a/n: I still don't know what the point of this story is. xD In any case, this chapter is longer (oops) and things get dramatic and angsty.

Chapter 4

Wow. Wow is the only word for it. I've never heard anything like it before. The arrangement is brilliant and contemporary, but still so appealing...there is no mistake—Suguru Fujisaki is a genius. This song is amazing!

"Eh," I smile faintly and lean back, folding my arms in boredom. "It's okay, I guess."

Suguru looks at me with a very baffled expression, questions in his eyes. I shrug nonchalantly and close my eyes, pretending to nap, and I hear him push away from his keyboard with an aggravated huff, leaving the room. Now I open my eyes and grin genuinely.

"Just kidding, Suguru!" I call after him with a laugh. "It's great, so get your huffy ass back here!"

I look to the side and notice Sakano peering at me curiously.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Nakano?" He asks. "You seem a bit out of sorts."

Out of sorts, huh? How am I supposed to know? I guess people really do notice less about themselves than anyone else.

"Nope. I'm fine." I smile reassuringly.

He nods with a needlessly serious expression and returns to whatever he was doing. Suguru walks in at that moment, looking a little irked, but he'll be alright. Now, though, I notice Shuichi is sitting in the corner of the studio, an oddly funny air of melodrama around him.

My heart jumped a bit. I wonder what Yuki told him...

Stop! Damn! It's despicable; I'm getting more and more selfish by the moment. Will I even be able to hold back these shameful feelings when it comes down to it? God, give me strength. I grit my teeth.

"Shuichi," I call. "Can you sing today?"

He turns his head slowly to look over his shoulder at me. He looks like crap, but I don't worry about it too much—he tends to overreact when a situation isn't grave. I only get concerned when he's trying to fake happiness; that's when it's serious.

"Uuuhhuuhuuuuuhuhu." He groans under his breath, watching me with bloodshot eyes as if I might attack him or something. Really, Shuichi, quit acting so juvenile.

"Guess that's a no?" I stare at him indifferently, but he persists with his crocodile tears. I might seem cold, but this type of thing happens so often that the only way to remain sane is to half-way ignore it. I am starting to get curious, though. What happened?

"What happened this time?" Suguru asks my question for me, looking even more peeved than when I was teasing him. The kid glares at Shuichi. Little emo man just turns his head back to the wall and moans loudly.

"HEY!" K bursts into the studio and shoots thrice at the wall, each hitting dangerously close to Shuichi's head, but he isn't remotely fazed. "Shindo, this is no time to cry! Start recording, NOW!" He grins insanely and now aims his gun straight at Shuichi's head. "The media is starting to lose interest in you! That's bad luck!"

"ARGH!" Shuichi finally throws himself away from the corner and grips K's ankles, sobbing loudly. "EIRIIIII!"

"YOUR BAD PUNS ARE JUST MAKING THIS WORSE!" Suguru cries out in agony, rounding his eyes at K and clutching his own head for emphasis. "God...Hiroshi!" He turns to me angrily, for some reason. "Make them stop!"

"Uh...?" I scratch my head dumbly and watch as K cocks his gun at Shuichi, who clings onto him tighter. "Guys, cool it!" I take a step forward, but I'm thrown to the ground by a large weight.

I don't even bother with expletives; I just groan into the floor, where my face has conveniently planted itself. I push the weight off of me—it looks like Sakano fainted from overexertion or something, I mean, really—and notice that K seems to have kicked Shuichi's face and gone away, cackling. Suguru is just leaning his forehead against the far wall, mumbling to himself crossly, and Shuichi has recessed to light sniffling. It occurs to me that we don't even know what's wrong with him yet, except that it has something to do with Yuki.

Maybe I really should have gone to medical school.

Just kidding, just kidding...that story's old news, and besides, there's already enough drama in Shuichi's life as it is...

I wish I could say I'm not living my life for him, but what the hell? At this point, that would probably be a lie!

...(nieve)...

"Alright. Calm down and tell me what's up."

The time is 7:34 in the evening; the setting is Hiroshi Nakano's forsaken apartment, in the darkest district of Cityopolis City, Japan. A storm rolls in the distance; there are the usual neighborhood skives creeping about in the gloomy urban streets, but nobody comes to this apartment; they never do. Everyone knows the darkest corner of this hell hole is right where our tormented heroes sit, staring solemnly at each other. Nakano pulls out a Cuban cigar and offers it to his companion, who politely declines. They begin their shady negotiations with grave faces as the torrent pours on...

Okay, okay, forgive the hell out of me for trying to be funny. Jeez...

"Eiri!" Shuichi moans, lying like a beaten-up doll near where I sit, cross-legged, on my floor. Mental note to dig out vacuum tomorrow. "Eireee-eee-eee."

"So I've heard," I sigh, biting back an annoyed look as I try my best to be compassionate. It's for Shuichi...it's for Shuichi...

He crawls closer and looks up at me, anguished.

"He left me!"

Oh, man.

"Shuichi," I say softly, acting decidedly more sympathetic as I try not to overreact to this news. "Shuichi, it's okay. He's not worth-"

"AW, HIROO!" He knocks me back by throwing himself against my chest with a loud sob. "HE'S GONE! HE LEFT WITHOUT TELLING ME! WAAH!"

Okay, we'll get through this. I know exactly how to fix this...don't worry...uh...

Auh! What the hell am I supposed to say?

Crap. Ah, uh...damn it...my heart rate just hit Mach 68...

"It's alright, man...it's..." As it happens, the more my heart slams at my chest, the softer my voice gets. I didn't even realize my arms had snaked around his back, but hey, I'm just fine holding him like this. "...gonna be alright..." My voice falls back to a breathy whisper.

