Shooting Stars
Chapter Sixteen: In the Gray
Author's notes: …Yes, Tohma, you really do seem that broken :sighs: They say you always hurt the ones you love, and I love Tohma to a folly, so…
A few random things, while I remember them. I've had a few people ask me how K got rid of Tohma's murder charges :incredulous stare: …How does K get the authorization to carry around a bazooka when carrying a gun is illegal in Japan? How does he take over Disneyland and blow it up without repercussions?
…He's K, of course. What other answer could you possibly need?
Second, this chapter actually has some funny bits. It's been so long, the rabid fangirls of chapter fifteen notwithstanding… I actually like writing humor best! Is that hard to believe? I know most of you live exclusively for the angst and/or the fanservice… Well, there's plenty of that, too, some to think of it…
Finally, I just want to take this space to thank all of my amazing reviewers! I really don't mention you guys often enough, but I swear I am thinking about you all the time, and I still squeal every time a positive review shows up in my inbox. Not to mention my muses take reviewer suggestions. After all, this story wasn't supposed to have any Tohma/Ryuichi and look at this chapter! So review! Good things come of it! hinthint I have this dream of breaking 200 reviews by chapter seventeen…
Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation, and I don't think I own myself anymore, either. My friend Sam sold me recently for the impressive price of a hundred camels… :swears she's not high:
"It hasn't changed at all. I almost thought it would." I looked up at the mirrored ceiling of the elevator that was carrying me and Ryuichi-san up to the top floor of the Shinjin building. "Stupid; it's been less than a year." It was true, the familiar hallways and even the mirrored elevator hadn't changed. Neither had the friendly faces of those working in the lower offices, the security guards, or any of the other trappings. Only the artists we ran into were different. As a rule, fame wasn't a long-lived thing in Japan.
"I like that it doesn't change," Ryuichi-san said. "I haven't been here for a long time, either. If it had changed, maybe I would get lost." He accompanied this statement with a cheerful, childlike smile devoid of all shadows, a smile I answered almost painlessly.
I was steadier now. I had cried for what seemed like hours the night before, but after, when I was empty and devoid of feeling, Ryuichi-san had forced more than one cup of sake down my throat (where he had gotten it remained a mystery) and dragged me into the living room and onto the piano bench, commanding only, "Play."
At first, I didn't much see the point of this exercise. My head was not quite steady from the alcohol and the music had not returned, but Ryuichi-san kept staring at me until I put my hands on the piano, and then there was nothing for it but to play a note, and then another, and since he kept staring at me, yet another until they fell into the melody, old and familiar, of the first song I had written for Noriko-san. After a few moments, Ryuichi-san had sung along; it shocked me that he remembered the words, but he did. It wasn't his range, so after the first verse I modulated down so that he could sing along softly and comfortably, his eyes closed, as if remembering something.
"I locked my heart in silence
And threw away the key,
My eyes were cool and empty
And my mind was never free…"
After, it didn't seem so difficult to modulate into another song, mostly old ones, some that I thought I had forgotten, a few that had never made it past sketches created between myself and Noriko-san. Sometimes Ryuichi-san didn't know the lyrics, though his memory for things he had heard only once, even when he had never been called upon to sing them, was astounding. Mostly I wandered through melodies and years and he let me play whatever came to mind. There was a cup sitting on top of the piano, and I drank from it on occasion, even if I knew I probably shouldn't have any more.
Once I started, it was difficult to stop. I missed notes, sometimes runs, because my mind was fuzzy with sake, but it didn't seem to matter. After a while, I found myself playing songs that were ours, all of ours, and Ryuichi-san sung along more confidently, though still softly, not straining his voice, more in accompaniment to the playing than anything else. Eventually tired of leaning against the piano, he perched on the piano bench next to me. He must have felt me shudder, remembering, when his arm brushed against mine and I immediately recalled the spring afternoons in the sunny New York living room with Eiri-kun, how he would put his head trustingly on my shoulder while I played. Though I said nothing, Ryuichi-san was careful not to touch me again, though he didn't stand from his seat, either.
With the memories came the new melodies, things that I had only started playing with in New York, and he fell silent, only humming along on occasion with a particularly catchy strain. In my muddled, sleepy mind, I heard something again, almost an echo, but of something unfamiliar. I strained to catch it, and for a moment, something new came out of my fingers, plaintive and a little helpless, but just as quickly, my fingers tangled on a complicated chord, and I realized it was dark outside and I was almost spectacularly drunk.
It had been hard to get up, and Ryuichi-san had had to help me to my room, wobbling all the way, but when I at last collapsed into bed, I managed to fall into an immediate, dreamless sleep.
