Thank you to WAT2DO, Sarahfreak, and Antimatterannihilation.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation; I make no profit from this story.

As a note, there is a bit of text in here that is supposed to be an excerpt from a story. This excerpt was created by me; I claim all rights to it. It is not meant to resemble any other story or encroach on any copyrights. It came purely from my imagination with no outside influence.

Again, thoughts are in Italics. (The excerpt is as well)

Pressure

by R. M. Weiss

Chapter 2:

Shifting restlessly under the unfamiliar sheets, K rolled slowly over to the edge of the bed. He didn't know how long he had lain in the darkness of Sakano's living room, but he assumed enough time had passed that the producer would be asleep by now. Getting up quietly he glanced in the direction of the Japanese man's room before resting his full weight on the ground and standing.

He would not be able to sleep tonight. Too many things raced through his mind. Moving about the open room, K paused in front of a lone bookcase, fingers tracing the spines of books with titles he could barely read in the darkness. Moving his hands over the books he paused when he crouched down to feel the bottom shelf. There was a box.

'What he doesn't know won't hurt him,' the American thought, glancing over his shoulder once more towards where he assumed Sakano slept. Pulling the box off the shelf he carefully lowered it to the floor and pulled back the top.

Inside he could feel the edges of what he assumed to be a notebook. Picking it up, the blond moved away from the shadows of the bookcase and closer to the window on the far wall where moonlight streamed in through the drawn blinds. Able to see a little better now, the American found that he was holding a thick photo album.

Flipping back the heavy cover, K found himself looking down at an old picture a teenage boy with thick shoulder-length black hair and wide brown eyes. The boy was smiling, waving out at whatever audience he stood before as he gripped a microphone in his free hand.

'Who is that?' the American thought, peeling back the protective covering over the photo. Holding it up in the moonlight he turned it over and was only mildly surprised to see a neatly printed message across the back.

Took this right when you began.

You sang great tonight. I love you.
P.S. Meet me outside N-G tomorrow. I have a surprise for you.

The words earned a raised eyebrow from K. Turning the picture around again his eyes peered at the face of the boy holding the microphone, lingering briefly on the people who he now noticed were stationed behind him with instruments. Slowly understanding dawned on him, and K stared even harder at the picture. 'Sakano...used to sing?'

The American hesitantly put the picture away. He wondered if Tohma knew that Sakano had once been a singer. 'Maybe that's how they met...'

A part of his mind nagged at him, the writing on the back of the picture stirring a long forgotten memory. Shaking his head as if to clear away his thoughts, K flipped to the next page of the album, instantly recognizing a young Tohma standing next to the same dark hair boy, who stood curled against the older teen's side shyly waving at the camera, as if nervous or tense, his usual stance when in the presence of the president of N-G. This teen was more like the Sakano the manager knew.

'Seguchi didn't write that note, I've seen his handwriting,' K thought to himself, frowning as he looked down at the smiling teens. Going through a few more pages he began to notice another familiar face popping up. In every picture for the next four pages, Ryuichi Sakuma was present in some way, shape, or form, the most common being a teenage Ryuichi casually going about every day things. Pausing as another picture caught his eye; K removed it from behind the protective plastic and tilted it into the moonlight.

A sleepy –eyed teenage Sakano sat curled on a couch that looked identical to one K saw in the back of the recording studio Bad Luck used. However the couch was not the most interesting thing about this particular picture, but rather the other person occupying the couch with the black haired teenager. Ryuichi Sakuma, the pop star idol of many aspiring young musicians, was sitting with his arms thrown around the teen at his side. Not only was the legend holding tightly onto the young Sakano, but the look in eyes could only be described as possessive.

Part of his mind rebelled at the thoughts that suddenly flooded it. It was impossible. There was no way that the spastic producer and the legendary singer had known each other. 'It's impossible,' K thought, now quickly searching the pages of the album, his disbelief growing larger and larger as more pictures began to pop up showing the two teens together.

