R a i n d r o p s
...let them wash away your pain
by: triciasama

Disclaimer: Gravitation and its characters are the property of Maki Murakami. This piece is written solely for leisure and no profit is
claimed.
Fame. It is not the sugar-coated delicacy flaunted in front of the screaming public, the sticky, pink tongues of sweetness that promise to envelope you as soon as you manage to clamber into the spotlight of the public eye. Not a delicate, wondrous reward after years of toiling and weeping on knees to gain recognition, appreciation, for the work you have churned out for decades. It is nothing like what is splayed out in tabloids and airbrushed advertisements, where crowned teeth are displayed in a smile of inexplicable ecstasy and glitter is sprinkled over perfect bodies and glimmering talent.

Fame creates, but it also destroys. It destroys some of the most talented, corrupts the steadfastly honest and it tarnishes the souls of those who manage to survive through the overwhelming wave of attention and expectations. It is unforgiving, snaring its unwitting prey and drowning them torturously slowly, and there are few who manage to clamber out of the trap unscathed.

Unfortunately, Suguru Fujisaki was not one of them.


Chapter One: Ambition

He did not understand.

He had declared at a very early age that he wanted to be the world's best musician. He would work hard, grow up and work his way up into the limelight, where everyone could appreciate his talents and he could make a lot of money too. He would be very rich and he would have lots of friends who loved him very much. He would even appear on television or magazines from time to time. That was what he wanted to do.

His parents knew his deep-rooted ambition. Yet they still pleaded him to pry his eyes from the lilting musical notes that swept across lined paper and instead focus his attention on the other sort of notes, the type where you draw ghastly neon stripes across pages and pages of text and copy them down meticulously in pen, because that was what people do if they wanted to succeed in life. They go to school and study hard. They do not seat themselves in front of a piano everyday and bang out meaningless songs and scales with useless determination.

"But I want to be the world's best musician!" He protested, stubbornly continuing to play.

"That's nice, Su-" his mother smiled, using his nickname. But her smile was forced, and the nickname was cut off sharply at the end of the sentence, so he knew that she did not agree even though that was what she said. "But you should focus more on studies, you know. You could even be a great doctor or lawyer in the future if you study hard."

"I don't want to be a doctor or lawyer. I want to be a musician," the six-year-old boy grumbled from atop his piano chair, his swinging legs not even scraping the ground.

"Su, being a musician is nice-"

"The world's best musician," he corrected softly.

"Being the world's best musician is nice," she repeated soothingly. "But honey, you should focus on something more stable... like being a doctor, or a teacher for example."

"Why?" He gazed up at her questioningly, hands folded abashedly under his shorts-clad thighs.

She sighed a moment before continuing. "Well, sometimes, even though you are really good, you may not get a job. And you may not make enough money to support yourself next time. Mummy just wants you to have a good life."

Suguru gazed down at his feet, moving slightly and hearing the squirm of leather beneath him. He thought for a moment, although a familiar wave of disappointment was flooding through him as his parents disapproved of perusing his wonderful passion yet again. He swallowed, and replied in a strained voice that tinged of hope.

"Cousin Tohma is a musician and he gets paid really well."

"These things only happen sometimes," she stroked his hair gently, running her fingers through the neatly-placed strands. Her touch grazed the cynical determination that was too mature for his age and stirred his emotions. He relented. "Maybe you can do it next time... but now, you should study hard and be a good boy."

"Yes, mummy."

A gentle kiss on his forehead was the reply, as the warm stroke of the palm left his bowl-cut hair. The words that came were merely punctuations that he already knew so well.

"Now, go do your homework. And make sure you let me check it before you go and play, okay?"

He nodded, because that was what a good boy did. He listened to his mother. He left the piano that he cherished so much, and rummaged through his bag to slide into the world of squiggled words and meaningless numbers yet again.

He never understood why parents always told their children that they would support them whatever course they choose to take in their life, and yet discourage him who is so full of determination, telling the child that it is a seemingly futile ambition. They tell them to follow their heart, and yet ask them never to take up writing, music or be an artist, the noble arts of sweeping talent and opinions of otherworldly forms onto paper or canvas, for they would surely starve to death and beg on the streets one day.

He did not understand why his parents did not want him to be a musician.

Yet he could also understand why they did not want him to pursue the ambition blindly. To have another plan to fall back on; a sanctuary to crawl into when the bright, shining hopes were battered and dashed cruelly by the darkened world. He was also an obedient boy. His parents were proud of him, and many a time his father had clapped him on his back and proclaimed loudly how clever and determined his son was to his visiting colleagues, while his mother nodded politely with folded hands on her lap, awarding him with a gentle smile. He could not disappoint them.

