Title: Monday Morning (3/5)
Author: Kameko-chan
Pairings: Strong Hiroshi Shuichi friendship, Hiro x ?, various canon
Warnings: Deathfic
Notes: Inspired by the Prozzak song of the same name

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Shuichi stared at the miscellaneous rubbish that littered the floor of Hiro's apartment. It was a comfortable mess, the kind that made a place look lived in. Even now, over three months after the guitarist's death, Shuichi almost felt as though Hiro might breeze through the door at any moment, slice of pizza in one hand and a Coke in the other. The only thing wrong with the whole picture was the guitar collecting dust in the corner.

There were four months left on Hiro's lease when he died, so his mother had been able to put off clearing out the apartment. Garbage cans had been emptied and the refrigerator was bare of food, courtesy of a hefty tip to the landlord, but little else had been disturbed. It was Shuichi's job to sort out the trash from the treasure.

How could any of it be trash?


"This is starting to get ridiculous, you've barely left the house in two months. Tohma's been calling every day to find out what's going to happen to Bad Luck, but you haven't answered once. You look like sheer hell." A pause. "You have to get on with your life."

"There's no Bad Luck without Hiro. He knows that, tell him."

"It's not my band, Shuichi. You tell him."

The police were unable to locate the vehicle that had struck Hiro. No one had seen the accident happen; Hiro wasn't found for over a quarter of an hour after he was hit, and after a fruitless search the case had been dropped. Shuichi's mind had gone numb at this announcement, denied the closure he so urgently needed. Whatever feeling that had been left in him was gone now. Even the tears wouldn't come anymore.

A picture of Hiro and himself stared at Shuichi from the nightstand. He picked it up and traced his friend's form lightly with his fingers, trying not to smudge the glass. There were others photos riddling the small bedside table: Hiro and Ayaka, Bad Luck, the latest Nakano family portrait, even a review for a play Hiro's brother Yuuzi had landed a small role in. The picture Shuichi held had been taken a few years ago, as was evident from the short ponytail he still donned and the bubblegum-pink hair. It was taken the night they were signed with N-G, when they'd gotten together to celebrate. They were so drunk when they took those pictures, both had forgotten about them until the film was developed. Some were not appropriate for public display, and they'd had a good laugh over that.

"What were you doing, Hiro?" Shuichi asked the frozen image as though it might hold some response, "why were you out there so late at night, alone?" It was the same question he asked himself every night before he fell asleep. He still didn't have the answers.


"Leave me alone. What the fuck would you know about what I'm going through, Yuki?"

Shuichi's blood went cold at the look Yuki gave him. He desperately wished he could take back what he'd just said. There was silence for a breathlessly long moment.

"Get out, Shuichi." The voice was flat, dead serious. "Come back if you ever decide to start living. Right now, I don't want to see your face. You bore me."

The picture was delicately replaced on the nightstand before Shuichi collapsed on to the bed. The blankets smelled musty from disuse, much like the entire apartment did. He thought of opening a window, but self-pity and depression easily won out against common sense.

Why had he agreed to this? Shuichi was probably the last person who should be taking a trashcan to Hiro's apartment. Perhaps he could just put down another year on the lease and live there himself; it wasn't as though he had anywhere better to go. He could stay wrapped up in those blankets all day, living off the royalties from Bad Luck's albums, forgetting that he'd lost his best friend and that the love of his life didn't want to look at him anymore. Once the place had aired out, maybe it would even smell like it had in the old days. He'd heard once that scent was the strongest sense attached to memory; perhaps that was why smell of Yuki's favorite drink or Hiro's usual cologne would send him as close to tears as he could get these days.


"Yuki... I didn't mean it, I swear. I'm sorry."

"I said, get out."

"Yuki, please

"Go. Now."

A few tears managed to drip from the corners of his eyes, and Shuichi didn't know whether to thank them or curse them. It was emotion, it was more proof of feeling than he'd had in weeks, but God he was sick of crying. So, so sick of crying.

"I don't deserve any of this!" Shuichi screamed impulsively, heedless of the other tenants. "Why me? Why him? Jesus Christ, why any of it? Jesus Christ..." Shuichi was anything but religious, but the words couldn't come out any other way. "It's not fair, you son of a bitch, you hear me? It's not FAIR!"

He didn't know how long he screamed like that, all Shuichi knew for sure was that it was nearing dusk when he returned to his full senses. He'd been there for hours, then. His throat was raw and burning from the screaming and the crying and the muted whispers to someone who wasn't there to listen. He thought he might have fallen asleep, but time had become so skewed to him that there was no way of knowing for sure.


"Where will I go?"

"I don't care, just get the fuck out."

And he did.

Shuichi wondered how it was possible that he felt even emptier now than when he'd arrived. He sat on the floor now, sheets and blankets pooled around him and tangled around his legs. He didn't remember moving from the bed.