His sobbing calms and he grips tightly at my chest, sighing dejectedly.

"Hiro...what if...what if he really doesn't love me?"

Okay. Way to draw an entirely overdue conclusion. It's okay, though, I'll be understanding; I skip the sarcasm and remove one arm from his back to steady myself on the floor. With a low, deep breath, and having regained my balance, I lift that hand, ready to set it gently on his head...

"I mean, to not tell me and-and just leave to see his dad for a whole week..."

...and I freeze.

"Oh...Oh." I set my hand back on the floor with a little thump, suddenly feeling thrown. "It's not really so bad..."

I AM SUCH AN IDIOT!

Here lies Hiroshi Nakano, the official brainless optimist of the century. I can't believe I thought...I actually thought...

God, if you exist...you must REALLY love screwing with me!

Ay. Ay.

Okay, calm down...this misunderstanding was mine, and only mine...sorry about that, God...I'm good now. I'll be fine.

I'll be fine.

"Shuichi," I speak, far more steadily, and hold him still—more like a friend would, and not a lover—while he groans, finally tired of bawling. "It's only a week. He'll be back, like always." Jeez, I'm practically rubbing it in my own face. Maybe I've become masochistic, myself—but no, that's not likely. This feeling in my chest...it hurts. It really freaking hurts. I sure as hell don't like it, and I don't think I ever will.

"Mmmf." He seems to have decided that pining time is over, and he gently pulls himself out of my arms and sits back, smiling and sniffling one last time. He looks up at me gratefully. "Thanks, Hiro. I...I was pretty much acting like an idiot, huh?" He laughs despite himself and I smile half-heartedly.

"Pretty much, yeah." My smile widens for him, even though I currently feel like the neighborhood shit pile. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

"I won't!" He beams, and I am simply in awe at his ability to recover. Small part of me wants to believe that's because I was the one who comforted him, but what would that mean? Nothing, really. "I'm gonna shack up with you this week, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Okay." I go along with it pleasantly, suddenly too jaded to really get excited by the idea. I can just pretend we're in high school again; we're the same green, buoyant teens that started that garage band, back when all we felt for each other was the best kind of adoration there is: platonic.

"This is gonna be great! Like the good old days!" He jumps up, acting maybe just a bit too happy and disrespecting the sullen mood that the fierce thunderstorm outside had given this place. I watch him dancing about, bizarrely cheerful, and suddenly, he falls dramatically to his knees. Shoot me if you will, but I didn't even blink an eye at him. What's wrong with me?

"Eiri..." he whispers tenderly, staring at the tersely at the ground, and I notice tears collecting in his eyes again. "I didn't get to ask...you...if you love me..."

I grunt and shake my head stiffly at Sir Bipolar, rubbing my index and middle fingers over my tired eyelids.

"Chill," I say as soothingly as I can, but I think the bitterness was apparent in my tone. "You'll get your chance, bud."

"Ahhh." He sits up and looks at me pitiably. It's like a stab in my gut. "Sorry, sorry." He quickly rubs his tears away. "I've gotta learn to control that..." He laughs shortly. "Don't worry, Hiro, I'm great now." He tried to act casual, but I bore the real weight of those words anyway.

My perceptiveness: one thing I've really begun to hate about myself. That and the fact that I'm not Eiri Yuki.

Eiri Yuki.

Asshole.

"Really, Shuichi." Suddenly, I felt a weight like a stone drop in my gut, and I know this will not end well. It must be adrenaline, I think, as I scoot closer to him with a frown I imagine is scarily intense. "You'll be fine."

Shuichi looks a bit concerned—a bad sign?—but he doesn't glance away. He tries to smile, but I see it's shaky. "Y-yeah," he says softly, still eyeing me confusedly. "I know. Don't worry..."

No. Don't don't don't don't don't move—Crud, they moved, my damn hands. They came up on their own—I swear—and planted themselves firmly on either side of his head, in his hair. Now, this is odd. He didn't stiffen, but he seemed to relax. Shuichi's eyes speak the question that he's apparently too uncomfortable to vocalize:

What are you doing, Hiro?

My hands shift to hold his head in a more natural position, and, before I know it, I'm speaking.

"And even if it doesn't..." I mumble so quietly that he unwittingly leans forward to hear me. "Even if it doesn't work out, and he doesn't love you..."

"Ehh...?" He blinks. The fool isn't even scared, he's just confused. Idiot. Idiot. You should run away now. You should be scared. Of me. Someone out there really does love to screw with me. As you would have it, I wasn't given one damn ounce of self control.

But, at least I've gotten an idea. This pain in my chest; the hurt that doesn't go away...I think I know what to do. I can't ignore it. I can't cast it away. I have to fight it.

"Shuichi." I almost wince. "No matter what, there is always someone who..."

...loves you. Loves you. Why can't I say it...? Because I'll sound like an idiot, because I'll lose face, because I feel like a serious ass admitting anything like that. Well, out loud, anyway.

Because apparently I have no problem kissing him.

The idiot that I am.

"Umm..." Softly, and far too kindly than deserved, Shuichi pulls away from me. He looks confused...so confused. "Hiro, I don't really get it, but..." Finally, he looks away from me and slowly stands. "I...I'm just gonna stay at home, okay? ...Bye..."

Our eyes meet for an instant and I lower my head into my hands with a weak nod.

I don't even pay attention as he walks carefully away; I don't hear the hiss of the heavy rainfall as the door opens, not the click of the door shutting, nor the sound of him breaking into a run when it does. All I can hear is the cruel, soft noise of our lips separating; all I can see is that immensely pained stare...and suddenly I'm the greatest asshole alive.

By the way...my theory? About fighting the pain?

It didn't go away. It got worse.

a/n: I'm a big angstwinner, aren't I...?