So, he compromised. He would seat himself on an embroidered cushion everyday, spreading out the papers and books on the polished desk where the golden rays of sun permeated the window pane directly above the desk. Then he would slip on a pair of earphones which was seemingly too large for his young head, looking more like black, fluffed earmuffs than listening pieces. A flick of a finger would switch on a nearby music player, pouring out the lilting notes of Bach and Shumann into his musically-starved being. With that, he worked.

Suguru Fujisaki worked hard. He rose quickly to the top of his class. The polished cabinets in the house began to fill with slightly-tarnished trophies and framed certificates of academic awards. People began to take notice of him. A child prodigy, they would exclaim, at the top of his class for five consecutive years even in elementary school, not to mention the amount of awards he had won through quizzes and competitions.

Sometimes he would glance at the dusty top of the once-gleaming piano, the ancient desire and passion creeping into him. But he would shake his head, and remind himself that there was a world of reality and not fantasy in front of him. People do not play scales everyday and live a good life in the future. People studied hard and went to university, then got a job, for a successful and fruitful life.

Yes, he would reassure himself.

Then he would walk away without another glance.

Maybe.

Yet, maybe was out of the question after that fateful event.

The sweltering atmosphere of the classroom, if possible, was unusually warm even for a summer's day. The students were clamouring restlessly about, splayed pages of homework laid out untouched on tables and pencils strewn carelessly on scribbled notebooks. Ripples of laughter and mingling voices filled the enclosed space, and yet there was still a little boy at the back with his nose buried in his books, determined to finish his homework.

This boy was of course, Suguru Fujisaki.

His determination was not without reason, though. After realizing how much music meant to him, his mother had finally relented, ending the musical famine within him and let him attend piano lessons after school, provided that he managed to finish his homework in class. He had decided that sacrificing the few hours wrestling with words and numbers would be a fair exchange for being able to create a musical, flowing prose from the black and white keys for a few moments.

So, he continued writing, even as his classmates chatted rowdily and swatted him playfully on the shoulder for being such a bookworm, he merely acknowledged them with a sheepish smile.

"I have to finish my homework because I have lessons after school," he would politely explain.

"Lessons after school again? Suguru, you're just..." They would trail off before shaking their heads, an admiring yet pitying grin twisting their lips as they finally turned back to their previous conversations.

He was still bent over the books, scribbling furiously, when the teacher came in. He did not look up even as a wave of silence fell automatically over the classroom, and students returned obediently to their seats. Nor did he do much but stand up mechanically as the whole class stood, bidding their teacher a "Good morning, sensei" before seating themselves again. However, he did tilt his head in interest as the teacher, instead of picking up the chalk and writing on the blackboard, drew out a large poster and displayed it to the class.

"Class, as you all know, this is your last year in our school," he began, flicking the curling paper up with a swipe of his hand as he held the poster up again. "As a school tradition, we will be participating in a year six choir competition to decide which class will be performing at the annual graduation ceremony this year."

Scratch, scratch. The pencil resumed its crawl over the lined paper tentatively.

"This would not be an easy task. It will require teamwork and a lot of determination and hard work."

The pencil journeyed across the page, flitting across the lined paper and leaving neat scribbles in its wake.

"I do expect that the whole class will participate in the choir," the teacher paused to clear his throat. Suguru continued writing. Other students were poised straight in their chair, leaning forwards slightly in anticipation, not of the competition itself, but actually with glee that the teacher had taken lesson time to explain this, and were hoping that he would continue on long enough.

"But we do need a pianist to accompany the choir."

Clack. The pencil fell on the splayed paper and hastily made its escape to the tabletop. Hands fumbled sheepishly for the escapee, and Suguru silently chided himself for allowing the comment to influence him that much. It was not like they would choose him. They did not even know he played the piano, or that he loved music with all his heart. All they knew was Suguru Fujisaki was a bookworm, always toiling and sweating over his work. It was one of the many faces, the facades, he put up for blatant display.

"Will anyone be as kind as to volunteer?"

The scratching resumed, albeit slower, cautiously. Murmuring and giggling rippled over the class, as some tried their best to keep their heads low, and some were elbowing each other and teasing almost soundlessly.

"Anyone?"

There was no show of hands. The classroom was presumably silent. Sighing, the teacher unconsciously ruffled the poster with his hand, gazing hopefully over the crowd of bobbing heads. Still none.

"Well, how about Kaegi-san?" He attempted after moments of hesitating, smiling at the direction of a pony-tailed girl in the front seat, who vigorously shook her head.

"I'm not good enough, sir. I'm only in grade three," she quickly added, putting her fisted hands to her lips. Realizing that the unwavering gazes of her classmates were upon her, she swiveled in her seat and gestured to a usually rowdy boy in the middle row. "I think Fujimura-san can play for us, sir. He's in grade four this year, he'll be better than I am."

A shuffle, and gazes were switched to him instead.