In the morning, I had awoken with a splitting headache but a surprisingly clear mind, for all of that. Ryuichi-san had been in the kitchen, wearing clothes from my closet which were not quite his size and stirring miso soup on the stove. His smile was immediate and bright as he chirped, "Morning!"
So I ate the soup, drank weak tea, took headache medicine, and drove both of us to Shinjin. And though I wasn't entirely sure how he had managed it or what he had done, I felt lighter, almost human again, and found, to my surprise, that smiling came easier now than it had yesterday. The music in my head was still not back, but I felt calmer now, knowing it was only a matter of time before it returned.
That's how I got through that first morning when K-san sent us on yet another round with stylists and wardrobe consultants (a refresher, he called it) before throwing us into a studio and setting us the task of working through our most recent pieces so that we synchronized once again: with a hangover accompanied by a strange but welcome feeling of pleasant detachment. At lunchtime, Ryuichi-san and I were dragged home by a boundlessly energetic Noriko-san to admire her baby (who really was remarkably beautiful) where we received a call from K-san setting us mercifully free for the entirety of the afternoon with the warning that real work would begin the next day.
As I was coming out of the bathroom, I overheard the tail end of a conversation in hushed tones. Not quite sure why myself, I stopped just short of the door, listening.
"No, it isn't quite the way it was," Ryuichi-san said softly. "But it's going to be even better than before. Ne?" I could imagine the look of childlike trust on his face.
Noriko-san didn't answer right away, and when she did, her voice was very nearly a whisper. "I hope your boundless optimism doesn't get you hurt. One broken link in a chain is bad enough. Two is fatal." She was silent for a moment, then added, "Please don't hurt yourself."
"I'm only doing what I have to."
"I know. That's the problem with us, isn't it? We do what we have to." Then, "That means you're not going to listen to me, doesn't it?"
When I finally entered the room, I found that she was hugging him, her face hidden in the folds of my oversized shirt. When he looked up at me, though, Ryuichi-san's seriousness was gone, and he was all smiles. "Does your head still hurt, Tohma?"
"Only a little," I answered, trying to seem comfortable though I didn't like that they were discussing me behind my back, even without malicious intent. There had rarely been secrets between us before. Do I really seem that broken?
Noriko-san's eyes held the remnants of tears when she, in turn, looked up at me. She turned away from Ryuichi-san, only to lean against me and wrap me in a fierce embrace. I barely made out a mumbled, "Loving you is just so hard," before she let me go and smiled through the tears. "You're staying for dinner," she told us then. "I'm not letting you go that easily."
A week went by, then two, and life settled into a shadow of what it had been before I left. A shadow, because nothing felt quite real, not the press conferences, or the photo shoots, or the endless rehearsals, or even the late nights at Noriko-san's every time she dragged me home with her to surround me with cheer and love and comfort that almost penetrated the wall of ice I had put up, almost but not quite. A shadow, because all the color had seemed to bleed out of it, leaving shades of gray.
There was no news from Kyoto. I had no phone calls from Mika-san and didn't feel as though I had the right to call, so I left it alone. As I had done before this mess had gone spiraling spectacularly out of control, I tried burying myself in my work to escape it. It was so hard, because the music was still gone, something Ryuichi-san had realized right away and conspired with Noriko-san to keep hidden from K-san as long as possible. There was a new song, based on a melody I had finished in New York, completed and polished by Noriko-san and recorded under K-san's critical eye. "It's a bit different stylistically," he said. "I'd rather you find where you were than going a new direction at the moment."
It was a hit, but only barely, and more likely due to the fact that the band had only just come out of hibernation to the joy of rabid fans than any actual merit. It spent a week at number three before beginning its slow but inevitable slide down the charts. For us, that was the next thing to a failure. "The next one will be better," Noriko-san promised glibly. "We just needed to get our rhythm back."
We got a suspicious look at K-san and a concession that he wouldn't inflict bodily harm or wire our homes to blow… this time.
"Wow, he's really pretty mad this time," Ryuichi-san said as he followed me to my car, after. "Kumagoro says he has targets shaped like all of us that he practices shooting at every day to keep in shape. Even one shaped like Kumagoro, too." He frowned. "I can't believe he'd shoot at Kumagoro. That's just mean."
I was too used to Ryuichi-san by then to even react to this outlandish claim. In fact, my thoughts went more towards the fact that shooting at Grasper-shaped targets was probably fairly unsatisfactory, instead of the fact that Ryuichi-san claimed it had been the bunny who saw them. "Are you following me home?" I said instead of voicing these thoughts.
"Yes na no da!" he chirped. This had happened more than a few times in the past couple of weeks, too. When it wasn't Noriko-san dragging me off, it was Ryuichi-san cheerfully gluing himself to my side after practice.