'Ryuichi is thirty-one. Nittle Grasper didn't hit the big leagues their first gig…They could have known each other. If they both sang…they could have known each other.'

The American shoved the picture back into place and returned it to the box. He didn't want to wrap his head around this just yet. He could not picture the jittery Sakano ever even holding a conversation with Ryuichi Sakuma. Logically he knew that people changed over the years and that Sakano may have once been someone entirely different. Maybe the producer once had a spine, passion, a life unshaped by the president of a major music company. Those were just maybes, and from experience, K knew that you could not be sure of the truth with just a 'maybe'.

Getting up slowly from the floor, knees cracking as they unlocked, he fumbled in the darkness towards the only other occupied room. Pushing against the door, K eased it open silently and looked inside. On the bed he could see the outline of Sakano's body along with the steady rise and fall of his chest. The thin man was holding his sheets up by his chin, his glasses askew on his face, digging up into his hair on one side while the other pressed against the corner of his eye.

It came in a sudden rush to K that he knew next to nothing about the man sleeping peacefully on the rumpled bed. Sakano was a mystery. For all the American knew, the producer could very well have been involved with Ryuichi.

Leaning heavily in the doorway, he took his time to really look at his co-worker. The stress of the past few weeks was clearly reflected in the sleeping face. Dark circles shadowed the area below Sakano's eyes, and his cheeks looked sunken, along with the slope of his belly. The American knew on some level that he looked no better, in fact earlier this morning Shuichi had told him so when he had helped bring Hiro home. Shuichi had insisted on going along, wanting to make sure his friend was settled for the night.

He scratched the back of his neck slowly, blue eyes becoming unfocused. He could still hear Judy telling him that she was leaving. K hadn't really been listening when she said it, slumped over their kitchen table half-asleep from being up most of the night before.

A sudden movement on the bed caused K to snap out of his thoughts. Sakano had rolled over onto his side, one hand now fisting the sheets, a frown turning down the corners of his lips. The Japanese man opened his mouth as if he was speaking though he was still asleep and let out a wordless sigh. He continued to move for the next few minutes, turning slowly or suddenly, the small frown on his face varying in degree of intensity.

K looked at the sleeping man for a long while before hesitantly walking over to the bed, his halting steps muffled by the thick carpet under his feet. Reaching out, he picked up the corner of the blanket covering Sakano and pulled it up from where it had been kicked off, resting it across the man's shoulders.

The blonde pulled his hand back slowly and turned his back on the now calm sleeper. Tip-toeing from the room he settled himself back on the pulled out bed in the living room, pulling off his gun holster and shirt, letting them both fall down onto the stack of cushions from the couch at the bed's edge.

He lay awake after getting comfortable, watching moonbeams dim as they fell through the slats in the blinds. He forced himself to stop thinking about Judy, about Michael, about work and the sleeping producer in the next room. It was none of his business what the man had done years ago, that Sakano seemed dead and buried, and the man who had let him into his house was anything but the smiling teen in the photos from the album. Feeling his eyelids grow heavy, the American let out a tired yawn and surrendered to the sleep his body had craved every night for the past few weeks.

In what felt like only the blink of an eye, K suddenly found the room well lit by the sunlight streaming through the now open blinds. He could tell it was morning, and from the smell drifting from the kitchen he knew Sakano was up.

With a heavy sigh the blond pulled himself up and sat in bed, rubbing his eyes slowly. 'At this rate I'll die of sleep deprivation,' he thought, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips as he reached down over the side of the bed for his shirt. Pulling on the rumpled white button-down, he headed for the kitchen, leaning in the doorway for a moment as he watched Sakano stand in front of the stove poking as making miso soup.

"I'll never understand why the Japanese have soup in the morning."

Turning around, Sakano gave K an easy smile, "It's what I've had every morning since I was a little boy. Miso soup, rice, and some rolled omelets."

