Infraction
"Eiri-san," Tohma breathed in numb surprise. His brother-in-law rarely stopped by unless Mike forced him to, but here he stood.
Yuki took a final deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled through the corner of his mouth. "Mind if I come in?"
"Of course," Tohma said, stepping back and gesturing for Yuki to enter.
Yuki dropped his spent cigarette on the cement outside the doorway, ground it under his heel and stepped inside.
Tohma's condo was immaculately clean and always high style. Unlike Yuki's relatively blank and unadorned apartment, there were meaningful mementos, soulful paintings, and vivid colors all decorating Tohma's apartment. The man clearly used his living space to express himself. Maybe Yuki's drab décor was a reflection of himself as well.
Tohma received Yuki with placid good humor. He gestured to his plush, cream-colored couch, urging Yuki to make himself comfortable like the good host he was. Inwardly, the president's mind was abuzz with thought. He was delighted Yuki was here; that much was certain. He felt a dark thrill of relieved delight in knowing that Mika was gone for the weekend visiting family.
Something serious must have happened to jostle his brother enough into visiting him unannounced. This could be just the chance for him to lift Yuki back up and for the two of them to… draw closer that Tohma had been hoping for these past years. Yuki had delivered himself here like a package and they now had all the time and solitude Tohma craved to enjoy his company.
"Would you like something to eat?" Tohma asked. He already knew Yuki would decline, but he had to offer anyway. The author looked a little haggard today, like he could use something inside him.
"Do you have anything to drink?" Yuki asked instead. He took off his coat and dropped himself onto the couch. That wretched anxiety still clamped his chest like a vice and already his fingers twitched for another cigarette.
He reached into the pocket of his coat tossed over the sofa arm and reached past the pack of name-brand cigarettes for something more soothing. He put the half-tobacco spliff in his lips and lit it with steady fingers. He took a deep drag and settled deeper into the couch, waiting for the familiar buzz of chemical euphoria to take the edge off his problems.
Tohma returned with two glasses of scotch on the rocks. He knew without having to ask what drinks Yuki preferred. He saw the thin haze of smoke hanging in front of Yuki's face, smelled the mellow undercurrent, sweeter than tobacco alone. He frowned slightly, but said nothing and placed a drink into Yuki's hand.
"You must be very pleased with your latest book," Tohma said brightly, settling on the couch next to Yuki. He felt his brother's body go tense when he chose to sit on the couch cushion immediately next to him rather than leaving a cushion-wide gap between them. Yuki was like some wounded wild animal that grew hostile with fear when someone drew near to help bandage him.
Yuki shrugged his feigned indifference, but not before Tohma noticed the change in his expression that told him the novel might have been something of a raw issue. He pressed further. "It's clearly your highest-selling and I can understand why. The story is addictive; your characters' emotions more visceral than ever before."
Yuki's face changed noticeably, but into something unidentifiable. It might have been suppressed happiness or discomfort. "You've read it already?" he asked quietly.
"Of course I did," Tohma said with a little laughter in his voice to show that it was a foolish question. "You know I've bought every one of your books on its first day of release. This one I couldn't put down. There's so much raw desperation in your characters, but more tenderness to temper it, too."
Yuki leaned forward to flick ash into the artistic ashtray on the coffee table in front of him. Even once all the ash had fallen from his hand-rolled cigarette, his thumb kept flicking the opposite end as if trying to shake more off. He took deep drink from his whiskey glass, setting the ice cubes clinking.
"If I didn't know your style so well, I might almost think it was a ghost writer; your novel was so different this time," Tohma said, "Maybe Shindou-san is becoming a more powerful influence in your writing?"
Tohma secretly felt that the violence and dark romance in Eiri's writing originally stemmed from the influence of Kitazawa Yuki that left Eiri's emotions in tatters. Betrayal, lust, anguish, and love all combined in Eiri's usual novels to form an intoxicating but poisonous story. This latest work was sweeter, but the emotions all the more razor-sharp and real at the same time, inspired by a different muse than the dead man whose name Tohma despised.
Yuki shrugged again. "It's not like I was writing to him, if that's what you mean," he said. Possibly a little defensive?
Tohma mulled this last statement over, believing just the opposite. Could it be that this was the issue that was bothering Yuki? Had that novel been a thinly-veiled autobiography of sorts? A 300-page love letter meant for Shuichi to read between the lines?
