Thanks for the help, Sokra. Traust Faellan is now open to anonymous reviewers. Comment away!

Thank you very much to all the people who took the time to leave reviews. I love you guys! Here's another chapter as a reward. This one is a lot longer than the last, and there's more action and less soul-searching. I hope you all enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Well, I didn't own anything in the last few chapters, and I still don't own Gravitation now. I wrote this for fun and to shut up my Muse, so please don't sue me.

Heh... I'm broke anyway.

Traust Faellan

Chapter Three: Yuki

The phone's ringing again. It's such a pain. I want to chuck the thing out the window. I even reach for it and draw my arm back in preparation. But the number blinking back at me isn't yours. It's Mizuki.

I don't want to answer. I don't want to talk to anyone.

But I've already missed one deadline, and another is coming up. It's not as though I don't have the material; that's all I've been doing for the last two weeks straight. Writing constantly. Writing to distract myself.

I might as well pick up. Her ass is on the line, too, and it would be wrong to get her fired over my personal problems.

And it's your fault I feel anything for her at all, Shuichi. I never used to care how badly I treated my editor. I used to disappear before deadlines all the time. I used to drive her insane. And now, I feel bad for it. It's your fault.

I hate you.

My voice is hoarse and angry when I answer the phone. A cigarette-and-beer diet doesn't do much for a person. "What."

There's a silence for a moment over the phone. Then Mizuki, sounding startled and relieved, cries out, "Mr. Yuki!"

"Obviously," I snarl back. She called my number. Who the hell did she expect to pick up, the Tooth Fairy?

"We were starting to think…" she trails off. "Where have you been? Are you alright?"

Oh, so now she wants to chat. "What do you want." My tone is flat and hostile. I don't want to talk.

She hesitates again; finally, uncertain, she says, "We've been worried. Shuichi—"

That name. Your name. It's a knife in my chest, a rage burning through my soul. "What do you want?" I demand, cutting her off.

"I…" she trails off again. I don't think she knows what to say. Not surprising. I haven't been this rude to her since the early days, when I was rude to everyone and everything. When I was still reeling from pain and a needling conscience. When I'd first moved to this soul-sucking city in a search to escape my past and my family. In those early days, I practically terrorized all my editors. Mizuki is the only one who's lasted this long; I drove all the others off within weeks. But she's put up with me for years, handled my moods and my disappearances. Took everything in stride.

And got quite wealthy and a good reputation from my work, I cynically consider. And now she calls me up, pretending to be worried when all she cares about is her own job. Her own ass. She's just like everyone else. She's just like… you.

"I have another chapter done," I interrupt her fumbling attempt at lying to me.

She sounds relieved as we tread back onto familiar ground. "Just tell me where you are and I'll come by to pick it up."

"I need my computer."

"Alright," she says hastily. "I'll drop by your apartment and bring it with me."

I'm sure she will. What I'm concerned about is if she'll bring a certain pink-haired betrayer along. She seems to have a soft spot for you. I don't know how you two got so friendly, but whenever we used to have fights she'd try to help you patch our relationship up. The last thing I need now is for her nosy efforts to bring us back together.

"If you tell that brat where I am, if you bring him here, I swear I'll never write another book under you," I threaten.

There's a tiny pause. Then she replies, "I wouldn't think of it." I know that tone, though. I know she's got something up her sleeve.

"I'm serious," I growl. Hatred for you spills onto her. How can you reach out and touch so many people? How can you turn everyone against me like this! "Do you think I'm joking?"

She must hear something in my voice. "No. No, I don't," she replies, and her tone is serious now. "I won't tell Shuichi where you are."

Alright. I give her the address and room number, and hang up on her when she tries to babble on about "being there soon." I'm exhausted. One little phone call can wipe me out so easily, now. Even calling for room service can make me tired. I sprawl out on the bed. For the last two weeks, I've alternated between manic periods when I can't fall asleep for days on end, and periods when I feel like doing nothing but sleep. I left all my meds at home, too, which is an absolute pain. Withdrawal's making me feel lightheaded and nauseous most of the time. Or maybe that's just the beer and cigarettes. The familiar death-shroud of depression has settled on me, leaving me too worn to do much of anything.

And it's your fault.

Or maybe it's my fault.

I don't know anymore, Shuichi. I had no right to be with you in the first place. Our relationship ruined you in more ways than just one.

I grind the heels of my hands into my eyes, forcing all thought of you from my mind. I'm so tired, Shuichi. I'm tired of all these constant images I have of you, scrolling through my mind whenever I sit still for a moment. The images are mixed with memories of Yuki. You've become Yuki in my mind, but at the same time, you are myself, my old self: Uesugi Eiri. It's such a twisted cycle. Yuki betrayed me, and I became him and did my best to ruin you in turn. My younger self killed Yuki, and just like that Eiri, you've taken your own revenge against me for what I've done to you and what I've caused to happen to you. In the end, I'm to blame for everything. It's my fault, for Yuki, for you. I've kept the cycle going. If I'd died long ago, none of this would have happened.

I hate you….

… Yuki Eiri.

