaning on Shuichi's shoulder, her dark hair cascading down over his side. I can tell she's beautiful.
"For better or for worse, you can never hide what you really are, right, Eiri-kun?" she says, her sweet voice trickling into my dead ears. She leans in closer to Shuichi, and I can see her face now, but find that it's only halfway beautiful. It's split into two faces, one side sickly and green, and the other a grotesque mask mimicking beauty, a disgusting façade that makes me want to wretch with the thought of it.
Ayame. I remember her. She's not a fictional character at all.
"Truth can only be found through one's individual beliefs," Sensei says, his voice now seeming distant and faded. "To find the truth, all you have to do is believe. There's only one thing that you really need."
"I… I don't want to leave," I whisper, squeezing Shuichi's hand with all the strength I have left.
I turn my head towards Sensei only to find him lying on the floor, a pool of thick red fluid retreating towards his head instead of staining the floor around him. For the first time he looks peaceful, his eyes closed and a wry grin on his face, resembling the expression he would always wear when napping under the shade of that tree. I look up at the window as the glaring sun warily begins to creep inside, venturing into the darkness and vanquishing it. It brings with it the humidity of the summertime Iowa as it coats everything it touches in its whiteness. The shade under the tree disappears, and the tree withers in the heat. The field of corn is filled with the loud roar of a tractor as each stalk is plowed over to welcome the light. And this apartment, this New York apartment, is engulfed in the glittering sunshine, banishing the gray tones of darkness into an oblivion, causing Ayame, in her white kimono, to slowly blend into its embrace, and burying Sensei's body bit by bit until his death is once again only a memory.
This light, this white sunshine, is so bright that it burns the inside of my head, but I do not look away and merely fall into a trance, admiring the sheer beauty of it—this void in which nothing exists but true beauty untainted. I don't want to look away, so amazed I am, but find my eyes distracted anyway by the new presence of Shuichi's head in my lap. At first I worry that he's dead, so still he is, but the worry soon subsides when I note that there is no possible way he could be dead and look so alive at the same time. I reach over with my other hand, the one that is not tightly caught in his grasp, to stroke his hair, but a sharp pain catches me off guard, and I can only throw my head back into the new softness the lies behind it.
The world suddenly becomes strangely clearer than what it was before, though I cannot exactly describe the difference entirely. My eyes scan the room around me, and I realize for the first time that the overwhelming sunlight has subsided just the slightest bit, revealing to me new surroundings of a white room with white accessories, and an atmosphere containing that sharp stinging smell present only in hospitals. My gaze falls on the open window revealing a blue sky and the peak of a tall pine tree. The drapes sway in a somewhat humid breeze, but I welcome the heat, accepting that it is something that accompanies the light always, hand in hand. Nothing is perfect.
"You woke up after all," the familiar pristine voice whisks its way into the silence, not quite interrupting it, but rather adding to its gentleness. "You lost so much blood, the doctors practically told us you would die."
I turn my eyes to the other side of the room, feeling too weak to turn my whole head, to find Seguchi sitting there, though looking quite the contrary to what I had expected. His whole being emanates weakness and exhaustion, showing not just in his physical posture, but surfacing even more clearly in his tired eyes. Still, despite that, he looks more relieved than I've ever seen him before. I find him an overly welcoming sight.
"You sure caused us a lot of trouble this time, Eiri-san," Seguchi continues, smiling light-heartedly, allowing his relief to brighten his eyes. I know his joking words are being pulled from some strength he has deep within him which he is now offering to me to aid me in my weakness. I silently accept it, now feeling as though even gravity is fighting against me. I turn my eyes over to the side of my bed, where I see the blood transfusion still working its way into my veins. I watch as the blood slowly trickles down the small plastic tube, finding a small comfort in realizing that this blood is the color blood should be. Although still a rather dark red, it bears no resemblance to that alien liquid that soaked that floor around Sensei's head or that had slithered down my arm beneath the cornstalks.
