Warnings: None, I was very tired and a little heartbroken tonight so I decided to write something to cheer myself up a bit. Eiri might be a little OOC, I don't think it's anything catastrophic.
Doozo!
Sometimes I get tired of sharing Shuuichi.
All over Japan, teenage girls (and boys, I'm sure) have pin-up posters of the pink-haired moron, and every time I pass a newsstand his face is plastered on some J-poppy magazine or another, in whatever ridiculous outfit the photographers have chosen. Even in the obasan gossip papers, flashy headlines catch my eye- "SHINDOU SHUICHI seen with MYSTERY WOMAN in Harajuku! Clearly doctored photos on page 11!"
Feh. What a crock. I get sick of seeing him being sold on the jacket of his latest album cover, Bad Luck concert videos and memorabilia disappearing off the shelves like they're the most precious things in the world.
What do his fans know about precious things? All they have are carbon copies.
I had him before Bad Luck was big business, before those crappy lyrics of his made adolescent hearts pound… It was never his lyrics that did it for me. I still think he has zero talent.
He's just marketed better, now.
I tell him that- when he's wracking his little brains over his latest single, I tell him that he should just give up and find a new career. He pouts, pulls a "Mou" face and begins to whine. Sometimes I'll tease him just a little longer to see how long it takes him to get truly angry, but I know better than to insult his love songs anymore. He takes those too seriously, and I hate to see him cry. It gets very annoying.
The fans eat up those love songs as if he's singing to them, singing for them. Ara, that's pitiful. I can't stand the amount of letters and gifts he gets, what right do they have to be cluttering my flat with that crap? Shuuichi eats the Pocky and reads the fanmail, but I never let him respond. If he responds, that'll just encourage them.
…Sometimes I get tired of sharing Shuuichi.
He's coming home soon, from another Bad Luck concert. He'll burst through the door, all sparkle and makeup and euphoria, wanting to tell me how it went… And I'll just ignore him but he'll probably-
"YUUUKIIIIII!"
Aa, speak of the devil. Here he comes, with some sort of ridiculous purple boa wrapped around his idiot neck, and he's reaching it up to hook me…
"Na, Yuki, wanna hear about the concert?"
"…"
"Well-we-sold-out-and-Hiro-was-afraid-he'd-mess-up-the-chords-on-Dream-Doll-but-the-audience-was-so-loud-really-I-couldn't-even-tell-if-he-did-or-not-and-I-almost-tripped-when-I-was-dancing-to-the-second-encore-and-K-was-on-the-side-of-the-stage-and-really-I-don't-know-how-he-snuck-a-Magnum-past-security-but-"
"Shuuichi."
I swear when he smiles, sometimes I forget why I've cut him off. This time I just sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, thinking maybe this is grounds for him owing me a lot of sex tonight. First he has to wash off all that glitter.
He bounces into the kitchen, still talking a mile a minute, and I follow wordlessly, hoping that near-empty bottle of aspirin in the cupboard has enough to last me through the concert description. He pauses in his speech to run back to me, hugging me tight as if he hadn't already greeted me. I catch him by the waist before he can return to his refrigerator raid, bending slightly to kiss his limelight lips before releasing him. He picks up where he left off in his one-sided dialogue, but now I'm not so irritated and he's not so rushed. We have all the time in the world to butt heads, but tonight he's mine and I'd rather it be peacable.
Sometimes I don't mind sharing Shuuichi.
Because, at the end of the day, I know I've got the real thing coming home to me.
…And really, I don't mind that at all.
