Author's notes: Thank-you so much for the positive reviews! ^^ This is my first Gravi fanfic, and it's AU, so I wasn't sure how it would go over. Part three is in the works, and should be posted within the next week.
~~~
"Gravitation cannot be held responsible for falling in love." - Albert Einstein
~~~
Chapter Two: "You need me."
At the sound of the bell, the students of room 3-C hastily exited the room, murmuring amongst themselves and casting sidelong glances at their new sensei. As for Eiri, he calmly sat in front of the blackboard, chair leaning back and feet propped up on top of his desk, a growing pile of cigarette butts on the floor.
Not hearing anything outside his own song, Shuichi remained in his chair scribbling frantically as the room emptied. Noticing the scowl which the sensei now directed at the redhead, Hiiro quickly tossed a balled-up wad of paper at his friend. As the jettisoned math homework bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, Shuichi's head jerked up to find an amused Hiiro rolling his eyes and pointing at the door. Slamming his songbook shut, Shuichi flushed as red as his hair and scampered out of the room after Hiiro, who, like every other student in the class, broke into a round of fierce complaints.
"My god, what a hardass. We're actually going to have to *work* in that class, from now on. Not that that's really a bad thing, but Kobayashi-sensei was such a pushover, ne?" Slamming his locker door shut, Hiiro looked over at Shuichi, whose eyes were glazed over and was absentmindedly swaying back in forth to the beat of some unheard tune. Hiiro snapped his fingers twice in his friend's face. "Oi, Shuichi! Are you listening to me? What do you think of the new sensei?"
Oblivious, Shuichi hummed to himself as he practically skipped toward the cafeteria, only half-listening to the comments buzzing in the air around him.
"Ne, did you see that? He was *smoking* in class! Kakkoi!"
"He had his feet up on the desk! And did you see those shoes? He's got taste!"
"Michiru, you're such a loser - the last thing I was looking at was his *feet*!"
"What's with all that "art" shit? It's just a damn book."
"He was so angry! What in hell did we ever do to him?"
"Maybe he's unhappy. His eyes...they looked so sad, when he was sitting there. I don't think he was really angry at all."
Five heads snapped to Shuichi's direction as the words quietly passed his lips. Hiiro eyed his friend with curiosity - there was a look there, an odd glow that he wasn't used to seeing...
"Hey, what does he have against pop music and games, anyway?"
***
Uesugi Eiri was on the prowl.
At each recess and break since first period, Eiri had been scanning the crowded hallways for that kid with the outrageous hair who had doodled his way through his entire morning lecture. While his dim-witted classmates had cowered at Eiri and spent the rest of the period reading through "Kokoro," that redheaded baka was so intent on scribbling away that hadn't even noticed when the bell had rung. If that punk thought that Eiri would take that kind of disrespect in his own class, he had another think coming.
As Eiri rounded a corner that led to the entrance to the music room, a stream of excited high-pitched babble reached his ears. "Wai! Wai! Only two more days!!"
Target in sight.
"You. Freak-haired kid."
Used to comments about his appearance, Shuichi automatically stopped dancing in the hallway and wheeled around, coming face to face with a cross-looking Uesugi Eiri. He gulped slightly, and replied, "Who, me?"
"Yes, you. You're the only one I see around here with a hack dye-job like that."
Looking down at his boots, Shuichi could feel the heat rise to his cheeks, and couldn't think of a reply. Eiri didn't seem to care, as he plunged ahead with his questions. "What is your name?"
"Shindou Shuichi, sensei."
"Well, that explains a few things..." Eiri muttered under his breath, taking in the sight of the sloppily dressed boy before him. Eiri was no fool, he hadn't waltzed into the classroom blind. He had taken the last few days to review the files of every student in both his homeroom and Japanese class, and his interest was piqued by one file in particular:
Name: Shindou Shuichi, 18.
Average: Literature: C-; Maths: C; Science: C+; History: B-; Gym: B; Music: A+
Notes: Shindou-san is a dreamer, and has a tendency to pay very little attention during class time. Was suspended twice last year due to repeated blatant violations of the school dress code. It is on the strong recommendation of his music teacher that Shindou-san be permitted to continue with after-school club activity, band, despite his poor academic performance. In spite of his low grades, he does demonstrate serious dedication to his music, and as such, he has been permitted to turn in lyrics for extra-credit literature assignments. He continues to work with a student tutor, Nagano Hiiroshi, in Science and Maths.
Eiri had frowned when he read that: it seemed as if a lazy student was being allowed to indulge in his pointless fantasies while wasting the resources of the school and it's teachers. And standing here before him decked out like an idol singer was proof positive that such methods had failed. The fact that the student was being given the chance to turn in "lyrics" as literature assignments hadn't impressed Eiri, either, and it was this sort of coddling that he was now determined to stamp out.