A knock on the door wakes me up. Groggily I turn my head just enough to peep at the alarm clock. It's only been an hour since Mizuki called. I don't want to get up. If that's Mizuki, then she can just dig a trench out there for all I care. I'm not getting up.

The knocking gets more intense.

Shit. Dammit all.

I drag out of bed and head to the door, unlocking it. Leveling a hate-filled glare on whoever's out there the moment I open the door.

It is Mizuki. She holds the laptop up as a peace offering. I move back from the door without speaking, grabbing the laptop from her hands. Without looking at her, I spin and collapse at the small table, opening the laptop and turning it on.

Mizuki tentatively enters the room and shuts the door. "The new chapter…?"

I light up another cigarette and leaf through a stack of hand-written papers. "It's not typed up."

She hesitantly picks her way across the room and sits down in the chair across from me. "I can do that," she offers.

I glare up at her for the uncharacteristic offer. I don't like the look on her face as she glances around the hotel room, her eyes lingering on the piles of empty beer cans and empty cigarette boxes. So what if everything's an unclean mess. Who cares. Eventually I'll find a new apartment and move out, so what does it matter if this damn hotel room is trashed up? Quickly, I begin to type. The faster I can get her out of here, the better. I'm tired and that hour nap was not enough after another one of my three-day-straight writing sessions. I want her gone. I should never have told her the address of this place.

Mizuki watches me type, silent for the first ten minutes. I ignore her and speed my fingers over the keys.

Then, entirely expected, she says, "I met Shuichi at your apartment."

That name again. I can't stand it. I say nothing.

"He's really worried about you."

I type faster, to control the urge I have to punch something.

"He hasn't been to work for awhile."

And I'm supposed to care… why?

Mizuki digs into her purse and pulls out some familiar pill bottles. "He wanted me to give you these." She sets them on the table.

My meds.

"He wants to talk to you, Mr. Yuki. He wants to explain, and settle things."

I can't control the sudden rage that swells through me. I snatch out, grab one of the pill bottles, and throw it across the room so hard that when it hits the wall, it cracks open and pills go flying. "Shut up!" I shout at her, lunging to my feet. "I don't remember ever asking you to be some kind of go-between in my personal life! It's none of your business!"

Mizuki looks up at me with a surprising amount of calm, considering my over-the-top violent reaction. "Shuichi did ask me, though. You won't speak to him, and I'm the only one you will talk to."

You manage to turn everyone against me, all the time, Shuichi. I hate you so much for that, and yet I can't hate you, because I understand. People can't help but be drawn to you, to be sucked into caring for you. I understand, because despite all of the walls I'd built up, despite all the practice I'd gotten at shoving people away from me, despite the hatred boiling in my chest towards everyone I met and towards the world in general… I too was drawn in. I too couldn't help but care for you.

"It's none of your business!" I scream at her. I really need to hit something now. I want to hit myself. I'd probably end up in an asylum then, wouldn't I. Mizuki would think I'd gone insane.

"Shuichi's miserable," she goes on. It's driving me crazy that she won't leave this alone, that she thinks I should care that you're miserable.

I couldn't care less, Shuichi. I really couldn't care less. It's better for you this way, anyway. "I'm sure he is," I sneer sarcastically.

She looks at me with a surprisingly hard expression. "I don't know what happened between you, but surely you've punished him enough. You need to learn to forgive and forget, Mr. Yuki."

"No, you don't know what happened," I snap back. If she did, would she still be pressing me like this? Pressuring and pushing and torturing me with razor-sharp needles of truth? "It's none of your business to know." I step back, leaving her a clear path to the door. "You know the way out, so use it."

Mizuki actually glares at me, with an anger that's much more intense than when she's mad at my missed deadlines. "It is my business! How long have we known each other, Mr. Yuki? More than four years. Four years! I think that gives me some right to step in when I see you're ruining your life!"

Ruining my life? No, that happened more than eight years ago. This whole piece of shit relationship with you, Shuichi, was just the icing on the cake. To be honest, I had no life to be ruined in the first place.

Mizuki just keeps plowing on, upset as I've never seen her before. "It is my business when you start living like this and Shuichi is so depressed that he barely moves off the couch!" She stands up to look at me on a level, or near enough to it. "You're hurting him! He just wants to talk to you, and you're hurting him. I care for you both too much to see you wreck your relationship with him!"

"It's already wrecked," I reply. My anger suddenly leeches right out of me, bleeding away as though it never existed. I'm left feeling powerless in its aftermath. Yes, my relationship with you was already wrecked. It was wrecked the moment you chased after me in a validation for your crappy song. In fact, it was already wrecked the moment I picked your lyrics up from where they landed, right at my feet.

There was a reason why I was so cruel to you, Shuichi. I meant to push everyone away. I did it on purpose. How is it that you were able to reach past that and still touch me? I don't understand. And then, as though you were just toying with me, as though I was nothing to you, you moved on so easily. How could you do that to me? How could you…

Suddenly, I'm too exhausted to stand and yell and even think. I collapse onto the edge of the bed—closer than the chair—and bury my head in my hands, folding over dizzily. I feel like crying; there's that unmistakable ache behind my eyes. Futilely I rub at the bridge of my nose.