A sad smile crossed Tohma's face. He felt wistfully jealous that Yuki would never compose such a passionate message just for him. It advanced his certainty that Shuichi could never fulfill Yuki emotionally and intellectually the way Tohma could. The foolish child was blissfully unaware of the passionate love stories being composed subconsciously in his name. He was probably crying into a sake cup that very moment about Yuki's emotional detachment, ignorant that thousands of readers across the nation were reading a hidden message that was really written only for him.
"He didn't read it, did he?" Tohma asked quietly. "Shindou-san, I mean."
Yuki snorted his grim indignance. "That little blockhead wouldn't read so much as the instructions on an instant ramen package."
Tohma took a ginger sip of his liquor, then set it down as delicately as if he were in a formal tea ceremony. "Some people are just like that," he said gently, "Not the literary type. Rather than letting it frustrate you, you should learn to accept that it's just not the sort of person he is."
Yuki's expression flickered into darkness, confliction. For a moment, Tohma was sure that he was going to deny that Shuichi's disinterest bothered him. Instead, the author let Tohma's words sink in. He seemed to believe them because he looked more depressed than before.
"But what if that's important to me?" he asked in a quiet voice. He lifted his intense gaze to Tohma's eyes.
"If that type of interest and understanding are necessary for you in a relationship," Tohma began, choosing his words carefully, "Then it may be in your best interest to find someone you know could provide it." He ran his fingers through his hair, looking casual despite his pounding pulse. "I mean, it hardly seems fair to force expectations on Shindou-san that he can't meet. Like trying to force someone into a mold they just won't fit."
Yuki stubbed out the cigarette into the ashtray. Despite his obvious attempts to keep his expression aloof, Tohma's words clearly affected him with their harsh practicality. He wore the expression of a boy who had just been told that his beloved dog was sick beyond recovery and needed to be put down.
Tohma felt a shiver caress his spine like icy fingers. He had never felt so close to winning Yuki as he did in this moment. The author dangled on a precipice and Tohma subconsciously held his breath, waiting for the author to collapse into him.
Meanwhile, Yuki's mind raced in response to Tohma's words. How the hell did he do it? Somehow in the short time since he'd walked through the door, Tohma had already cut to the core of him. He somehow knew Yuki's mind better than he knew himself. He didn't waste words or play head games, but cut straight to the point. The man was brilliantly insightful, disquietingly so. Did that mean he was right? Was he better off looking for a new partner than forcing unrealistic expectations on Shuichi? Was it really as important to him as all that?
"Why don't you stay with me a while?" Tohma suggested gently. His voice was tender, supportive. "Just get away for a few days until you can sort things out, hmm?" He gently placed his arm around Yuki's shoulders, drawing his head gently towards him until the younger man's head lay cradled in the soft of his shoulder.
Warning chimes clanged in Yuki's head, suddenly feeling like a predator's victim rather than a psychologist's patient as he had a moment earlier. Whether Tohma was right about Shuichi being unable to change or not, it seemed obvious that he had been subtly suggesting himself as the alternative—the man who could fulfill Yuki's need for understanding. Tohma was brilliant, but perhaps not so subtle as he fancied himself. Or else he underestimated Yuki's ability to read him as well.
With his head still cradled on Tohma's chest, Yuki felt a sense of dark nostalgia mixed with his unease and confusion. Tohma's flat suddenly smelled like New York and he felt a woozy lightheadedness. His eyes dropped downward and he caught a glimpse of Tohma's thick erection tenting out the fabric of his expensive slacks. Yuki immediately felt he was going to be ill.
"I don't feel well," he said. He pushed out of the circle of Tohma's arms and stood abruptly. "I think I'll go back out. To think about what you said." The air in the room suddenly felt stifling, insufficient. He grabbed his coat and stalked towards the front door.
Tohma gaped after him, stunned. His body throbbed with frustration. What had gone wrong? How had things turned so quickly out of his favor? He groped for words even as Yuki's hand found the doorknob.
"Say hi to Mika for me," Yuki said, his words heavy with meaning. He wasn't the sort to idly drop messages of goodwill for his sister. More likely, he was striking out at Tohma with reminder that he was a married man, to his sister nonetheless.
Tohma finally got a word out, but the sound was deadened by the door slamming behind Yuki. He dropped his head into his hands, wondering where he'd gone wrong.
"Fuck."