"And bento boxes for lunch?"

Turning back to the soup Sakano nodded. "Mother used to make me bento boxes all the time. She didn't trust the people in the school cafeteria to make good meals."

"My mom would give me a couple dollars and tell me to fend for myself," K replied, sitting down at the table where he fiddled with the empty bowls and plat in front of him.

Sakano took the steaming soup off the stove and quickly retrieved K's bowls. "Japanese breakfasts may seem odd to you, but American breakfasts are just as strange to me. Your people eat heated up things from your freezers. You stuff yourself sometimes and other times just drink coffee and go to work."

"The stuffing is why Americans are so hardy," the blond replied, pointing his spoon at Sakano as his soup was brought to him. "We eat lots of protein like ham and bacon in the morning. A couple eggs, some toast, a few sausages, maybe some hash browns and we're set until late in the afternoon. Big breakfasts, little lunches, and left overs for dinner. That's how it was in my house."

"Leftovers?"

"Sure, you know, the stuff you heat up in the microwave because you had it last ni-"

"I know what left overs are. I was asking why you ate them for dinner."

"My mom didn't like cooking so she just made a lot of food and served the left overs for dinner the next night."

Taking his seat, Sakano reach for his soup and carefully sipped at it once it cooled a little. A comfortable silence fell over the kitchen, the soft clink of chopsticks against bowls occasionally breathing some life into the still air. Sakano found that he enjoyed having a guest. He couldn't remember the last time he had actually wanted to get up in the morning and cook. Everyday going to work he only drank a cup of coffee before walking out the door in the morning; an actual meal was nice for once, even though his cooking skills were few and none that impressive. 'I should invest in a cook-book.'

"Thinking about something?"

Dropping his chopsticks into his rice, Sakano snapped out of his thoughts. "No, not really."

"Not even about Ryuichi?"

"Ryuichi?" frowning, the black haired man gingerly picked up his chopsticks again.

Sighing, K leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, "You know, the singer? World famous music-genius who-"

"I know who Sakuma-san is, K-san. Why did you ask if I was thinking about him?"

The American nodded in the direction of the living room. Azure eyes fixed on the producer sitting across from him and K felt the strong urge to let the other know of his discovery. He wanted answers; he wanted to know why such a detail had been left out of the files given to him when he had taken on the job of being the star's manager.

Some things were best left buried though, and the blond chose to shrug and poke at his rice, "No reason."

Still confused, Sakano let the subject drop, resuming looking at his food as he ate. For a brief moment he had felt the old panic come back. It had been years since he had felt his heart rate surge like that while his mind grasped for straws. Even though he tended to go off the deep end every day, nothing compared to the feelings that rushed through him along with the shots of adrenaline that kept him shell-shocked afterwards. 'That was too close,' the producer thought, bowing his head, 'Why would he ask something like that? Did sacho…? No, sacho wouldn't. He's not that cruel…'

Sakano was relieved when the phone rang and broke the heavy silence. Scraping his chair back across the floor he hurried into the living room, murmuring a half-stuttered 'excuse me'. Pressing the talk button he brought the phone up to his ear without thinking, murmuring a raspy hello as he fought down his nerves.

K watched from the open kitchen for a minute before turning back to his food. Getting up he threw away what he hadn't eaten. 'Shit I didn't mean to say that. I didn't…Fuck, does he know I looked at that album? Is he angry?' Glancing at Sakano out of the corner of his eye, the American took his seat again and whipped out his magnum, checking how many bullets he had left in it.

K looked up again when he heard the click of the phone in the cradle. He could tell that the slim producer was tense, the way he got when Tohma called him in for a meeting. Frowning slightly, the blond replaced his gun in its holster, getting up and cautiously entering the living room. "Hey," he called softly, "You okay, Mr. Producer?"

