Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me, although I wouldn't mind having Ryu to myself for a night. Tee hee, I'm as bad as Tastuha ;)

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Later on Friday night

Hiro watched as Shuichi sat idly at the table at the fast food joint that they had been going to since Jr. High. The bishie singer was sucking on a straw that had been in his diet soda, his cute face distorted from crying. He had told Hiro the whole story, from the moment that he stepped out of his apartment until; he picked himself and his belongings up off the pavement after his encounter with the mysterious man. Hiro listened calmly, as always, nibbling on his fries as Shuichi bawled. Hiro lifted one of the fries to his mouth, his fine eyebrows arched in question. "Okay. Let me get this straight: This psycho driver from Hell tries to kill you, and then disses your lyrics. I get that. But why are you stressing so much? It was just one guy, his word isn't gospel."

Shuichi looked up from his soda, "But to me it was! I mean, he was crazy, for sure, demo…he was the most cool person I had ever seen. Ano… there was something about him that pulled me, like it wanted to smash us together." Hiro gaped at his friend. Letting out a breath, he put out his hand, "Let's see." There were several minutes of rustling on Shuichi's part as he rummaged through his still ransacked bag. Finally, he pulled out a crumpled sheet of notebook paper with crinkles and tear streaks. Hiro shook it out and read. After a few intense minutes, Shuichi was able to ask, "Well?" Hiro looked up and handed it back to him. "It's okay, but I've seen better from you. What was it that you were trying to accomplish?" Shuichi stopped and thought hard for a couple minutes. "It was supposed to be a love song." He answered. Hiro sat back with a satisfied look on his face. "There you go: you've never been in love before. How can you write abut love when you've never experienced it?" He picked up another fry and licked it delicately, "Or have you?" he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Shuichi sat up straighter in his chair as he stuffed the rest of his burger into his mouth. "Idontknowwhafyertawkingabouth." He mumbled around a mouthful of food. He swallowed hard and glared at Hiro, who leaned in so that only they could hear. "Come on, you've been doing that baishunfu thing for a while. You can't possibly tell me that you're not into guys like that?" Shuichi turned bright red as tears of anger formed in his eyes. "Hiro, you've know me for like, ever, you know I'm not like that!" His anger began to wane as he thought about the cold, handsome man that shook him to the core, "At least," he continued, "I don't think I am." Hiro patted him on the head, and then began to pick up the trash from their meal. "Don't worry, Shu, I still love you. You drive me nuts, but that's just the way you are."

Shuichi perked up after that, and when Hiro came back, Shuichi decided to forgo going out that night and spend it with Hiro. They decided to go back to Shuichi's new place and play video games and get drunk. They stopped at the package store on the way and had two bags filled with beer. They walked the several blocks back to Shuichi's apartment, talking and laughing like old times; the mysterious stranger and his harsh words forgotten. They reached the apartment, and Shuichi fumbled for his keys. Hiro, who had busted open a few cans before the package store was even out of sight, he stood there, half empty can on his hand, staring into the window of the bookstore below Shuichi's apartment. The store was almost pitch black inside, the few ceiling lights that were left on gave off a dim orange glow. The front window was the only part of the store that was fully illuminated. There was a medium-sized table with a black cloth over it, the top overflowing with stacks and stacks of the latest releases. At further inspection, Hiro saw that the entire table was filled with the same book. He squinted his blurry eyes to make out the title of the book and the name of the author. The title of the book was Lost Cause, and the author was the one and only Yuki Eiri. A light when on in his head in recognition. His brother, of all people, loved Yuki-san's books. He said that they contained great monologues that he used on auditions. Right.

Grinning, he turned to Shuichi, who was still fishing for his keys, "You know," he slurred, "that Yuki guy really has it made. I saw him on a TV program the other day, and the lady mentioned that he had like a hundred different girlfriends. "Chikushō," he muttered, "it's those kinds of suave, rich guys that take all the cool chicks away from us hard working guys." Shuichi had dropped the bags of beer, the tinny clank of tin hitting the ground only distantly registered with Hiro Shuichi, who had turned to look in the direction that Hiro had directed to at the beginning of his tirade, just stood there, shocked at what he saw. There, in the harsh, artificial light of the window, sat a book that was on a small plastic stand, turned over to show the photo of the author on the back of the book. Shuichi plastered his face against the cold glass, a ring of condensation forming on the pristine glass. The picture, those piercing golden eyes, that face, that mouth, it was him. There was no mistake. Shuichi continued to stare at it; the slight gloss from the dust jacket hurt his eyes. "H-Hiro…"he whispered, unable to look away. Hiro, on the other hand, had continued his tirade about Yuki Eiri, "Don't ya think?" he asked Shuichi. Silence. "Shuichi?" He turned around, as a beer can rolled and hit against his sneaker. He saw his friend plastered against the window of the bookstore, his eyes transfixed on Yuki's new book. He walked over, swaying slightly, and hung an arm around his friend's small shoulders. He took a step when he realized that the bishie singer was shaking like crazy. "Shuichi, daijobu?" The guitarist asked.

"That's him, Hiro." He pointed to book. "Huh? Him who?" Shuichi grabbed the crinkled lyrics and tossed it at Hiro, who ducked. "That's the guy! Yuki Eiri! He's the one that almost killed me tonight!" Shuichi crumpled to the ground, his eyes filled with tears. Hiro stood there, letting the information sink in. He crouched down, patting the singer on the head. "There, there. The bad novelist can't hurt you." He wasn't trying to be funny, but the alcohol was making him stupid. Shuichi wiped his nose on his sleeve and hiccupped. Hiro stood there, awkwardly patting his friend's head. Then, suddenly, Shuichi perked up and stood straight up so suddenly, he knocked Hiro down. "Ouch!" Hiro yelped as he hit the ground. He stood back up, rubbing his bottom as he glared at the signer. "You know, I take a lot of shit from you, Shu, but one of these days, I'm gonna…" he stopped, all words completely wiped away in his mind. The determined look in Shuichi's eyes scared the shit out of him. When he did find his voice, he was afraid of the answer but had to ask, "Uh, what are you gonna do?"

Shuichi planted his feet firmly on the ground, his spine straight, as he struck a fist into the air, and opened his mouth to answer.

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Wah, a cliffhanger! Don't worry, I'm going to post the next chapter tonite. See you then!