Better that the kid learn early: nothing good comes from wasting time on stupid dreams.
"Well, Shindou-san. Let's just see what it is that kept you from working in my class." With a swift gesture, Eiri reached out and seized Shuichi's notebook, flipping through the pages until his eyes fell on the scrawlings on the last pages. Ignoring the sounds of protest made by the boy, Eiri skimmed the words, their implications not lost on him.
/Smoke swirling around golden hair
and passing through your full lips.
Voice with a raw edge
passing judgement and professing art.../
Retaining a loose hold on composure, Eiri cleared his throat and slipped the notebook into the side pocket of his briefcase. "This is supposed to be a song?"
"H-hai, sensei."
"It's terrible. You'd be better off writing obscene graffiti on the walls in the bathroom. Don't think, Shindou-san, that you can continue to waste my time in class. I expect a fifteen-page composition on the main themes of 'Kokoro' on my desk Friday morning. When I get it, you can have back this pathetic excuse of a songbook."
Shuichi practically fell over backward, instead leaning against Hiiro for support as he sputtered, "Na--nani?! I have a recital with the music club before then, I can't write an essay, sensei, I have to finish the lyrics and arrangement..."
"Then I suggest, Shindou-san, that you re-evaluate your priorities."
Turning his heels and heading for the faculty lunch room, Eiri wore a mild smirk, unsure of exactly why he was getting so much enjoyment out of tormenting his student.
***
"Hiiro, he hates me!" Shuichi wailed, pounding his hands down on the keyboard in frustration for the umpteenth time since their practice began. Hiiro stopped his strumming and put down his guitar, walking over to his exasperated friend, hoping to get Shuichi to focus on rehearsing and forget about Uesugi Eiri and his bastardly unfairness.
"Calm down, Shu. A lousy essay's not the end of the world. There's going to be another recital at the end of term, anyway." Hiiro's hands were firmly planted on Shuichi's shoulders, anticipating an explosion.
On que, Shuichi wriggled free and began flailing his arms wildly, anger and frustration boiling over.
"THAT'S NOT THE POINT AND YOU KNOW IT!!!"
Taking a few deep breaths, be suddenly sobered, his eyes holding back tears which threatened to spill over.
"This recital was going to be *it* for us, Hiiro! It's been advertised, three schools are participating, and who knows what kind of talent scouts or agents might be there?! This was our shot to prove to everyone, to our teachers, to our parents, to the WORLD, how good our music is!! I mean, once those record company guys see us, neither of us will have to worry about getting respectable jobs, right?"
Hiiro was startled by the emotion in Shuichi's usually whiny voice. *This* was the Shuichi that others rarely got to see, the one behind the genki front, the one who was visible only when he sang.
"This is going to happen for us, right Hiiro? It's got to, I've got to be good at something..."
Regaining a hold on Shuichi, Hiiro drew him into a quick embrace. "You are, baka! This is just another little bump in the road, right?"
Shuichi sniffled, and wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. "No, Hiiro! It's too much, this time! It's been just one "little bump" after another, stretching back since we were kids, you know? Like the time I got tonsilitis and couldn't sing for six weeks, or you fell out of that tree and broke your fingers..."
"Shu, that was ten years ago..."
"...or the time when my mom grounded me and we couldn't practice for a month, or when your sister snipped your guitar strings..."
"Water under the bridge, right?"
"...or like when you quit the band and ran off after some girl, leaving me here to wallow in self pity, drowning my sorrows in the bottle, wasting away my youth and beauty..."
"Shu, that hasn't happened yet!" Laughing, Hiiro cuffed Shuichi on the back of the head. As depressed as he ever got, nothing could keep the redhead from being silly for too long.
"The point, Hiiro, is that our luck freakin' stinks! When can we ever get a break? I'm going to go crazy sitting around in this school!!"
Hiiro thought on that for a minute. "Well, maybe...as much as I don't like to say it, Shuichi, maybe fate is trying to tell us something about our music."
After a second of mutual silence, Shuichi suddenly leapt up, right arm extended victoriously. "Hiiro, that's it!"
"What's it? The unconquerable Shindou Shuichi, budding J-pop idol, wants to quit?"
"No, you dumb baka! 'Bad Luck!' The name of our band!"
"You're hopeless, you know?" Hiiro laughed as he considered the depressingly appropriate name before flashing Shuichi a smile. "Sure, why not?" Reaching inside Shuichi's bag, he grabbed the ever-present box of strawberry pockey, tossing a stick at Shuichi and raising his own high in the air. "A toast! To 'Bad Luck!'"
"To 'Bad Luck'...and to Uesugi-sensei, choking on his own self-righteousness!" Shuichi cried. Scarfing down his pockey, he mumbled with his mouth full, "Who does he think he is, anyway? Fifteen pages!!"
