-

Author Notes:

Everyone has been so supportive of my creative holiday! I was really surprised and I thank those who sent me emails checking up on me. It's been a while but I hope you'll be just a bit more patient. See, because I only just started writing again I don't think I'll be back to my weekly updates… so if you please, you can add me to your author alert list and be notified when I do update..? Updates will probably be pretty irregular, as I'm still roping my ideas back in.

And then there's that my muse has decided to turn one of my One-Shots into a full story! Beat Life Back suddenly made a comeback with a second chapter –completely unexpectedly, mind you. Ah well, that's the muse for you…

Feel free to get in touch, my contact info is posted. I'm on AIM everyday, that's the best way to meet me. Thanks to LLPeepz for the reassurances, and Iname who makes me think and come up with some of the little ideas I use in my stories. Vindalootoo, my beta, who is such a dear friend and source of endless support, has been really busy so this chapter is NOT beta-read.

Many thanks to others I have met through this site, you know who you all are. Gods, I love meeting new people and sharing ideas! In any case, enjoy the chapter… It's good to be back.

--

Chapter 17

Distorted Discussions, part 1

--

"Shit!" Eiri snarled at no one in particular, balling up the invoice and pitching it full-force at the wall.

He had forgotten. Dear Gods, he had forgotten! Had it not been the invoice for the plans he had organised, he might never have remembered the arrangements he had made for White Day at all. It was too late now, the sixteenth of March, and his carefully planned date had been prepared, had waited… and had gone down the damn drain.

"Fuck!" He gritted his teeth and paced the room. "Damn it!"

Eventually, despite the lack of an outlet, his control returned. He sighed, stopped, and sat down in a chair of his little office space. His awareness of external details returned, like how he could hear the crowd's welcome for the opening band which had just taken the stage.

It was easy to assume that in less than half an hour, Shuichi would also be starting his own performance. He sat back, thinking about what an opportunity it was he had stupidly let slip through his fingers. Damn it all, he should be thinking about nothing but romance with this 'Twelve Kisses' tour theme, Shuichi himself, and those after-concert serenades happening all the time. There had been so many reminders.

"How could I forget?!" He raked a frustrated hand through his hair, mussing the strands. With another growl, he got to his feet and marched for the door. Snatching it open…

"Oh!" Startled grey eyes widened with surprise.

"What do you want?" Eiri snarled, without thinking.

"Ah, Yuki-sensei," Katsuya stepped back nervously, holding up a placating hand. His other put his camera protectively behind his back. "I was just coming to get you, it's almost time for Bad Luck to take the stage…"

"I know that," Eiri growled, "I've been part of this tour as long as you have, did you think I'd forget the schedule?"

"Er, of course not! I just…"

"Enough." The writer sighed, letting most of his irritation out with his breath. The photographer was not at fault, and Eiri knew he was being unreasonable. Damn it. He had developed better control than this!

"Is there something I can help with, Sensei?" Katsuya timidly asked. His posture began to relax seeing the novelist calm a little.

"Not unless you can turn back time," Eiri muttered, running his hand through his hair again. "Che!"

"Well…" Katsuya backed up another space, as though wary his words might trigger the writer's temper again. "Maybe I can help you with… whatever you forgot?"

Eiri glared.

"You practically shouted it, it's not like I could help hearing it—"

"Enough!" The writer interrupted then heaved a heavy sigh and made to move past.

"White Day?"

Eiri froze.

"I thought so." Katsuya sounded sympathetic, "I saw the contract for the hotel restaurant… and for the arcade centre…"

It had been such a brilliant plan, Eiri thought. He had even decided to discard his reservations and get on that damn Dance Revolution machine that so delighted the little singer.

"I thought it was great idea."

"Too late now," Eiri muttered and, with long strides, moved down the hall.

Coming out into the back stage area, he could see the stage crew wrapping things up. With the concert in full swing, coordination and hospitality crew had the biggest work. The novelist tried to stay out of the way, practice from the past few months put to very good use. A few people spared him a wave or smile, which Eiri was careful to return in some form –mostly in way of a brief nod. They were used to him now, and he to them.

