Thank you to Self-Proclaimed Everything, RomanceNovelistYuki4563, and mystice for reviewing.

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

Pressure
by R. M. Weiss

Chapter 4:

"This is going to….take a while, please make yourself comfortable," Sakano sighed softly, having come to the archway leading into the kitchen. He did not look up to see K's eyes, his stomach tied in knots as he felt the man stare at him. If he had known the American would find his old album, he would have taken better care to hide it. It was no use now as the blonde took a seat at the table, his elbows leaning on the surface, head in hands.

Grabbing the cover of the photo album that lay innocently in front of K, the producer flipped it open to the fifth page, his fingers grazing over a glossy photo. He couldn't clearly remember the day it was taken or who had taken it. A man and a woman smiled gently up from the faded photo, the man dressed in a neatly tailored suit, the woman wearing a traditional kimono.

"These are my parents," he said, handing the picture over. "My father was the head of a large electronics company based in Nagoya. My mother was the owner of a tea house he frequented. They married quickly, and after four years together they had me. We moved a lot, my father always shifting is business around, opening new branches. We lived in Kobe, then Osaka, Yokohama, and then Tokyo."

K took the picture from the producer's loose grasp. He stared hard at the faces in front of him, looking for features that Sakano had inherited. The producer had gotten his father's eyes, as well as the man's skinny build, but his mother's nose and lips.

The Japanese man watched the American for a moment as he studied the photo. Taking another deep breath, Sakano closed his eyes and thought back to his years as a child. "They were very good parents. I grew up surrounded by as much culture as they could shove at me. My mother's father's side of the family was descended from a line of kabuki actors. She always thought it was important I learn about Japan's history, both the good and the bad parts."

Flipping a page in the photo album, the producer took out another picture and handed it to K. This one was a simple picture of a young boy standing beside a slightly older blonde. They were smiling and waving at the camera. "I met my first real friend in Yokohama. I had just moved there, and he was the first person to talk to me in school. He looked out for me. I never made many friends in the other cities because of the constant moving. We drifted apart when I moved again about a year after settling in Yokohama.

"My mother was against moving into Tokyo. She wanted to bring me back to Osaka or Kobe. My father had his reasons for keeping us away from those places. We lived in Tokyo for three years. My father's business was doing extremely well, leading the stock prices. One day he went out with my mother to get groceries and they never came back."

K looked up from the photos in his hands. He could see Sakano's shoulder's shaking, the producer having slumped into the wooden chair across from him. The American leaned forward in his seat. Never having been good at comforting people, he hesitantly reached a hand out to clap Sakano on the shoulder.

"They were in an accident," the producer said in a shaking voice. His glasses had fogged up, and he took them off so he could wipe them against the hem of his shirt. Pocketing the lenses, he swallowed hard. It had been years since had had spoken about the accident. Burying the pain deep inside, Sakano had shoved the very thought of that night out of all this thoughts. It only came to him when he lay alone in bed, or when he heard the screech of tires outside his apartment. He knew that if he closed his eyes now he would be able to smell the antiseptic of hospital sheets. With a deep breath the producer steadied himself. He did not mind the hand on his shoulder, and focused on it as he fought to calm his mind. The next part of his story would be tricky, and he would have to play his cards close to his chest.

"I moved here after everything was cleared up. I didn't want to live with my either of my parents families. I won emancipation for myself and from there….the rest is history. I met Tohma on the subway, I spilled coffee on him. It was before Nittle Grasper had a record deal. I had a band of my own at the time…just a few school mates that were good with their instruments. I was a singer….Tohma and I were heading to the same club that day to perform. That's how I met Sakuma-san. He stuck around after the show to see me. He said he liked my voice. We started meeting up regularly after that. Soon enough it turned into a relationship. Tohma was in full support of it right until the day we broke up. He thought we were making a mistake.

"But I knew it was right…I was holding Ryuichi back by being there. The week after we ended it, Nittle Grasper got its record deal. They became famous. Tohma started his own company. He hired me even before it was opened. Since then I've only worked at NG."

K sat quietly after the producer had finished speaking. Sakano's voice had been brisk and businesslike, as if he was explaining Bad Luck's record sales. This was the most Sakano had ever spoken to him in one sitting. In fact, he had probably spoken more now than the total of words he had ever exchanged with the American.

He took his hand from the other man's shoulder, scraping his chair back across the linoleum floor as he made to stand. Going to cabinets above the sink, he pulled down a glass and filled it with water, handing it to the producer who accepted it with shaking hands.

Sakano was grateful for the water. His mouth had long since run dry. He was never good at lying. 'It's a half-truth. Not real lying,' he thought, sipping the water slowly. 'It'll have to be enough.'