"Erm...the teacher?"
"Yeah, he's the *teacher,* not a god. I'm going to set him straight!!!"
"Shuichi! You can't just go barging into the man's house...." Hiiro found himself talking to an empty room, sheets of paper flittering to the floor after having been swept up in the wind left by the rush of Shuichi's feet storming out of the rehearsal room.
"Baka."
***
*drip*
...........
*drip*
...........
*drip*
Eiri sighed into the silence of his dark apartment, counting the intervals between the drips leaking from the kitchen faucet. He lay on this back on the black couch, an ashtray sitting on his chest and can of beer sitting on the floor within reach. Inhaling deeply and closing his eyes, he relished in the feeling of the nicotine spreading throughout his body, giving him a mild rush and mingling with the alcohol to dull his senses.
The apartment was new, and already had a stale smell from the lack of circulation and the constant smoke which rose from Eiri's cigarettes. The only room which looked lived-in at all was his office which was littered with a mess of scattered papers, while the rest of the place was Spartan in decoration; his refrigerator contained a six-pack of Budweiser and not much else; the boxes from his move largely unpacked and collecting dust.
He sighed as his mind strayed to the unfinished manuscript stored away on his laptop. Well, the hastily assembled half-manuscript, anyway. It was all planned out, waiting for his hand to finish the work. It would be a great story, an inspirational tale of struggle, pain, and of course, love.
Eiri laughed into the silence. Struggle and pain were two things with which he was well acquainted, growing up in a rigid household and forever trying to mold himself to someone else's image. But love? While he knew that had strong connections to his family, especially his younger sister and brother, what he knew about actual romantic love wouldn't fill a page, and it was perhaps for this reason that his work remained locked away on his hard drive and in his heart, not fully realized and not shared with anyone.
Of course, there was the more pressing reason:
//"A writer?! The only way you're leaving here, Eiri, is if I can be assured that you will pursue something practical. I will not have my oldest son and heir running half-cocked around the world drinking and indulging in fruitless dreams!"//
A secondary-school Japanese teacher seemed practical enough for his father, so a temporary loan and a blessing later, here he was in Tokyo, free for the first time in his life and completely miserable.
Well, not completely. Writing was the only thing he really gave a damn about, anyway, so taking the job as a literature professor was bearable, even if he was less than passionate about it. In truth, he couldn't really care less about the little shits he had to baby-sit all day, but it paid the bills, kept him fed, and kept him away from his father and that damned temple.
Good enough.
Lighting up his fourth cigarette in a row, Eiri found his mind wandering back to that morning, and the flightly boy with the red hair. Reaching over to the briefcase on the coffee table and withdrawing the well-worn notebook, he absentmindedly flipped through the pages, skimming over doodles, half-written phrases and cliche rhymes, settling on the characters hastily written on the final page:
/Smoke swirling around golden hair
and passing through your full lips.
Voice with a raw edge
passing judgement and professing art.
Eyes bright like the sun
golden orbs filled with fire,
warm beauty and cold passion,
transparency betraying your detachment.
Your energy I can't explain;
this longing to touch I can't understand.
If seeing you is a dream
I don't want to wake up.../
The simple words, though stylistically trite, unnerved Eiri to the core.
Was this what that boy really saw when he looked at him? "Eyes bright like the sun?" "Warm beauty and cold passion?" "Transparency?" Eiri snorted and let the notebook fall from his hands onto the floor. He was neither beautiful nor passionate, and no one had *ever* claimed to be able to see past his icy masks which he himself ensured were always firmly set in place. Just who was this kid, anyway? And why on earth did he want to "touch" him?
For the briefest of moments flashes crossed Eiri's mind of that skinny teenager's hands running over his back, of those wide purply eyes staring up at him and bubblegum pink lips crying his name, of limbs entangled and finger's twined in each other's hair...
Eiri didn't have much time to consider this momentary flash of seeming insanity, however, as his thoughts were sharply interrupted by the insistent buzzing of the doorbell. Cursing, Eiri stubbed out his cigarette, lifted the ashtray off his chest, and got off the couch for the first time in three hours. Padding across the hardwood floor barefoot, Eiri shook his head to clear his thoughts and wondered who the hell was disturbing him this late - after all, he was new in town, and hadn't exactly made any friends. In fact, he'd barely met anyone, save his colleagues at school and next-door neighbor, an elderly lady who smelled of cats and mothballs.
Pressing the intercom button, he was greeted with the last voice he expected to hear: "Uesugi-sensei? This is Shindou Shuichi. May I please come in?" The voice was harsh and urgent, and something instinctively told Eiri that if he were to refuse, he would be treated to repeated buzzings of the doorbell all night.