He had a driver who doubled as a bodyguard and took him to rehearsals and home again since he seemed to be categorically against learning how to drive. The driver was an idea of K-san's that had worked fairly well since we had first become famous, except for the fact that he still had to be changed every few months "on account of insanity being contagious", another way of saying that after a while, Ryuichi-san always managed to talk the drivers into taking him to the zoo or the circus instead of work (and once all the way to a McDonald's in Osaka instead of rehearsal for no apparent reason; we never had puzzled that one out). If Ryuichi-san followed me home, it meant, inevitably, that the poor harried man-of-the-hour was probably looking for him all over Shinjin, a situation that seemed to hold no end of amusement to the singer. He would probably need to be switched out again soon, before his nerves gave out.
"If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you were cruel," I said with a hint of a smile, unlocking my doors, sliding into the driver's seat as he hopped into the passenger side and reached for his seatbelt, carefully buckling Kumagoro in in his lap.
"Toshi-chan likes playing hide and seek," Ryuichi-san replied cheerily. I tried to equate the name Toshi-chan with the huge mountain of a man with his infernal Mafiosi sunglasses and gave up. "Besides, Kumagoro is here! K could tell him where I went, if he wanted to. I think K likes playing hide and seek, too."
I couldn't help but smile a little wider at that. "That's reassuring," I said. "At least you're not alone in your sadism."
Ryuichi-san only laughed at me and turned on the radio. It was playing the latest song; he listened critically for a few moments, then made a face and changed the station.
"You're not happy with it?" I asked him, pulling out of the underground parking lot and merging into traffic.
"You're not either," he replied immediately. "You're not the type who likes halfway."
"No, I don't suppose I am," I said, shrugging my shoulders a little irritably. "Generally when something doesn't please you, you refuse to sing it and throw a tantrum."
"Because I know we can do better. This time, it was the best we could do." I didn't like the sound of that in the least, but he changed the subject before I could begin to brood about it. "We have the morning off tomorrow. Isn't that nice of K?"
"Maybe it's just so we give him less temptation to shoot us all?" I wondered.
"Let's go somewhere," he said, ignoring me. "We haven't done anything fun in ages!"
"I'd like to point out we just got off of a six month break when you were free to do whatever fun things you liked."
"Well, of course, but that was while you were gone. Let's go do something together."
He had his specialty "begging" face on, his eyes big, shiny and teary, and he was chewing on Kumagoro's ear. It should have looked ridiculous, but I relented. "All right, where do you want to go?" I asked on a sigh.
"That way!" he pointed immediately. I had to make a squealing turn (we were halfway through the intersection by that time) and nearly kill us both to comply.
"What's this way?" I asked afterwards, cursing myself for blindly obeying instead of waiting until the next left turn like a halfway intelligent person.
He gave me a laughing look. "I have no idea whatsoever." Before I could get angry, he laughed gleefully, and I felt the rising frustration flowing away. "Does it matter?"
There was a point there. "It doesn't matter."
By three or four in the morning, I found myself driving again, the radio playing softly. It was relaxing after the howling loudness of the club Ryuichi-san had somehow talked me into after dinner, and certainly less dangerous. Earlier, I had had to hope that Ryuichi-san's cheerful, "It's so dark inside no one will ever know it's us!" was more than his usual blind optimism.
It had been all right, though I constantly pulled my bangs over my eyes in an attempt to hide my face, even a little, and whenever they played one of our songs (never the new one, I noticed) I tried to blend into the shadows. There had been a woman, more a girl, really, who had pulled me out to dance during Believe Me and asked me excitedly if anyone had ever told me I looked like Seguchi Tohma. Afterwards, I had managed to yank Ryuichi-san out of a crowd of dancers (none of whom seemed to realize who he was, thankfully) and to the relative safety of the car.
We were in an old, familiar neighborhood now, though I hadn't been here in a while. Still, I knew a turn down the small street to the left led to a well-hidden parking lot which was the only place anywhere near Tokyo University with open parking slots in the middle of the afternoons. I knew, too, that continuing down that road, there was a dilapidated old building surrounded by overgrown cherry trees that housed a piano school. To the right was a twenty-four hour Zenny's, one of the few buildings still lit up at this hour. "Turn right," Ryuichi-san said. I already realized where he was leading me this time. I turned the corner, but the sign for the café where it seemed I had spent half my life was gone. I drove by twice, thinking I might have missed it. "I heard it was gone," Ryuichi-san said, his voice unreadable. "I wanted to see. Park anyway."
Inside the familiar building, the layout was the same, but the walls were painted a somber color and the piano was gone. Soft jazz was playing in the background, and a young bartender looked up from wiping down the counter, trying to hide sleepiness and boredom. "Fifteen minutes until closing, sirs," he said politely, though it was clear he had been hoping to close up early.
