So far Yuki has it by a landslide. I will keep track of all votes for another two chapters. Thanks for all of the reviews. The more you review the faster I will update.
Chapter 4
Yuki
He put the bottle back down and stared at the half-drained, amber liquid in his glass. Why did it matter to him? Why did he hate the admiration he saw written in Shuichi's eyes? Because he didn't want it…..No, it was that he didn't deserve it. Couldn't the boy see that he could never be the type of man to really love anyone?
but it was handy at the moment. It took the edge off just enough that he could write.
After succeeding in getting two pages written to his standards, he walked into the bedroom and stripped off his clothes. For his whole life, Yuki had been more comfortable naked than clothed. He wasn't much of an exhibitionist--he preferred to be alone and naked. Strolling across the room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was the epitome of the long and lithe model build. His blond hair fell carelessly over his light eyes, and his lips held a mocking smile. Women loved him, and so did certain men. Yuki had his choice of one-night-stands. His sex life had never been anything less than spectacular. Why did he want Shuichi so badly?
He showered and threw on a robe. How pathetic was it that he couldn't stop thinking about it? He really needed to get laid.
New York had more than enough clubs to choose from, no matter what you were looking for. Yuki wasn't particularly interested in the over-crowded, obnoxiously loud, drunken masses. He tended to frequent the more upscale jazz clubs where the clientele and the atmosphere were a bit more refined. If there was anything that disgusted him, it was cheap women.
Right away, he spotted a brunette in an expensive black dress. She had a Mediterranean look to her, and smiled slyly at him. Flagging down a waiter, he sent a glass of champagne to her. She gave him a gracious nod. That was his que to make his move. He was no stranger to this sort of thing, and obviously neither was she. A drink later, he found out that her name was Arianna. Two hours later, he was in her bed. The next morning, he was back in his car driving home. By noon, he'd forgotten his name. Someone else was still on his mind.
Shuichi
"I don't know if I'm ready," he told Hiro. He bit his lip nervously, and looked down at the half finished song before him.
Hiro rolled his eyes. "We sound great! Ryuichi has really clicked with us, and your songs are awesome. What more do you want to wait for? Shuichi, I know how hard this is for you, but it's time. If you really don't want to do this, tell me now. If you do, it's time to prove it."
You don't know how hard this is, Shuichi thought. He'd never say something like that to Hiro. They'd been through everything together, and Hiro really did understand him as much as anyone could. Everything Hiro had said was true. They were ready for a concert. Shuichi's hands felt shaky. "Let's do it."
Hiro smiled. "I am going to make a few calls, and see if I can find us a gig. Ryuichi should be here in an hour or so. I'll be back by then."
Shuichi leaned back against the wall. They didn't even have a show yet, and he was already nervous. This would be the first time he would be in the background. He kept having to remind himself that he wasn't the front man for Bad Luck anymore. Jealousy welled up in him. He remembered the rush he used to get from performing. It was like a drug that he couldn't get enough of, and even six years later his body still cried out for it. More than anything, he craved the euphoria that came when people were listening to HIS voice. It was a giant circle; the crowd fed off the band, and vice versa. Would it be the same? A little voice inside of him whispered "no." Nothing had been the same since he woke up in the hospital after his surgery.
Feeling numb, Shuichi went into the bedroom and pulled a box from under the bed. Hiro didn't even know about this. It was his little secret. He rifled through the contents until he found a CD. They had made it when they were first trying to get big. At that point, they had enough local support that they seriously started to put themselves on the market. Part of that was recording a demo disk. He put it in the player and turned it on loud. Closing his eyes, he let the sound take over. The sound of his voice. He mouthed the words as it played completely lost in the memory of what it had been like to sing.
The whisper that dissolves into the bustling crowd
makes the memories scattered underfoot blur together.
The blazing of the street where I walk about lost (glaring one way)
illuminates me as coldly as though it freezes.
The cold times make dreams fall like rain and slip through my hands.
When I woke up from the countless wishes, you are reflected in a shimmering
illusion --
the silhouette whose faint smile leads me along.
Even if the gentleness that tells about only what makes anxiety flow
had fulfilled eternity, I still don't want tomorrow.
The words that I have to give to you are (it's talk to myself)
falling into an everyday routine, even without shadows.
With a trembling finger, I gather up the dreams; without even breathing
on them, they're crumbling.
Even the certain things are too unreliable; if I believe in something, can
I be with you again?
It's whitely vanishing, the silhouette of that day.
Looking up at that palely-dyed season (Life Winter Dream)
I, who stopped to stand still, am swept away.
The wind blows it out, makes it be left behind; even the yearning is growing
numb from the cold in my heart.
The cold times drift about in dreams, but are caught and held in your hands.
When I woke up from the countless wishes, you are reflected in a shimmering
illusion --
the silhouette whose faint smile leads me along.
Tears rolled down his cheeks as it all rushed back to him. How could God be so cruel? He had never really wanted anything but to sing. Part of him hated Ryuichi for being able to do the one thing that he would do anything for. He wasn't sure if he was strong enough to do this anymore. There had been a time when he had thought that he was ready to take another shot at being a star, but what did it matter if he couldn't really get what he wanted?
"Shuichi! Where are you?"
Shuichi hurried to wipe away his tears just as the brown haired boy came into the room. His signature pink bunny was hanging out of his backpack.
Hiro
Hiro ran a hand through his long red hair. He hadn't expected it to be this easy to find something. A friend of his had told him to go see a club owner that he knew, and as luck would have it, the guy was looking for a fill in band for this Saturday. It was sudden, but he knew they could do it. Besides, it was a small venue and it would get Shuichi back into the swing of things.
Despite what Shuichi might think, Hiro did know how hard this was for him. Even the thought of not being able to play guitar again made him tense up. He knew what it was to live a dream, and that was why he couldn't let Shuichi give up. Not again. Not now, after he had shown the first signs of real life since it happened. Sure he'd acted like he was back to "normal," but normal Shuichi was a musician through and through. When he'd started writing songs again, Hiro had promised himself that he would help Shuichi through it. And he wasn't against giving his friend a kick in the ass to get him moving. This was the first step on a long road. He had to admit, when Shuichi ran out of the café, he'd lost a little of his faith in his friend. Now, he still wasn't sure why he left, but he knew that Shuichi still wanted this. He hadn't been lying when he told him that it was time to make their move.
Putting on his helmet, he got on his motorcycle. Rush hour traffic was heavier than usual and he knew he was going to be late.
Ryuichi
He watched Shuichi from the corner of his eye as he played with Kumagoro. It didn't take a genius to know that Shu had been crying. The boy's eyes were still red and puffy from it. On the way up, he had heard music coming from his apartment. It wasn't anything he recognized, but it was amazing. Putting two and two together, the logical explanation was that he had been listening to the old Bad Luck songs. Ryuichi would admit to being crazy, not stupid.
He smiled widely, and pulled crayons from his bag. Stealing Shuichi's pad, he began to draw bright happy pictures. He waited for Shuichi to join in. At first, the pink haired boy just looked at him, but then he gave what could best be described as a silent laugh, and picked up a blue crayon. For the moment, they were both lost in childish fantasy, and it was enough. Ryuichi wondered if this was the way things could be between them forever. Part of him hoped it could be. He'd finally found someone who understood his brand of escapism.