"Welcome to the Aichi Concert backstage area!" Boomed a large, American-accented voice, "And this gentleman will be your guide for tonight. As Bad Luck's manager, I have a few other things to do, so please excuse me-- Ah, on second thought, Yuki-san!"

Eiri froze, wincing a little at the back stage group's universal squeal at his name. Frowning, he turned to face the oncoming gunman, knowing better than to try to outrun the crazy American who, at this point, was heavily under concert-time stress. Besides, the mad man could simply shoot him over the heads of the many native, shorter Japanese folk about. He stood a head taller than most…

"Can I help you?" He asked politely, though his tone implied he would rather chew broken glass. He turned around politely, tolerance stretching to its limit.

"Of course!" K replied, in English. Switching back to Japanese, he continued on a low voice through his clenched teeth. "You can give those nice high-paying folks over there some attention."

"As you wish," Eiri agreed readily enough, having noticed how K discreetly caressed one of his thankfully still-holstered Magnums. He plastered on his media smile, waved at the group of six and called, "Welcome back stage."

They replied with fan-like gasps and squeals. Not caring to be cornered and forced into fan-dealing mode, Eiri quickly ducked around K and made for the stage-side entrance where he, as had become habit, would meet Bad Luck before they took the stage. He made a mental note to call Miho-san and have flowers sent to his lawyer.

Thank God dealing with the tour's promotions wasn't part of his tour contract.

--

"Maybe I might be able to persuade her?" K offered, hands efficiently disassembling his magnum for a routine cleaning. Behind him, Hiro shut Shuichi's room door behind him as he came to join Suguru and K in the living room of their suite apartment.

"I doubt shooting a woman would get us anywhere," Suguru said dismissively. He nodded to Hiro as the guitarist paused beside him. "Excuse us."

Following the guitarist out into the hall, Suguru came to stand beside Hiro to the guitarist's left by the hall railing. For a few silent moments, they stood looking down the open space of the centre of the building to the water fountain in the reception hall below. Turning to face Hiro, the synth-master rested his left elbow on the railing and stepped up very close to Hiro's side.

"As I was telling K, Hinamori-san gave away nothing. But it was the way she was so self-confident about her place, about how I could not shake her, that threw me off."

Hiro just nodded, still looking down at the fountain, expression distant.

"Hiro?" Suguru lay a gentle hand on the guitarist's shoulder blade. "Talk to me?"

"I'm just really worried," the guitarist admitted softly. "I think this worse than any of us really think but, for the life of me, I have no idea what could be so bad!"

"Do you suppose we should intervene?"

"On what?" Hiro whispered, his voice tense, straining to keep the volume low. "We have no concept of what's going on except that now we have confirmation Shuichi's taking those damn pills. He's sick, I know it! He must be really sick!"

"Seguchi-san would not have let him go on this tour if it were that serious." Suguru rubbed comforting circles into Hiro's back. "We can rely on that he will always safeguard an investment."

"Investment!" Hiro snorted, fists clenching. "Do you even remember how Seguchi-san treated Shuichi at the Launch Party? There is more to this, I just know it!"

Suguru frowned worriedly, sensing the helpless frustration mounting in his friend. He could feel it too, but with what information they had…

"I want to talk to him, ask him directly," Hiro said, "This has gone on long enough."

"I agree, Hiro," Suguru nodded. "But now is not the time, I think. Perhaps we should talk to--"

"Hiro? Suguru?" Shuichi popped his head out into the hallway, wet hair dripping a little onto the towel around his neck. "What are you two doing out there?"

"Hey Shu," Suguru turned to face the singer, careful to shield Hiro's face from the singer's view in order to give the guitarist precious moments to compose himself. "We'll be right in."

Shrugging, Shuichi ducked back inside. Giving Hiro a questioning look, Suguru felt a little calmer when the guitarist nodded reassurance. He would be fine.

--

Back inside, Suguru resumed his seat and picked up his music notebook. Hiro, ever so responsible, placed a call to the restaurant they would be going to tonight.

"Yes, just reconfirming the reservation… Winchester…. Yes, K Winchester… Yes, group of ten… Okay, Good. Thanks. Bye."