"What happened, Eiri?" she asks then, stepping over the professional line she's always maintained between us. Very uncharacteristic, that use of my first name.

Even more uncharacteristic is the fact that I let her get away with it. "He moved on," I tell her with a mirthless smile. I want to cry, but I refuse to cry over you, you jerk. Damn lack of meds. I don't feel in control when I'm not taking them. And self-control is the only thing keeping me together, the only thing left to me.

"Shuichi…?" she blurts, a note of astonished understanding glimmering in her tone now.

The truth spills out, even though I tried to stop it through this whole conversation. "He cheated on me. I found them… together. On my bed." I bury my face in my hands again, my elbows on my knees, propping me up.

Mizuki is silent, appalled. "I don't believe it!"

"I saw it," I whisper. "I saw…"

"It's just a mistake," she protests. "I'm sure! Shuichi would never—"

"I saw them!" I cry out, glaring up at her. To my surprise, and hers as well, she blurs over in my vision and wet heat rolls down my cheeks.

Horrified, I scrub at my cheeks angrily. I'm not going to cry over this, dammit all! I swear! I'm not—

"Eiri…"

God. I feel like some kind of weepy woman. If only I'd remembered to keep my meds with me these last few weeks. I wouldn't be breaking down like this right now, if only I'd remembered. But the depression has hit so hard this short time away from you. It's your fault; you made me trust you and then sheared me in half with your betrayal.

More tears well up, struggling to escape. I squeeze my eyes closed hard, willing them back.

"I'm sorry…" Mizuki murmurs then, hesitant and worried. "If I'd known… I wouldn't have pressured you like that. I'm sorry, Eiri."

I don't acknowledge her. I'm so tired, and all my willpower is focused on regaining control.

An awkward silence descends. I keep my eyes screwed closed. Keep the tears back. I won't cry over you, Shuichi. I refuse to. It's better this way, isn't it?

Mizuki speaks again, and her voice comes from right beside me. "You're exhausted," she remarks softly. "Go to sleep. I'll type up the rest of the chapter for you. Just get some rest."

I shake my head. I don't want to sleep, Shuichi, because I always see images of you in my dreams. I don't want to see you anymore. I wonder if you dream of me. I wonder if you care just how much you've hurt me.

No. Stop thinking. If I think anymore, I'll cry, and I won't. Not over you. I can't. Far better to be angry at you. If I'm angry, I don't have to think about how much it hurts, what you've done, and how little I have left in my life now that you've dropped the loving act. I can't cry over you, because then I'll know how much I still care for you.

I hate you.

Mizuki's touch startles me. I jerk back from her, my eyes flying open. Still slightly blurred by tears, I look up at her.

Her face is gentle. Her hands are firm and warm on my shoulders. "Yes. Here, lie down now." She pushes against me.

I'm too tired to fight her for long. When I'm stretched out on the bed, I finally realize just how exhausted I am. The bed is so impossibly comfortable. I curl up on my side. Mizuki yanks a blanket over me, tucking it up to my chin. I should scream at her. I should shout her out of the place. But I'm too tired.

"Sleep, Eiri."

After awhile, the typing starts up again. I lay curled on the warm bed, my back to the room. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine being back at home, tucked into bed. I can almost imagine you sneaking into the room, preparing to leap on me, your customary, irritating wake-up call. I always hated that. I hated when you took forever in the shower, too. Or when you sang loud enough to wake up the neighbors. I hated when you'd try to make me breakfast and only succeed at nearly burning down the entire building. I hated the way that only a few comments by me could put you near tears. I hate everything about you.

I hate you.

The clacking at the keyboard stops. And it's only then that I realize I'm crying. Stupid. I told myself I'd never cry over you. I've only cried twice in the last eight years… and it's always been because of you. What the hell makes you so special that I can't keep the tears back? I don't have the control anymore to contain them. I bury my face in the pillow to muffle the sobs, and cry.

Mizuki's there, then. The bed depresses a little behind me. Warm hands rub my shoulders and back through the blanket. Offering tentative support. Tentative friendship. We've worked together for four years but we've never really been friends. But she's offering now, because she sees that I need it.

It's your fault, Shuichi! You made me trust again. You made me weak. You made me think I was safe! I hate you, so much! I never cared about anything, I was fine—but you made me care, and then rubbed it in my face! You turned me into this weak, incompetent, weepy person. It's all your fault, and I want to hate you but I can't.

I can't.

That knowledge only makes me cry harder.

Mizuki stays by my side until my exhaustion kicks in and the tears peter off. I wish she would go. It's almost worse for her to be hovering over me than it would be to be completely alone. I should be cool, competent, confident, shrugging off this betrayal as though I never gave a damn about you. I want to hide behind that mask again. It's your fault I can't.

Mizuki rubs my back for a few more minutes as I lay still in dazed weariness. Then she pulls the blankets up again, and squeezes my shoulder. "Just try to get some sleep," she murmurs.

I'm tired enough to actually listen to her this time. I bury my face in my arms, in the pillow, and hide in the blackness that swamps my senses and carries me away to blissful non-remembrance.

TBC