It was certainly the furthest thing from my mind a few days later, as I worked my way through traffic on my way home. I wasn't getting anywhere fast, a sure sign I'd spent too much time with that woman...Minako? Misako? Mitsuko? No, wait, her name was Yuri. She hosted some television show Mizuki had coerced me into doing that afternoon. I'd told her, on-camera and to her face, that I didn't think love was a necessary emotion. (Mizuki almost went into convulsions in the audience. Now that's entertainment.) Nevertheless, she asked me out for drinks, and I accepted. She was very attractive, and I was giving myself a couple weeks' break before I started my next book.
Everyone should have a hobby.
Foolishly, I hadn't realized the woman would talk so much. I don't think there were more than five or six minutes altogether when she stopped talking. Despite that, all it took was a couple of drinks and a couple of smiles, and surprise—we ended up in her bed. Evidently, we spent longer there than I'd intended. Must have been all that talking.
About the time she started chattering about how her friends would just die to hear that she'd "been intimate" (ha) with Yuki Eiri, I noticed the clock. Damn. It was raining outside her over-decorated little apartment, too. Double damn. I excused myself rather abruptly, and she pressed an umbrella and her number on me, then stood at her door blowing kisses. I'd decided she was annoying, so I tossed her number into the first trash can in the lobby of her apartment building. I kept the umbrella. It was raining.
The rain didn't help traffic in the least. Haven't these people heard there are too many cars in Japan? I flipped between radio channels before settling on my favorite song: silence. With the radio off, I could hear the flat staccato of raindrops on the car roof. It was a good thing I'd taken the Mercedes today; I didn't really fancy being in a convertible in a rainstorm. Perhaps it's a little odd, but I like to have more than canvas over my head when the sky starts throwing things.
Lovely, just lovely. My fingers drummed on the steering wheel, mimicking the rain's rhythm overhead. Just as there had been a break in the traffic, I came up against a red light. Pedestrians streamed across the pavement, filling in what had been beautiful, empty space. There seemed to be no end to them. I could feel myself begin to tense, undoing all that...relaxing I'd done with what's-her-name. I narrowed my eyes as the light turned green and people continued to make their merry little way across. Hmm, there're women out there. Running over a reader would probably be a bad thing.
The moment the way was clear, I gunned it, ignoring the squeal of protest the tires made against the sodden asphalt. I likewise ignored the squeal of the straggling pedestrians who got splashed when the wheels spun. As far as I know, there's no law against vehicular passive-aggressiveness. Reasonably satisfied with that small triumph, I shook my head, easing the tightness in my neck and banishing the threats of a headache that were creeping up on me. I'd be home soon enough, making coffee and having a smoke.
When I turned back to the road, there was someone standing right in the middle of it. In my lane.
I swerved. The wheels locked momentarily, sending the car skidding at an angle. I probably swore, but it's hard to say for certain. I did hear people screaming, and most of all, I heard whoever was in the street yelling something demented. It was a remarkably loud voice.
The car shuddered to a stop, narrowly missing several others. I wrenched the door open and got out, glaring at the idiot in the road. That's when it occurred to me that it was an idiot I'd seen before. His arms were outflung dramatically, and the expression on his face told me it was no accident he'd jumped in front of my car. For the love of every last damn little fish in the ocean, it's that kid from the park.
I went from 0 to Migraine in about .2 seconds.
Almost a minute passed while he stared at me and I glared back, getting my voice under control. "Get someone else to help you commit suicide, jackass," I said icily. There was a lot more I could have said, but the near-crash had stopped traffic and drawn the attention of just about everyone on the block. Once it became apparent there wasn't going to be fatalities, or at least yelling, people started honking their horns and shouting for us to get out of the way.
The stupid brat still hadn't said anything. I gritted my teeth. The rain still hadn't let up, and it was soaking all the way through both jacket and shirt. "Just get in the damn car, okay?"
He stayed mercifully quiet during the drive, but by the time I pulled into the garage, my head was throbbing and just his breathing was getting on my nerves. I got out and stalked off to my building without even looking at him. I didn't want to, and I didn't have to. The little pest followed me all the way into the apartment anyway. I guess his parents never told him not to get in cars with strangers. Maybe it's because he's such an irritating child.