"Us three," Shuichi counted off his fingers, "K, two body guards, the two show managers, plus Katsuya and Eiri…" He sighed.

"What was that sigh for, you imp?" Hiro demanded, chuckling. "Aren't you happy we're all 'back together' again?"

"I still feel weird around… Eiri." Shuichi admitted, flopping over on one of the long couches.

Hiro grinned and opened his mouth.

"Not a word!" Shuichi snapped, waving a finger at his best friend without even lifting his head or looking up. "Do not comment on how I address him! Not one word!"

Snickering, Hiro said slyly, "Can I talk about how you make goo-goo eyes at him?"

"I do not make goo-goo eyes!"

"Please!" With a snort, Hiro insisted, "You know you want him!" The guitarist struck a theatrical pose, putting a hand on his chest and extending the other dramatically. He was as audacious as he dared as there were no worries of being overheard. He adopted a high-pitched breathy tone, making a very good impression of Shuichi's whiny voice, "Eiri! Please come back to me!"

"I don't sound like that!" Shuichi exclaimed, sitting up. K calmly continued cleaning his guns and Suguru didn't even glance up from his music notebook.

"Well that's how a chicken sounds," Hiro reasoned. He tucked both hands under his arms and waved his elbows before turning to amble jerkily around the room. "Cluck, cluck!"

The singer glowered and pouted before scampering to launch himself at his best friend, glomping the guitarist to the ground.

"I don't sound like that!" Shuichi repeated on a wail.

K sauntered over and without breaking stride, plucked the singer off Hiro's chest with one arm around the singer's middle. He muttered, "Try not to injure your band mate."

Tucked under the gunman's arm, Shuichi was carried feet first back toward the couch he'd occupied. Unfazed, he folded his arms and glowered from behind K's back at Hiro, allowing himself to be carried across the room. The gunman casually tossed the singer onto the couch before returning to his own seat and chore.

While Shu sat up with his arms still folded and continued to pout, Suguru didn't even blink at these antics. He stood to offer help to his band mate as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Well then, what are you going to do?" Hiro asked, accepting the synth-master's proffered hand to pull him to his feet. Shuichi mumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that?" Suguru and Hiro asked at the same time, tones playful. If it was what they thought he'd said…

"I said," the singer scowled. "I'm thinking about it."

"It's the end of the world," Suguru commented with an expression of mock horror. At the same time Hiro teased,

"Don't hurt yourself."

K laughed as he continued cleaning and Shuichi frowned at them all. He looked, instead of threatening, adorably cute.

"Aww," Suguru teased, "You look so cute, Shuichi…"

The singer renewed his efforts at a satisfactory glower which only resulted in eliciting warm smiles from his amused friends. Annoyed, he snatched up the box of Pocky from a nearby side table and munched on a stick. Despite busy eating, he maintained his pout.

"Quit eating that shit," Hiro grinned at his best friend. "We're about to go have dinner!"

"Shut up!" Shuichi grumbled. He sneered, "I burn a lot of calories being cute."

Not about to pass up the opportunity, Suguru feigned indifference by picking up his music notebook. He gave the appearance of skimming over his notes and casually said, "But you now, that cuteness IS what attracted Yuki-san to you in the first place."

Without missing a beat, Hiro turned his eyes away from Shuichi and quipped, "It was what caught my attention at the playground when I first met him, too!" K glanced over and smiled as he listened. "He got picked on by a bunch of bullies who had thought he was a girl and wanted to make 'her' cry. When they'd found out he was a boy…"

"Is that how you met?" K asked, looking genuinely interested.

"Yep!" Hiro grinned fondly at the memory. "We met again on the street near our homes, we lived rather close to each other, and then again the next day at school and I found out he was the same age as me. I figured it was fate."

"Fate!" Suguru spat scornfully, pausing from his note-writing to fire the guitarist a glare. He jabbed the air with his pencil and said, "There's no such thing! Fate isn't going to make me a better musician than Seguchi-san!"

"Still squawking about that?" Hiro, K and Shuichi all muttered in unison. The guitarist noticed out of the corner of his eye how Shuichi smiled with amusement looking entirely entertained by the bantering.