"Hai. Apartment 658."
As Eiri took stock of the situation and glanced quickly around the flat, he felt himself more than mildly irritated: after all, he was in no mood to entertain, especially not a pesky talentless red-haired punk. For starters, it was after 10:00 pm, and he was clad in his usual home clothes: loose grey sweat pants, a large but comfortable blue button-down shirt that he'd had forever, and no shoes. His hair was messy from lounging around on his sofa, and he was wearing his thick reading glasses, not his contacts. Well, on the bright side, he thought, perhaps this Shindou Shuichi would stop thinking he was "beautiful."
As for Shuichi, he couldn't care less what he looked like after clamoring half-way across town: pure anger propelled him up the stairwell, his feet pounding fast on the stairs and the blood pumping hard in his veins. Rounding the corner on the six floor and coming to a racing halt in front of 658, he reached up and pounded on the door.
A long moment later, the door slowly opened, revealing a very cranky-looking Uesugi Eiri.
"What do you want?"
Breathless from running up the six flights of stairs, the boy glared up at Eiri, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, anger clear on his face. Decorum was forgotten as he gazed up into the eyes of the man who had humiliated him and threatened to come between himself and the one thing that gave his life any focus.
"I want to know what right you have, *sensei,* to take my music away from me."
//What the hell was with this kid?// His gold eyes
boring into Shuichi's with a glare that could kill, Eiri answered in a cold
voice that was anything but inviting. "I should have
known. Get in here before you wake the neighbors."
***
Shuichi was pissed off.
After rudely being hauled into the apartment and deposited on the couch, he was ignored by his "host" until a cup of horrible lukewarm tea was thrust into his hands. His question ignored, Eiri had returned to the kitchen and proceeded to down a beer while waiting for the boy to calm down. Standing in the kitchen, Eiri called out to his "guest" in the living room: "The tea good?, in a tone that implied he couldn't care less how the hastily prepared tea was.
Rudely slamming down his mug next to the ashtray, Shuichi replied, "Fine. Now where is it?"
"What, this?" Casually, Eiri walked over to the coffee table, snatched up the book, and waved it in the air, flipping through the pages and ignoring the veins which pulsed dangerously on the boy's face.
"Yes, that!"
"Rather interesting subject matter, isn't it?"
Shuichi flushed as red as his hair, and suddenly found the pile of beer cans on the floor fascinating. "Um...yeah."
"Is this supposed to be me?" Eiri stopped his pacing and stood over the boy, his tone deadly.
"..."
"It is. You wrote this crap love song after watching me yell at the dimwits in class and have a smoke. In case you hadn't noticed, baka, I'm a man."
Against all probability, Shuichi flushed even brighter. "I...I noticed."
After a moment's silence, Eiri sat down in the grey armchair opposite his student. "What do you want, Shindou-san?"
Plucking up whatever courage he had, Shuichi took a deep breath and plunged ahead. He tore his eyes away from the beer cans and looked up at his sensei, determined to not be afraid of the vicious tone and the boiling eyes. "It's Shuichi! And what I want is pretty simple: you."
Genuinely surprised, Eiri managed, "Excuse me?"
Emboldened, Shuichi continued, now transfixed, and reminded of the feeling which had come over himself the moment he first spied Uesugi Eiri. "There's something about you. I want...I want to look at you, to talk to you, to know you...I want you to be my song."
Slighly intrigued and determined not to show it, Eiri slowly replied, "Why should I help you?"
Looking around the Spartan apartment, Shuichi had a ready answer: "Look at this place! Where's the color, the life? You need me, Uesugi-san. You need my music. And I need you."
The more familiar honorific wasn't lost on Eiri's ears, the loss of the term "sensei" representing a wall that was rapidly crumbling. What was more unnerving, however, was the final admission // "I need you."//
"I need your pathetic attempts to grate out a song about as much as a hole in the head." //And I certainly hope you don't need me...dumb kid...//
Shuichi stood up and made for the door, the man's harsh words piercing him like a knife. Unwilling to admit defeat, however, he turned and faced the older man, presenting the challenge that he was sure not to lose: "Listen to me sing. Don't give me this assignment, and come to the recital. After that, if you still think that I'm wasting my time, I'll write you fifty pages about that book."
From his position in the armchair, all Eiri could do was nod slightly in acquiescence as his student stared him down and confidently marched out the door. The rattle of the door on its hinges after Shindou had slammed it echoed in Eiri's ears as the silence of the empty apartment descended upon him once again. As he reached for his cigarettes and ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, he could only think one thing: what on earth had he gotten himself into?
Walking back to his parent's house, Shuichi paused and looked back to the sixth-story window and made a solemn vow: "I'll prove myself to you, Uesugi Eiri."
~~~,~`~@