The ringing of his phone was what shattered the silence that had fallen over them. In the impersonal apartment it echoed off the walls in a loud series of musical beeps. Sakano excused himself with a quiet word, hurrying into the living room to pick up the receiver.

K was left to think about what the man had told him. 'An orphan…and then a friend to Tohma. He's lived a very Hollywood-esque life.' Straining his ears to hear Sakano's conversation in the living room, the American shifted around in his chair once more. He slipped the uncovered photo back into the heavy album it had been taken from, carefully arranging it so that it sat neatly in its little pocket under the thick plastic.

Briefly he heard Sakano's voice raise over the phone, the man sounding both flustered and slightly annoyed. He could not make out the muffled words, or even begin to fathom what had drawn his host away at such a strange time of the afternoon. 'Who calls at one fifty-seven? Telemarketers?'

Sakano came back only a handful of minutes later, his eyes never once glancing up from the floor to look at the American. If he looked up, let himself even glimpse those bright blue eyes, his little half-truths would be exposed for what they were. He could not let that happen. Not now, and not ever. Some secrets are never meant to be told.

"Some of the sound technicians at NG called just now. They were going through Bad Luck's recording and they found…a number of errors," he said in a subdued voice. "They want us to come in."

"Shit, what do they mean by 'errors'?"

"I'm not sure. They said we should come listen to it….Should I call Shuichi?"

Shaking his head, K rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a noisy sigh. They had worked all week on that recording, he had kept Bad Luck in the studio for hours on end with only enough time during breaks to go take a piss, grab a snack, and then run back to the booth. Nothing had been wrong when he left. He had listened to that recording five times before he had even ventured anywhere near Sakano's home the night before. "Let the kid sleep in," he said, "He's going to need to be well rested. If we have to, we'll do another recording tonight."

Already Sakano felt another headache assault him at the very thought of having to spend another night in the studio. He could only hear the same song so many times in twenty-four hours, let alone all of the previous week, before it started to drive him mad.

"Let me get a jacket," the producer said at long last. He was ready to go with in minutes, and K was quick to follow suit, the blonde haired man pulling on his gun holster which he had dumped on the floor mid-way through Sakano's personal history lesson.

They left the apartment together, keeping pace with each other the entire way to the elevator. The air was tense with unspoken words, and it made the back of Sakano's neck break out into a cold sweat while K felt a churning in his gut that hadn't been there before.

The sun shone brightly, not a single cloud obscuring its rays. K took the lead when they stepped outside. "My car's here," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the line of cars parked across the street.

"You drove?"

"This place isn't that far from NG. There was some construction going on though."

"They're rebuilding the tunnel. There's been tiles falling from the ceiling and causing a few minor accidents."

Sliding into the driver's seat of his car, the blonde 'hm'-ed softly and turned the key in the ignition. The second Sakano's door closed, K pulled out of the spot he had claimed the night before. It had been sheer luck that had gotten him the space. He hadn't even had to shoot at anyone to get them to back away from it.

He turned on the CD player in the car with the push of a button. Through the speakers filtered the soft strumming of a guitar. "You mind?" he asked, glancing at the producer who was looking out the window as they drove.

Sakano closed his eyes and let out a soft breath. The guitar was soothing on his frayed nerves, and though he could only understand a little of the song being sung, he had to admit that he enjoyed it. "It's different," he said at long last, "is it an American song?"

"Yeah. An Oldie. It was only of the songs my mother listened to. Country music was her poison of choice."

"What was yours?"

With a grin, K pulled his sunglasses off the shade visor above his head and slipped them on. "Rock. The way it was when it first came out, the new things the kiddies listen to isn't really my style. What about you? Classical? Opera? You're one of those quirky guys who listen to stuff like that, aren't you?"

Sakano chuckled and turned to the blonde, "Don't go pigeon holing me. I liked techno. A little traditional music, but mostly techno."

"So you're like Shuichi then?"

"At one time…maybe. Now I'm just a producer living in an apartment with a cactus for a pet."

"You own a cactus?" K asked, raising a brow.

"It's in my room. It gets the best light there," the dark haired man replied. He didn't know why he was telling the American about his "pet" cactus, it wasn't as if anyone would particularly care about it. He talked only to fill up their time in the car. He had never liked long periods of silence. When things were silent he could think, and when he thought, his mind always drifted back to that day so many years ago when his world was turned upside down.

There were still so many things he had to keep hidden from his co-worker, his boss, and the band he was in charge of. He only hoped that he would be able to do so should they ever catch wind of the elaborate lie he had woven.

TBC...

Sorry for the long wait. Between school work, vacation, and prior commitments to others I was only able to just finish this chapter. Thank you for reading.