Good.

K finished re-assembling his guns and gestured he was ready to go. Hiro nodded before standing up, "C'mon Suguru, Shuichi, let's go get some dinner."

"Actually, I'd prefer to stay here and finish this piece," Suguru said, not looking up from his notebook as he made another notation. "This one is actually quite work-able."

Suguru, still as discerning as ever, ignored Shuichi's noise of indignation. The singer-songwriter had supplied the new melody and lyrics the day before, another song right on his most recent schedule of one new song every three days. It was expected, Shu being on his usual tour overdrive, churning out new material regularly, inspired by the tour experience, the people they had met… and a certain novelist.

"No fair," Shuichi muttered as Hiro waved for K to hold off pulling his gun. "I wanted to stay behind tonight…"

"So stay with Suguru," Hiro suggested, as calm as ever. He shook his head at their manager, gesturing to be left to handle this.

"I can't!" the moppet exclaimed, pointing at Suguru with a pocky stick. He whined, "For dinner, he'll make me eat veggie meat or something!"

"If you continue to eat that junk I really will," snapped Suguru, getting to his feet with a nod of appreciation to Hiro. K was obviously in a 'no one stays out of my sight' mood tonight. The gathered press at the hotel driveway might've also had some influence on K's frame of mind this evening.

"Aww," Shuichi smiled, eyes glinting with humour. "Suguru cares about me…"

"Shut up!"

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone…" Shu snickered before dashing ahead and away from Suguru's wrath, firing over his shoulder, "Wouldn't want to ruin your Seguchi-san copy reputation…"

"Come back here!" Predictably, Suguru gave chase. Hiro and K chuckled as they followed the two out the door.

"What do you think?" K asked quietly.

"Still going bad," Hiro replied just as softly. "I'm worried, but I'll wait to panic when his humour fades. He's lost that first when he nears danger zone." K gave Hiro a strange look, and the guitarist's eyes widened. "You don't think…"

"Could be," K muttered, eyes searching out their singer. "After all, he knows you just as well as you know him."

"I hope you're wrong." The guitarist shuddered. "I really hope you're wrong."

--

"If there is one thing I've learned about you, darling…" Mika's eyes sparkled dangerously as she stressed that last word, "is that nothing with you is ever at face value."

"Not even my desire to protect those I love?" Tohma countered, sitting back in his office chair as his wife settled herself on the edge of his desk. His youthful face a little tight with annoyance, he met her gaze with stormy blue eyes. He never bothered to hide his emotions from his wife; it was useless given that she knew him too well.

"With perhaps only that exception," she conceded, tilting her head with interest at the sight of his eyes' rich azure colour. Ooh, he was annoyed alright.

The instant he became aware of his mood was intense enough to change his eye colour, Tohma had always been careful to smile so cheerily that closing his eyes would appear natural… a trick to hide the window which the Gods had compensated for against his exceptional self-control. Showing her his eyes like this… made her irritation fade.

"Only exception?" Tohma repeated, eyes darkening another shade.

"Tell me this, though," Mika said quietly, expression softening, "Do you personally care about Shuichi at all?"

"Personally," Tohma replied bluntly, straight into Mika's eyes, "I do care."

She held his gaze for the space of a few heartbeats, watching as the deep blue there faded into a fascinating light shade neither blue nor green but somewhere in between. "And Eiri?"

Tohma turned back to a document on his desk, blowing a sharp breath from his nose that could have been mistaken for a snort had it not been so elegantly executed. Mika smiled to herself. Only Tohma could make a snort appear elegant.

"I want my investigator back…"

Tohma flashed his wife a quick frown before returning to his work, "No. Your meddling will serve only to exacerbate an already troublesome matter. Trust me in that it is NOT going to solve the problem at hand."

"Well, what IS the problem, Tohma?" Mika demanded softly, annoyed. She scooted over along the desk until she sat right on top of the papers on her husband's desk, forcing him to give her his full attention.

"Mika, you promised…"

"I know I did," she conceded though her eyes remained sharp. "I also know I should have made it part of our deal that no one interfere with the other rather than just not ask. But you have not been in touch with the band as I have, you don't know how bad things have become."