"We should probably go, then," I said, tired and ready for this whirlwind night to be over.
Ryuichi-san plopped down on a bar stool anyway. "We'll go in a couple of minutes," he said. "What happened to the café that used to be here?"
"Are you looking for Kitayama-san and his piano?" he said, his smile cooling. "I think he moved because too many people harassed him. Something about former clients that became famous. He never had any peace, so he thought it was better to relocate. At least that's what he told my father when we bought the building."
"I see," I said, feeling inexplicably saddened. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Are you looking for Kitayama-san?" the bartender asked again. "I'm sorry, I don't have his new address."
"No, we only… no, never mind," I said, pulling on Ryuichi-san's arm to get him to stand again. "I really think we should go."
"We'll come back some other day when you're not closing," Ryuichi-san added, though I didn't really want to come back here again. For some reason I couldn't name, the disappearance of the café hurt more than I could have imagined. I hadn't been there in years, but it had been there, a piece of me. Another missing piece, now. "Promise!" Ryuichi-san called out even as he let me pull him out of the door.
Outside, the street was eerily still with the quiet of the small hours when no one with half a mind was awake. A storm had been threatening all of the previous day, but only a soft, quiet rain was falling, just enough to break the heat of the night. It didn't seem worth caring about, so I let my hair become damp, cool raindrops dripping down the back of my neck. We went to the car, but neither of us got in.
"It's sad how things change, isn't it?" Ryuichi-san said, standing next to me and looking out into the night, though I didn't know what at. The rain was slowly but surely plastering his stylishly messy hair to his forehead. "You become so used to something, and you forget to appreciate it, but when it's gone you suddenly realize it isn't coming back, and that's sad." I let him talk, wondering what the point to this depressing little nighttime visit had been, and why he was once again voicing my thoughts. "But I think… maybe change isn't always so bad. I mean, what do we know? Maybe this new thing that has replaced that old, cherished thing is just as good. Maybe it's better. It could be, ne?"
I didn't at all like the way that had come out. "Or maybe it's worse," I said brusquely. "Maybe I didn't want it to change."
"But it did," he said, a note of finality in his voice. "It's gone. It isn't coming back. There's only this other thing now." I stayed silent as he turned to look at me, pushed a lock of my hair out of my eyes so we could lock gazes. "How do you know whether it's better or it's worse, or it's something, or it's nothing at all until you try?"
I found it hard to meet his eyes. "Because it's a very, very bad idea," I said, no longer speaking of the bar that had replaced the café.
"Maybe," he said, acknowledging that I had found the true meaning of his words. "Or maybe it isn't." He took a step closer, and his other hand joined the first to frame my face. "How can you be sure?"
I would have shaken my head if I could. Instead, I said, "I can't."
There was a slight smile on his face, but he ignored the second, underlying meaning of my response. "You can't," he only repeated. "So try." He took the final step, bringing our bodies into contact, warm and solid, familiar and different at the same time, and pulled my face down to his to kiss me.
And after a moment, I gave in, letting my eyes close and my arms come around to hold him. It was a feeling I had almost forgotten, someone so close, the air heavy, warm lips on mine, mind clouded, all mixed with that intoxicating feeling of being wanted. In that instant before I gave in, I realized that I had missed this, desperately, and in the end it was that that settled me.
Then I was clinging to him too, running my hands through hair that was soaking wet by now, forcing his mouth open, swallowing the satisfied murmur that brought forth. I lost control before I even thought to keep it. His hands were everywhere, running over my face, my back, then somehow under my shirt, cool and wet and promising. Before I knew what was happening, my shirt was already halfway unbuttoned and I had pinned him against the car.
I swallowed a shuddering breath as he nipped at my neck and tried to get my bearings. "I think… we're crazy."
He laughed slightly, and nipped the same spot again, relishing the automatic reaction and the small sound in my throat I couldn't quite suppress. "Probably. It's… raining I think."
"Yes, and-" He kissed me again in the middle of my sentence and for a few moments there was no talking until I managed to speak a second time. "Yes. Raining. And public. Crazy."
This time, he listened. "Crazy," he agreed, not letting go for an instant. Then, "Oh well."
"Ryuichi-san-"
Somehow, he reached behind himself and I heard the click of the opening car door. "Raining," he agreed. "And public. Let's go." He gave me no chance to argue, slipping out from between my arms and into the car, leaving me no choice but to walk around to my own side, terribly confused. He handed me my keys, looked at me silently for a moment as if weighing something, his breathing still not quite steady. "I'm coming home with you," he told me. "…Drive fast."
And because I was smart enough to realize there was a point from which there was no returning, I only nodded and started the car.