"Me play onstage? Sorry, sir, I can't," he smiled sheepishly, not even acknowledging the stares and merely elbowing his seatmate who had just inconspicuously poked him when his name was called out. The teacher nodded tentatively, his lips curled between his teeth as he pondered the situation. Everyone knew that Fujimura, as loud and talented as he was, didn't have the ounce of discipline to balance him. In fact, he was notorious for being late to school, even though the school masters had already caned him once or twice. It wouldn't do if he turned up late on the day of the choir competition, or not at all.

"It's alright, Fujimura-san, we won't force you," the sensei finally replied with a soft smile, still clutching the poster dejectedly. His gaze flitted over the entire class again, hoping some warm soul would volunteer. "Anyone?"

"Kaegi-san, could you be as kind as to at least try-"

A violent scraping of the chair turned his attention to the wry boy at the back, his hand raised high in the air and his now unwanted pencil dropping to the floor with a loud clack.

"Sir, I shall be the pianist."

A sudden murmur rose like the winds blowing through the yellowed canyons, loud and then dissipating as if it had never happened. Suguru felt the blood rush to his cheeks as his legs wobbled in sudden nervousness. He wondered whether to speak, but the teacher quickly made up his mind for him.

"Fujisaki-san... I didn't know you played the piano?"

He tried to speak, expecting his tone to be hoarse as his throat was parched like someone had stuffed dry cotton wool into in, but his voice came out clear and confident, tinged with passion. "I do. I love to play the piano, and I know the song very well. I'll play for the choir, sir."

"Well, if you think you can-"

"I know I can."

"Well then, Fujisaki-san shall accompany our choir on the piano. And I want to wish everyone the best of luck in this competition. Do practice hard, I have faith in you."

On the day of the concert, even as his skilled fingers flitted across the keyboard with astounding precision and skill, he felt elsewhere as the elation of playing onstage for the first time flooded through his veins in a chilling wave. The clear, silvery notes echoed throughout the wooden-paneled hall, and the heat of the cheap overhead spotlights bore down on him. Every note, every light touch on the keys exuded a piece of his thoughts and soul into them, spreading throughout the silent air as music, wonderful music.

It was then he knew he wanted to be a musician, and nothing else.

"Tohma?"

Suguru was picking at the non-existent lint on his shirt gently, gazing out at the sky from his perch on the slightly damp ground. He turned to his cousin, who was pondering quietly, dressed stately in his bowler hat and neon green shirt, clashing immensely with the traditional surroundings.

"Hai, Suguru-kun?" the blond replied without turning his head.

"Do you think that I should-" Suguru's shy statement was cut off by a sudden hand on his shoulder, and his cousin smiling at him, wispy golden locks teasing his eyes. He had grown it longer when he was in New York, despite complaints from his family members.

"Go on, there's no need to hesitate."

"I-I'm thinking of studying music in Tokyo."

"Good for you. Congratulations."

"But I don't think my parents would allow me. Besides, I do not think that they would want to accept such a lousy pianist like me."

A quick look of surprise flitted across the older man's face, and a slight frown blemished his features.

"Eh, why wouldn't your parents allow you?"

"They think that I should focus more on academics. That music is just a waste of time," Suguru realized that his sounded slightly desperate, choking on the words, but it was something that had been lingering inside of him for so long, it was just impossible to lose the emotional part when it came to confiding it.

"Hmm. I understand. After all, they do want the best for you. All of us do."

Tohma's face betrayed no emotion, and the younger boy's hopes fell immediately. He bowed his head, drawing his teeth over his lips tightly as he resumed picking on his shirt.

"And confidence, Suguru-kun. You're a great pianist, I told you so already. Most importantly, you do love music, don't you?"

There was a long pause before he answered. "Yes, I do."

"Then don't let anything stand in your way of pursuing your dream. If you'd like, I can have a talk with your parents. If they would not finance your musical education I shall gladly fund you."

Tohma expected Suguru to perk up immediately, but the boy remained silent for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts and digesting them. When he looked up, though, there was no mistaking the mists of fulfilled dreams and joyful hopes that were clouding his eyes.

"Really?"

Tohma nodded. "You have great promise. A diamond in the rough is as good as nothing. You need the education, the potential to succeed in the music industry. I might as well provide the polishing, don't you think?"

"Cousin Tohma, I can't...that's so incredibly kind of you..."

"I'll try. But have faith, Suguru-kun. I believe in you."

"Thank you."

Even as the raindrops fell from the darkened skies above, pinpricks delving into the thin fabric of his cotton shirt and larger drops cascading from trees in splatters, he smiled.

End chapter one

Author's note: Unbeta-ed as usual, because I'm always in a dire need of one when no one's available. I'm afraid the last part might seem rushed, but I was intending on not dragging the chapter out too much. Comments and criticism are appreciated, and praise shall make me dance about the room in joy. Thank you for reading. There will be more chapters.