For the first time since I regained consciousness, though that precise time is still lost to me, I become aware of the light breath against my arm, tickling it slightly with its rhythm. I look down to see Shuichi draped across my thighs, his brow furrowed as he tightly clutches my hand in what seems to be a rather fitful sleep. If I were not so weak, I would probably be smiling at his obvious wariness, even in his sleep, of the bandage around my wrist. I ignore the penetrating gaze of Seguchi, which I can feel lingering on me, and continue to watch Shuichi, feeling my body relax a little more just at the sight of him.
"Mika-san is on her way now," Seguchi's voice flutters once again into my ears, though this time it seems more like an interruption. I see in my peripheral vision him rise to his feet. "I don't know what happened to you here in Iowa, or why you did what you did, but I assume you two have some things you need to talk about. I suggest you try to work it out before she gets here."
With that, his form retreats away from me through the door, and I wait until the silence returns fully before squeezing Shuichi's hand in an attempt to wake him. He stirs slightly, mumbling incoherently into the hospital blanket, and shifts his position, but otherwise does not respond. I open my mouth and halfway whisper his name, surprised to find my voice hoarse, and squeeze his hand again, receiving the desired result. His eyes flutter open in a graceful movement, reminding me of a butterfly floating along the wind. They too hold a hint of exhaustion, but the overpowering relief and pure ecstasy that swamps them once he catches my eyes destroy every last hint of said exhaustion instantly.
"Yu—" he starts, but cuts himself short as guilt clouds his eyes, and the previous exhaustion surfaces a little once more. He quickly lowers them, and his gaze lingers on the bandage on my arm. "I mean, Eiri… I…" He stops, and lifts his eyes to me once again with astounding resolve welling inside them. "I'm sorry! I'm such an idiot, and a bad lover! All this time I resented you for ignoring me, and I didn't even realize—" His words trail off into tears, and with a soft whine he buries his face into my thigh again, muffling his voice so that I have to concentrate to understand what he says next: "I don't deserve you. I said all those mean things, not even understanding that you were hurting… This is all my fault."
I lift my arm to touch him, though I am highly dismayed to find that the transfusion is preventing me from being able to reach him. Gathering my strength, I begin to push myself into a sitting position, but before my dull senses have a chance to react, Shuichi is right next to my head, pushing me down by my shoulders, tears still shimmering in his eyes.
"No, be careful," he cries, though he doesn't know that I did that on purpose to get him closer to me. I reach up with my left hand, now freed from Shuichi's grasp, and touch his face gently, noticing that I can barely feel his skin due to the numbness in the tips of my fingers.
"Shuichi," I whisper, my voice having deserted me in my weakness. "We're both idiots. I didn't trust you as much as I should have. I—" Suddenly memories of the events that occurred come rushing into my mind unbidden, reminding me of the sour things that happened on both our parts, and it takes all my energy to suppress a gasp. Guilt washes over my entire body, and despite my weakness, I shudder. Shuichi's worried eyes appear before me, and his mouth opens to question me, but I continue before he has a chance to ask, squeezing my eyes closed as I speak. "I almost cut you, Shu. I almost cut you…like I cut myself. How could…"
A soft finger pressed against my lips silences me, and I open my eyes to find Shuichi shaking his head gently. "None of that matters anymore," Shuichi whispers, his voice so soft it's almost at the level of mine. "All of that is in the past now, and it's okay because you did what you had to do. I understand, now, what you need from me." He leans forward and brushes his own luscious lips against mine, but pulls away too quickly, leaving me feeling cold and wanting more. "Right, Eiri-chan? You need a new name, one that isn't so painful to hear all the time. And I have to perfect thing for you." He leans back, a playful grin crossing his face, as he builds the suspense in his long silence. Finally, he breaks it, lifting his finger in the air and practically shouting out his decision with a childish glee. "Shindou Eiri! How's that?"
I roll my eyes, though not without a small smile tugging at my lips, as I mutter, "Forget it," and turn my head to the other direction.
"What?" I hear Shuichi shriek from the other side of me, a frustrated whine in his voice. "But you said you didn't like your old names! You need a new one!"
"Like I need three different names," I say, turning towards him again. My smile grows larger at the exasperated look on his face. He's always been too easy to pick on.
"I thought you said…" his voice trails off, and a look of both defeat and sadness cross his face. I feel guilt pour inside of me, and I reach up to take his chin in my hand.