First things first. I left him dripping all over my living room and went to shuck off the wet, clammy shirt, snagging another indiscriminately. While I pulled it on, I grabbed a towel...and as an afterthought, a second one. This I chucked at him on my way through to the kitchen, before he could do permanent damage to the hardwood floor. In the kitchen, I lit a cigarette and decided that my headache demanded beer, not coffee.
Then, and only then, did I return to confront the little problem that had followed me home. Before I could start to berate him for his stupidity, he had the absolute nerve to ask me what I had against him.
"What do you think? You tried to smear yourself all over the bumper of my precious Mercedes," I retorted.
"Not that...er..." he said coherently. I arched one eyebrow, and he rushed on. " That's understandable. I mean the other night, in the park." He hadn't applied the towel properly and was still dripping, and that look was back in his eyes. That dumb puppy look. I guess it was strangely appropriate—he had made a puddle on the floor.
I sipped at my beer, pretending to think it over, then gave him my patented blank stare. "What are you yapping about?"
The effect this tactic had on him was very enjoyable. To me, that is. It was only fair, really, considering how much trouble he'd caused me that night. While he flailed around—literally...the kid has a penchant for melodrama—I took control of the conversation again.
"I think you ought to tell me what the hell you were playing at tonight. Were you trying to kill yourself? Or were you just trying to get my attention with your loser tactics?"
He flailed more wildly. "I'm not a loser! I'm Shuichi Shindou! Shuichi Shindou!"
Yes, because that means a lot to me. I shrugged off his outburst, trying not to wince as his voice clawed at my eardrums. I was going to need a lot more beer if this was going to go on much longer. A handy liter or so would be favorite. "Whatever. Loser, Shuichi. Shuichi, loser." As I flicked ash from the end of my cigarette, I see-sawed my hand in the new international sign for "you say 'potato'..." before taking another drag, elaborately long. "You still haven't answered my question."
"I-I just wanted to see you again!"
That was not the answer I was expecting. Clearly, this kid was nuts. He was blushing now, until his face was in the same color family as his hair. His hair was pink. It should say a lot that at that moment, that struck me as being one of his smallest issues. "You really are pathetic," I said, keeping my voice somewhere between off-handed and scathing for maximum effect. "Poor, poor pitiful pop star."
He actually jumped. Then the flailing resumed. What is this kid on? Methamphetamines with a rocket fuel chaser? I studied my nails while he spluttered. "B-b-but you...you said...you said..."
At that rate, it was going to take him all night to get the full sentence out. I realized I wanted him out of my apartment much sooner than that. As in, immediately.
"I lied, you moron. Believe me, I've tried very hard to get your crappy lyrics out of my head, but then my memory wakes up screaming. They were so awful that they're classifiable as a transmittable disease." I could see him gearing up to interrupt, but that just wasn't going to happen. "You should be ashamed of inflicting them upon the world. You have less than zero talent. Trust me."
He was getting all teary by now. I might have felt guilty about it if I hadn't had a headache. But then again, a lot of women have tried that on me and it didn't work, so why should it work from some snot-nosed brat I was trying to get rid of?
"Get out of my apartment and go home. And I'm telling you now, if you ever get in front of my car again... I'll run you down."
I opened the front door pointedly, and he ran out sobbing. Damn kid. I closed and locked it after him, then went to get another beer. Harsh? Yes, but I didn't have time for that kind of crap. Anyway, that ought to do it.
No one would possibly come back after a speech like that, right?
They just wouldn't...right?
A/N: I know, I know. Yuki's a jerk, and you've seen all this before. I guess what I'm trying to do here is provide a possible mental map. We see a lot of the early encounters through Shuichi's POV and conversations, and Yuki's just this incomprehensible scary guy. I wanted to explore how and why he went from that to smiling when Shuichi does his "Yuki is miiiine!" thing. Anyway. Feedback is, as always, very much appreciated. Thanks for reading. :)