Snapping out of his daze, Sakano jumped and turned, putting on a nervous smile, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm sorry K-san, Seguchi-san just wanted to meet me in a few minutes. Please make yourself at home, I'll be back soon. You can use the shower and the television has plenty of channels for you to go through." As he talked, Sakano was hurrying to his room, quickly changing into one of his more formal business suits, the coal grey jacket hanging a little awkwardly on his body from his rapid weight loss.

All the while K stood in the empty main room listening to the Japanese man rattle on about the things K could do while he was gone. The manager barely had time to say goodbye as Sakano rushed out, still fixing his tie around his neck as the door slammed shut behind him.

Surprised by the sudden exit, K found himself listening to the ticking of the clock in the kitchen, straining his ears to hear it just so he could be doing something. Shrugging his shoulders as if to remove a weight from them he took his time to look around the apartment now that it was light outside and he wasn't under the influence of strong sake.

Everything was organized.

Nothing was out of place; every book on the shelf lined up alphabetically and by height, the television had wipe marks running across it horizontally, never vertically. The sparsely decorated walls all held pictures the same size and arranged so that they all sat at the same height.

There was no personality to the room. It was like looking into a department store showcase, there was no life to the space. Walking along the edges of the room, K took in every detail from every angle and found that he couldn't pick up any sign that this place belonged to someone, that it was lived in.

'His address hasn't changed in years. It should look like someone has been living here.' Turning away from the living room the blond strode down the hall, pushing open the door to the black haired man's room and stepping in.

It was the same as the living room. Everything was in order except for the bed, which was still rumpled from Sakano's late night tossing and turning. Raising an eyebrow at the strange emptiness that permeated from the walls he reached for Sakano's nightstand, pulling open the drawer.

"Yatzee." Inside the simple wooden nightstand drawer lay a treasure trove of little knick knacks that finally gave a hint as to who Sakano was. There was a deck of playing cards thrown in the corner, held together by a rubber band, a few scattered pens and pencils, and a variety of books completely different than the ones he had seen out in the living room.

Picking up one of the paperbacks he thumbed through it, pausing at a dog eared page and reading some of the text:

'Katsuya melted into the strong arms wrapped around his body, moaning softly as his hips ground forward in an attempt to ease the lust that raged through his veins. He no longer cared if it was right or wrong to want what his body had been craving ever since the day he had laid eyes on Mikado. Feeling calloused fingers stroke down his stomach to slip beneath the band of his pants, his breath hitched in his throat as he dug his nails into the man's shoulders.

"Mikado, don't tease me," he gasped.

A wolf-like grin spread across Mikado's face, "Oh but we're just getting started, love."

Closing the book slowly, K whistled softly. He had never taken the spastic younger man to be the type to read porn, let alone gay porn. Tossing the book on the bed he continued to sift through the other novels tucked away in the nightstand, surprise growing by the minute as he found almost all of them were romance novels. The one buried at the very bottom stuck out the most for him though, and with hesitant hands he picked up the blue covered book. Opening to the front cover he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

In his hands, K was held an item many women would kill for, a signed book by Japan's famous romance novelist, Eiri Yuki. Not only that, but under the aloof author's signature was the familiar scrawl of Shuichi Shindou's handwriting.

'Hey Sakano-san, I hope you like your present! I thought you might like an easy read to go through so I got you Yuki's newest book. Look I even got him to sign it! I'll see you at work on Monday. Try not to party too hard!'

"I'll be damned," the blond said, closing the book. "I didn't know you two were that close." Putting everything back the way he had found it, the American deciding he would take Sakano up on the 'shower-offer'. He needed time to think about the few bits and pieces of information of what he had found, and a shower was the only thing he knew that would help him clear his head and organize his thoughts.

T.B.C.

I'm sorry for the long delay; I have been working on another story that was more pressing to write at the time being. Updates will not be so far-spaced any longer. Thank you for reading and reviewing (if you do so).