"I'm just kidding, idiot," I say, surprised that my voice is already returning to normal, the whisper having all but disappeared. "I think that's just fine." I drop his chin and lean forward on my elbow, pushing myself up so that our faces are close. "You're right. You have figured out what I need. And I hope I've figured out what you need too," I say, my voice falling back into a whisper, though not because of my weakness. I close the small space between us, pressing my lips against his in a light kiss, but fall back onto the bed much too soon.
"E-Eiri, are you okay?" Shuichi gasps, leaning forward slightly with his eyebrows knitted in worry. I grab his shirt collar and drag him down closer to me, the corners of my lips betraying my otherwise angry expression.
"I love you, Shuichi," I say, pulling him the rest of the way down to continue the kiss. I can feel his whole body tense with shock at my words, but soon enough he melts just as expected, moaning softly with tears of joy cascading down his cheeks. I can feel this joy myself, returning to me my strength, as I wish for this kiss to last forever and beyond.
……………
I study the cigarette caught between my fingers, burned halfway down, smoke twisting and snaking its way up from the tip, in a sad attempt to distract myself from what I now feel so obligated to do. The cursor on the screen blinks on and off in a strong rhythm, interrupted only when I make an alteration to the words there, something that I haven't done for the past two weeks. My deadline is next week, but I sincerely doubt I'll make it; I'm not even trying anymore. Well, actually, I take that back. I've been trying too hard to work on this stupid piece, though all my efforts have been in vain. As I read over what I've already completed, I find myself almost disgusted with the quality of writing that I've so far put into this, or lack thereof. I've always wondered what draws so many people to my books to make me as popular as I am, but now I am almost repulsed that they read it at all, much less obsess over it. It's not that good. I thought my popularity was a testament to my greatness, but now that I critique my own writing, I find that it pales in comparison with anything Sensei wrote. And yet, no matter how hard I try, I can't make my stories as powerful as his. It is, to say the least, frustrating.
I am almost relieved when Seguchi pokes his head into my study, smiling that sickeningly sweet smile as he invites himself inside. He greets me cordially, though as usual I only reply with an irritated glare, despite that I actually welcome his presence. He's been coming to visit me everyday since I returned to Japan, though I still have yet to figure out whether it's his own choice or on orders from my sister. Apparently Mika didn't take it too well when she learned of what I did to myself, and now is almost too afraid, or maybe too shamed, to come to see me that often, so I assume as usual she has her husband do her dirty work. Sometimes Mika's dominatrix attitude towards Seguchi surprises me—although Mika's always been pushy to get her own way, I'd have hardly believed it if I didn't see with my own eyes someone as powerful and controlling as Seguchi caving in to her will. It's comic, actually, though I'm sure they get a great deal more pleasure out of my relationship with Shuichi—when it's not giving them nightmares. All I can say is at least they didn't blame this incident on Shuichi, which they certainly have been very apt to do in the past, and attempt to separate us again. Maybe they think I'm too fragile for that right now, but anyway I'm thankful that they're staying out of it.
The truth is, I realize what happened is actually mostly my fault. Shuichi barely had any say in what went on, and it's only because I'm so screwed up inside that things went so wrong. Guilt still tarries inside of me, but I know that I still need Shuichi, so I accept the way things are now. As I said before, nothing is perfect.
"Sorry to disturb your work, Eiri-san," Seguchi says, looking uncertain whether to leave with his apology or loiter around to complete his objective.
"I'm not working," I say, closing the document with the click of the mouse. I smile with something that I can only describe as resembling relief as the words on the screen disappear into the dull background on my laptop's desktop.
"Oh?" Seguchi mutters idly, and an awkward silence enters the room. I turn to glare at him, though his eyes have already been turned to the ground.
"Do you have something to say?" I ask angrily.
"I just came to see how you are."
"I'm fine," I spit out. I'm not sure why I'm being so hostile; it's not like I actually really mind his presence at all, but I guess I've always been this way around him, around everybody, actually. I haven't truly changed all that much since I first met Shuichi—just enough, I suppose, to be able to keep him by my side.
"That's good."
