Title: Impossible
Blood Type: Musicalicious
Disclaimer: Gravitation is not owned by me in any way, shape or form. But I have to obey it. Because it's the law.
Warnings: High school freak out ahead (eek), bad words.
Author's Notes: Inspired by the song "Impossible" from "A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum". This was written as a non-denominational, non-holiday holiday gift for Whizzy. Merry Day!
Uesugi Tatsuha studied the newspaper clipping carefully. Even in grainy black and white, Sakuma Ryuichi was gorgeous. Tatsuha took distinct pleasure in remembering exactly which shade of brown fell where in Ryuichi's hair and trying to figure out the material of the pants he wore – either dark blue trousers or denim. He couldn't be too sure, but either way, his idol was beautiful. There was only one thing that bothered him about the picture. The tall, long-haired man in sunglasses. Who was he? And why was he smiling at his beloved Ryuichi like that?
From the shade of grey, he assumed that the man was blond. Dyed? American? American, judging from the height, Tatsuha decided, carefully cutting out the picture with an Xacto knife. It would be pinned alongside the others on the bulletin board above his desk. Sakuma-sama lived in Tokyo; and the only way for him to get to Tokyo was to get into Tokyo University and tell his father that business courses would be important to running the temple.
Damn it all. Who the fuck was that impertinent blond? Though he couldn't see the man's eyes behind the sunglasses, Tatsuha imagined that they would be gazing at Sakuma-sama adoringly. After all, who wouldn't? Tatsuha worried his lower lip. It must be his imagination. Still…
He rooted through his desk until he found his magnifying glass. A closer look would surely divulge the man's secrets. He peered through the glass, inspecting every inch of the man standing far too close to his Sakuma-sama. The smile, though affectionate, was a bit strained, tired looking. He was obviously older. But how much older? Thirty-nine? Forty-four?
Did it even matter? Older men knew so much more.
But then again…Sakuma-sama would be so young in comparison, and on stage he was so full of life. If he were older, the blond wouldn't be able to keep up with the vivacity that was one Sakuma Ryuichi. But looks could be deceiving. He could pass for his twenty-two year old brother. That was…six years. Six years. Which meant that the blonde could be thirty-three and not thirty-nine. He had to find out.
He dug around in his backpack, searching for his cell phone. Six degrees of separation, right? Sakuma-sama sang for Nittle Grasper. Tohma. No, Tohma would kill him if he called this late – early, looking at the red LED display on his alarm clock. Eiri! Eiri would know, he thought fanatically, dialing the number.
It took his brother an eon to answer the Goddamned phone. What the fuck was Eiri doing at three in the morning? The line kept ringing until… Finally!
"Eiri, have you seen yesterday's Tokyo Post?"
There was a pregnant pause on Eiri's end of the line. "Is there a point to this?"
Tatsuha swore under his breath. "Yes. Have you seen it?"
"Every morning with my breakfast."
"Glad you're eating," Tatsuha responded snidely. "Did you see the article on Sakuma Ryuichi?"
"Did you fucking wake me up at the Gods' hour to ask me this?"
Tatsuha refused to be put off by his brother's irritated demeanor. "The blond. In the picture. How old is he?"
"How the fuck should I know? As old as his hair and a little younger than his teeth," Eiri growled before the line went dead.
Eiri obviously didn't understand the importance of the matter. This blond was an unknown entity, and Tatsuha didn't like variables in the least.
Shit. He had algebraic equations due tomorrow.