He'd told himself that he was ready for this. He'd fooled himself into believing that he could finally accept the way things were, that as soon as all memories of Hiro were shunted off into the corners where he couldn't see them he'd forget the pain. Lies, all of it, lies to get him through the day, the pain was still as fresh as if the news report had been yesterday. Time could heal all wounds but his, it seemed.

Surely this wasn't normal grief. Shuichi had seen people mourn before, and it was never this deep, this lasting. Yes, he loved Hiro as much or more than he loved the members of his family, and he was Shuichi's closest friend in the world, but why was he still unable to function like a human being? It wasn't right, to feel that depressed all the time. It wasn't normal to feel like half of you was missing.

Shuichi didn't believe in soul mates, not really. He talked about gravitation sometimes, when he was telling someone about Yuki and himself, but that was... not quite the same. Gravitation was more an affliction of the heart, while this—thing, went deeper than that. It was like a disease of the soul.

Maybe he was just over-analyzing things.

Shuichi scowled at the blankets he'd dragged from the bed, tossed them aside. The whole situation was ridiculous. Hiro was dead, and crying himself into a stupor wasn't going to change that. All it had done so far was lose him everything he had.

"This is stupid." He was stupid.

"I can do this." He couldn't do this.

"All I have to do is start." Where to start?

Shuichi stood up, slowly, and made his way to the small window that overlooked the busy street below. He watched for a minute, as people scurried across crowded sidewalks and cars in every color of the rainbow flew by, he just watched and thought. Every one of those people walking past had loved and lost, had been through good times and bad. Some were worse off than others, and knew it. Some knew but didn't care. Yet others remained in blissful ignorance, living in the now rather than the then. Without a doubt, there were those beyond that window who'd been through worse than him. What did he have to complain about, really? His family was alive and well. He had a boyfriend who loved him, or the him he was behind the depression; no matter how harshly Yuki acted towards him, Shuichi knew that to be true. He was a rock star, with money to burn and fans across the country. And yet, it was those people on the street that had the strength to go on with their lives, despite the hardships, despite the struggle, and it was he who was alone in an empty apartment, looking out on a life he'd given up on.

No more.

Shuichi opened the window.

The crisp breeze on his face was like a much needed wake-up call. Shuichi inhaled as deeply as he could, filling his lungs with cool air in one graceful gasp. He exhaled slowly, almost savoring it, and the darkness and the sorrow lifted a little as bits of it left his body along with the CO2.

Shuichi did not feel happy, per say. After all, how could a little wind suddenly make things right with the world? It was not really the air that made the slight change in his attitude, though, it was more what it symbolized. He was still here, and life was still there, but... he had a connection with it again. He could smell the exhaust from the traffic, the faint, wet scent of spring, a fast food joint down the road.

He wasn't happy, but for the first time in a long while, Shuichi thought that maybe one day he would be.

After the first step, it was easy. He didn't throw away as much as he should have, he knew that, but there was plenty of time to work up from the smelly gym socks piled under the bed. Shuichi took a few things for himself, some of the pictures and a sheaf of papers that looked like lyrics and half-finished compositions. The guitar also came with him, simply because he knew having Hiro's favorite possession in the apartment would make his job all the more difficult the next time. The rest he left, to be packed into boxes or thrown out once he was able to part with it and then sorted through by Hiro's family.

It was near midnight by the time Shuichi called it quits. It was not that long a walk to his destination, so he decided to forgo the taxi, opting instead for a stroll in the moonlight. Some might think he was insane, cruising the city streets in the dead of night, but he knew the path from Hiro's apartment to Yuki's home intimately, and the bright evening was anything but threatening. This part of town was quiet in the dark hours, and the comfortable silence was soothing.

"Idiot. You could get mugged walking around alone at this time of night."

Shuichi nearly choked. A quick turn of his head and a familiar mop of scruffy blonde hair came into view. "Yuki?"

"Hiro's mother called looking for you. She wanted to know how you were doing, sorting out the apartment." The tall, fair author stepped out of the shadows of a nearby building. "When I told her you weren't there, she screamed at me and made me promise to go out looking for you."

"She's been a little on edge since... well, you know." Shuichi took a step forward, hesitant. "I'm sorry, Yuki," he whispered to the ground. "I've been acting pretty stupid."

Yuki laughed, drawing a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it in one fluid motion. "Yeah, you have been." He took a long drag, blowing a cloud of smoke in Shuichi's direction before walking towards his house. Shuichi stood and stared. What would he do now? He was so sure that Yuki would at least hear him out.

Yuki stopped halfway up the block and looked backwards. "Are you coming home or not?" he called out irritably.

Shuichi's eyes went wide in surprise. The shock lasted only a moment, and then he smiled, a real smile, and ran back to his life.

TBC

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Gah, sorry this took so long. And I'm sorry that it's disjointed and weird. The next chapter will be better, it's the one I've been looking forward to doing since I started!

I don't know what Hiro's living conditions are, or how far away Yuki's place is, but it's my story and I'll make them live near each other.