I do admit, though, that idle banter such as this drives me crazy. I roll my eyes, trying to think of something to say that would perhaps launch us into a real conversation. I think back to all the confusion I was experiencing in Iowa, when my nightmares seemed to have decided to carry out a full frontal attack on me. Since that last dream in the hospital, all my nights have been rather peaceful, to my surprise. It's almost as if in that last dream I reached some sort of enlightenment. Not that I'd call myself enlightened—my father would probably gut me alive if he ever heard me say that—but something definitely clicked that day. Still, that's not to say that everything's once again clear and easy. There has been something bothering me for a while now.
"Seguchi," I start, reluctance clouding my words. "Did you…ever read anything that Yuki wrote?"
I can almost feel Seguchi's body stiffen at my words, but his smile only becomes larger. "Yes, I read a few things."
"Did you ever read a children's story about a girl named Ayame?"
I watch him blink with an unreadable expression clinging to his face. I try to decipher it, but fail miserably. It almost looks like fear, but that can't be right.
"Ayame," he repeats and immediately forces a smile back onto his lips. "Eh, I don't think Kitazawa-san ever wrote anything like that."
I frown at him, and turn my eyes back to my laptop, which has now activated its screensaver. Hundreds of white dots drift across a black background, looking like stars flying past in space. Shuichi always liked this one—he would watch for hours trying to see if he could find where the screensaver looped. I found it amazing how something so simple could entertain someone with such a short attention span for so long. "Are you sure?"
"It would be a huge coincidence if he did, don't you think?" Seguchi asks, attracting my gaze once again. My frown grows larger as I question him with my eyes. I have no idea what he meant by that.
"Coincidence?"
Seguchi blinks again, a cautious expression crossing he face. He looks like he's worried that if he goes on he'll cause me to cut myself again, so I urge him to continue. "Don't you remember Ayame-san?"
"No," I reply quickly, my own inner suspense reaching the maximum. I think back to my dream in the hospital, when I said to myself that Ayame isn't a fictional character. I can't remember what I thought when I woke up from that, but now I have a sickening feeling that Ayame doesn't belong to Sensei at all.
"Well, now that I think about it, I guess it doesn't surprise me that you would choose to forget her," Seguchi says, almost to himself, before turning meaningful eyes back onto me. "It was just after you returned to Japan after…the incident six years ago. I don't know how you met Ayame-san, but you did take quite a liking to her rather quickly. But, um, she was sick…and you were the one who found her body."
I turn away from Seguchi and stare at my computer's screensaver, watching it in an almost hypnotic trance, as I think about what he just said. I try to remember when and how I had come to believe Ayame to be a story that Sensei told me in New York. Perhaps he had told me a different one after all, and in these past years I have slowly grafted Ayame onto whatever he had said in the first place. I don't like this. I don't like to think that my memories are all screwed up too. This seems like something close to schizophrenia. How could I have just made up my own memories and believed them to be so true without even realizing what I had done?
Almost as if he were reading my thoughts, Seguchi speaks again with his own answer. "Don't fret about it, Eiri-san. That was a very stressful time for you, and I'm sure you've warped everything in your mind as a coping device. You're fine now, aren't you? The past is the past, and you don't have to worry about it anymore."
That actually provides me with a bit of relief, but I remain silent, pondering again what I've just learned. Ayame was sick and died. Half of her face was what she looked like when she was alive, half of her face when she was dead. In my dream, I remember thinking that the dead half was the most beautiful, because it was her true half and wasn't hidden under a fake mask. Sensei said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Sensei said that truth is based on individual beliefs. Or was I saying that to myself?
I let my head fall into my palm, rubbing my temples for what feels like the start of a headache.
Ayame is my character after all. Sensei didn't make her up. She was created in my own mind based on someone I actually knew. Ayame is my story.
"Eiri-san, I probably should be going soon," Seguchi says, making his way towards the door. "You're still recovering, so don't worry yourself to illness, okay?" He reaches for the door handle and opens it, but pauses before leaving. "I've read some of Kitazawa's stories. I know that you admired that man, but you have to understand it's been a really long time and you've gone through a lot since you knew him. Time and stress twists things in our minds." He lets out a sigh. "Kitazawa was a struggling author. He was an expert at the technicalities of writing, but his stories and plots were lacking greatness. I hired him as your teacher because I knew that you liked to write, and I thought he'd be able to teach you well. Your romance novels are much better than anything he ever could have created. Think about that, Eiri-san." With that, he continues on his way, and I watch him through my fingers as he closes the door behind him. The cigarette in my hand is almost burned past use, so quickly I take a whiff and then stub it out in the ashtray. Something about his parting words has cleared my mind of all those previous thoughts, and I am left feeling emptily relaxed.
I never once thought that I might have already surpassed Sensei in skill. But then, if Ayame is actually really mine, I suppose that maybe what Seguchi said is right after all.
I reopen the word processor once more, though this time I do not open my last work-in-progress. On the blank document in bold I type, "Ayame," and pause to consider it.
Maybe if I told Shuichi the story of Ayame, the girl who was given the power to change people but couldn't change herself, I would understand it better. Or maybe Shuichi would be the one to understand it.
……………
I can hear the loud racket of the television in the living room all the way back here in my room. I don't know why the brat has to listen to just about everything at such a deafening volume—seems like in a few years he won't able to hear a goddamn thing, and it'll be his fault he won't be able to sing anymore. He's just lucky I'm not working right now, or else I'd be pissed.
Well, maybe not pissed. Just irritated.
Of course, I can't exactly say that I'm not irritated now, but at least it's not because of Shuichi. Right now I am fully exploring the frustrating experience of trying to bandage my arm with only one hand. It's not working. Not at all. Actually, I don't really have to bandage my wrist anymore, since now that it's started to heal it's less likely to get infected, but the stitches are too ugly for me not to cover them up. In fact, the entire wound is pretty disgusting—dark, crusty colors of red, blue, and purple are all clumped together beneath the yellow stitches in a scab so thick it protrudes from my skin in a mound. I wince just from the sight of it. I don't want Shuichi to be able to see this.
I think about the scar that it will most likely leave on my skin as I resign myself to wearing long sleeves for the rest of my life. Not that I don't wear long sleeves all the time anyway, but something about having to wear them seems unsettling. I shrug off the thought, though, and begin once more in another attempt at applying the bandage, but I find a jumble of curses issuing from my mouth as I continue to fail in my endeavors. I feel my temper about to snap, when the phone shrieks, pushing me right over the edge. I snatch it out of its cradle, and bring it up to my ear, opening my mouth and preparing to shout.
"What do you want?" I bark into the phone, deciding that it's probably one of two people: either my editor, calling to remind me that the deadline for the novel that I've already scrapped is next week, or one of the Seguchi's, either Mika or her husband, calling to 'check up' on me.
…I suppose that's actually three people. Ah well, the two Seguchi's can be lumped into one person anyway, they're both so similarly annoying.
"Uh," the voice on the other line grunts, and I realize that it is not any of the people I had considered after all. This voice, though, seems eerily familiar, and yet I can't quite place it with any face floating around in my head at this time.
"Well?" I ask impatiently, debating whether or not to just hang up.
"Is, uh, is Shuichi there?" the person stutters, and I lift my eyebrow. Despite his so-called popularity, Shuichi rarely gets any phone calls, and when he does, it's generally on his own cell phone.
"Hold on," I mutter, and set the phone onto the nightstand. I'm actually tempted to just leave the phone there and return to my bandaging without notifying Shuichi so this person will just wait until he gets bored and hangs up. I'm surprised I don't do that, really, knowing that I would get some sick pleasure out of it, but instead I call out Shuichi's name, being much too lazy to actually bring the phone to him.
I find my irritation growing, however, when my only response is the deafening tones of the TV. I call his name again, but don't even bother to wait for a response before grabbing the phone and bringing it with me into the living room.
The noise from the TV is even worse in the same room as the speakers, and quickly I grab the remote, clicking it off abruptly and allowing my ears some peaceful recovery.
"Hey, I was watching that!" Shuichi whines, leaning forward in his seat and glaring up at me with the fiercest eyes he can muster. Which, to say the least, aren't exactly all that intimidating, considering his overall flaming appearance. I merely smile back at him, doing my best to make it look sinister, and throw the phone onto the couch next to him.
"It's for you," I mutter, and start to turn in order to return to my room, but I reconsider and instead circle the couch, collapsing into it opposite of Shuichi.
"Wow, I didn't even hear it ring," Shuichi says, as if it's a phenomenon with no plausible explanation. He picks it up happily, screaming "hello" much too excitedly into the mouthpiece, and I watch as the color drains out of his face once the other person speaks. My eyebrows knit in concern as I stare at him, though he quickly notices my gaze. "Are you staying here?" he asks in almost a whisper.
"Do you want me to leave?" I reply, challenging him to say yes, as I lace my fingers behind my head against the armrest. I have to concentrate on suppressing a wince, though, when a dull pain rushes from the contact with my wound, and perhaps a little too quickly I move it from behind my head.
"No, it's okay," Shuichi says nervously, and then returns his attention to the phone. "I'm here. Tonight? No, I can't tonight… No, I can't."
I begin to fiddle with the bandage again, wrapping it around my arm messily, leaving uncomfortable folds and openings, as jealousy begins to course through me. I have a feeling he's talking to his other lover.
"Eiri," Shuichi says, putting the phone between his head and shoulder as he crawls on top of me. I almost feel uncomfortable with him there, considering that the phone is still connected, but I do not protest. "You should ask for help with things like this," he whispers, taking the bandage from my hand and unwrapping what I've already done. His eyes linger on the thick wound there, and once I realize it, I pull my hand away, hiding it against my shirt.
"Shuichi—" I start, but am interrupted by his phone conversation.
"I said no! I told you, not anymore!" Shuichi cries, anger crossing his face. I stare at him—it's rare to see him angry, but when he is, I must admit that he's…pretty cute.
Giving in to my temptation, I touch his waist, which isn't close to being covered by his shirt, and run my hands down along his skin, across his short shorts, and down his legs, stroking his thighs until he releases a soft moan and leans forward in an attempt to chase away my hands.
"Stop it," he whines, and then pushes the phone closer to his mouth. "No, I mean—" The look of confusion on his face is appealing, to say the least. "No, stop asking!"
"What's he asking, Shuichi?" I whisper, smiling up at him as I return my hands to their former ministrations, eliciting another delightful moan from his throat.
He pulls away and gives me a naughty look. "Something I would reserve for you alone," he replies, giggling a little, and then turns to the phone again. "No, I wasn't talking to you. Listen, I'm kind of busy right now—" he stops again, frowning for a moment, and I can see anger crossing his face again. At last, he loses his temper, something even more rare than him being angry. "I said no!" he shrieks, his body tense above me. "I'm Eiri's lover again, so LEAVE ME ALONE!!!" His rage gets the better of him, and he throws the phone, causing it to crash against the floor and practically shatter, as much as plastic can shatter. He stares at it for a while, his anger slowly turning into guilt, and he looks down at me apologetically. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to break it!" he whines, looking at me expectantly.
"That leaves us with only your cell phone, since I've already broken mine," I say with a practiced anger in my voice, and Shuichi looks away from me. I smile as he does so, and then reach up to turn his head back towards me. "I guess that means no one will be calling and interrupting us, right?"
A smile brightens his face, and he collapses down onto my chest, mewing in a soft glee. He stops quickly though, and lifts himself halfway up. "Oh, do you want me to bandage you arm?"
"Later," I whisper, running my hands across him again. He giggles when I hit a ticklish spot and pushes my hands away. It turns into a bit of a game, and although I understand the very act of it proves that maybe I am gay after all, I don't even think about stopping, I am so ensconced in Shuichi's cheerful laughter, until his hand tightens around my left wrist, sending a sharp pain down my arm. I let out a gasp and pull away from him, clasping my wrist just above the cut in an attempt to stop the circulation so that the throbbing will subside.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!" Shuichi cries, lifting his hands towards me to help, but stopping halfway there as if in fear of touching me.
"It's okay," I say, trying to ignore the pain, which has already receded down into a dull throb. A painful silence overcomes the apartment, and I shift uncomfortably under Shuichi because of it.
"Eiri," Shuichi whispers, peering down at my eyes sadly. He takes my damaged arm into his hand and looks at it for a moment before returning his eyes to me. "You won't…ever… You won't do this…again, will you?" A deep worry overruns his eyes, causing them to gather shimmering tears.
"You'll realize later, when you come close enough to death, that it's better to be alive than to be pretty."
It's strange how some things that seemed so irrelevant in the past can come floating back one day, fresh as spring, an unbidden memory but welcome all the same, carrying with it the very essence of the most pressing problem.
"Never. Not so long as you're here with me," I whisper, allowing my lips to open in a smile.
The tears in Shuichi's eyes disappear, and he drops my arm. "Then I promise, Eiri, that I won't ever leave you, not now, not a hundred years from now when we're both gross, fuzzy old men."
"Shuichi," I say, grabbing the small of his back and bringing him down on top of me again. "I don't think you'll ever be able to be fully considered a 'man,' old or not." For all my teasing, I can't help but admit that his words hold some reassurance for me, a comfort that far surpasses anything I've felt so far. I don't feel so close to the edge anymore, and it's nice to have solid ground under my feet for once.
"That's mean!" he whines, burying his face contently into my chest. I wrap my arms around him, tight enough for comfort but loose enough to allow him to snuggle in against me. I let out a sigh as I study my surroundings with thoughtful eyes. It's not particularly silent, calm, dark, or any of the other things I had prized before. And yet, here in Shuichi's arms, I feel as though I have everything I've ever wanted. It's a far cry from being perfect, but for now, I can only think that this is what I've been searching for. This is what has occupied all my fantasies up to date. This is a reality that far surpasses anything I've ever thought possible.
This is my paradise.
……………
THE END
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Whooo. That was a pretty long chapter, eh? Well, to make up for the last ones, which were about a thousand words shorter than the first one, this one is about a thousand words longer. Ha! Kinda corny, though, huh? What can I say? I'm a sucker for happy endings. Well, I hope you all enjoyed it, and thank you to everyone who has read it, even those who didn't like it and/or didn't review. After all, I know what it's like to read something and either like it or dislike, and yet not know what to say in a review (of course, I do encourage you to review, because it really does make me feel good). So, here's some more review replies (if I miss you, sorry. Probably caused by the confusion in that this is posted in 2 places, and that FF.Net seems to have really slow reactions to any changes):
Flamingolo (I'm glad I could have such an effect on you.) Kittie (Yeah, I kinda wanted him to kill Shuichi too, since I had to get into Yuki's mindset for this, but that would have just been too sad for me.) Kikvws (Uh, I don't know who browniepts is, but I'm glad they told you to also! Sorry, no lemons…I'm not good at that unless it's for humor's sake, which this definitely isn't…) Maki (Sorry if I made you wait too long, and I'm glad that you enjoyed my style.) Celeste (I would have replied to your email, but I'm too lazy and would rather just put it in here . I'm glad you liked the way I did the dreams—I was a little worried about that.) phoinos (Thank you, that does make me feel a bit better about myself. Yay, self-esteem raising one point!) Ellechan (I'm glad that you like it, and I hope you get to read this last chapter.) Draco Serpens (It makes me happy to think that people enjoy and can identify with this.) Patosan (I'm glad you were interested in the Ayame story, and I hope you're satisfied even though I didn't actually explain it fully. I decide that it's up to the readers to make their own conclusions. That's the best part of stories.) Red-Mizu (I'm glad you like it. I hope I updated soon enough for you.)
Wow, more than the amount of reviews compared to the first two chapters combined! I hope that means that the last chapter was better, but I dunno. I'm just happy anyway. Anyway, I was surprised at how many times while writing this story I encountered allusions to old people and corn in my everyday life. And it made me laugh every time.
Thank you again to everyone!!! It's summertime now, so I'll probably quit with the angst, which seems to be so school-related, and revert back to my humor roots. Hope to see you soon!
Oh, yeah. I always forget this. Gravitation does not belong to me. I am just using it as means to improve my writing skills, so please don't hold anything against me.
The end.
Cassiopeia.