"As I see it, Shuichi has been--"

"Doing miserably and only seeing him with your own two eyes could confirm it because he's hiding it so well!"

Tohma frowned.

"I'm telling you," Mika insisted, voice still low, "Hiro is worried sick about him and is expecting some sort of collapse."

"Let me deal with this," Tohma said instantly, getting up from his chair. He paused when Mika reached out, awaiting her touch which did not come. She hardly ever did, not when she knew just making to touch him was as good as taking hold.

"We care about him, Tohma," she whispered, hand poised in the air. "We want to know."

"I will deal with it."

Watching her husband walk away was hard. Letting him was harder. "I know about his medication."

Tohma continued on but Mika had caught the little twitch in his step, that nanosecond hit of shock and automatically adopted nonchalance. Oh, he was good, this master of manipulation and suggestion. He was the very best… but Mika had learned from the best.

Snatching at a hunch, she asked, "Will he die?"

"He works himself too hard," Tohma sighed as he came to stand by one of his office windows. His dismissive tone of voice did not placate her. She watched him carefully as he looked out at the view for a moment then looked over his shoulder at his wife. "He… is working too hard."

"You're telling me--"

"Ask the HR department what he's been up to," he cut of the beginning of her angry tirade. "You'll see there why."

"HR?" Mika slid gracefully of the desk and approached her husband. "You're saying…"

"He's a producer, Mika." He turned to look out the window again, his eyes fixing on Mika's gaze in the reflection in the glass. "As well as choreographer, columnist and marketing associate."

"What?" Mika was breathless. How did one keep all that up and still manage a tour?

"I know what Suguru-kun attempted with Hinamori-san." Tohma said, startling his wife. "She is Shuichi's assistant, his point of contact here in Tokyo. He is working like crazy, Mika, maybe to the bone if only just to--"

"Not feel." It was Mika who interrupted this time. Sadly, she considered the boy's emotions…

Shuichi had loved Eiri to a depth she had not considered anyone ever capable of feeling. Heck, no writer, not even Eiri himself, had ever written of such devotion. Breaking must be hell on earth for him. But things were getting better, she believed that. He and Eiri were on speaking terms, almost close, even, if Eiri were to be believed…

"I'm withdrawing from Nittle Grasper."

Mika started. "What?"

"That is all I can tell you without breaking my word to Shuichi." Tohma sighed again looking, she suddenly noticed, very tired. "I…

She pressed into her husband's back, wrapping loving, supportive arms around him from behind. She tilted her chin and let her jaw rest on his shoulder. Feeling Tohma lean back a little into her, she knew all was still well between them. "You can't be a husband, a company president and perform in a band all at once."

"I'm sorry, Mika."

"For ruining my high opinion that there is nothing in this world that you cannot do?"

Tohma's mouth curled with warmth and Mika returned the smile. As they smiled at each other, the picture of their reflection dawned upon her. Once again, as she had been many times before, she was struck by how good they looked together.

"Yes, we do, don't we?" Tohma murmured, cleverly reading the look in her eyes.

Laughing softly with delight, she turned her face and planted a wet kiss on his neck. Tohma had instantly angled his head to allow her better access, having been watching her reflection carefully. At the sound of a sighing moan, Mika lifter head and studied her husband's expression. The reflection was a little washed out by the sunlight but she caught the small glitter in his eyes.

"It's been while, hasn't it?"

"Too long," Mika agreed. She let him go and as she kicked off her heels he turned around to face her, taking her into his arms. Threading her arms over his shoulder, she clasped her hands behind his head and smiled invitingly.

Bending his head, Tohma suggested, "Let's never wait this long again."

--

Shuichi rolled over in his bed onto his left side to face his bedside window.

The curtains were open and the sunlight streamed in brightly. The window faced east, facing the rising sun, lending the room a deceptively cheery glow. For the singer, the light seemed more like a shadow… it looked strange to him. Too bright, too white… and despite the warmth, he felt cold. There was a nagging feeling in his mind, like something was wrong. It was so quiet.

He snuggled into his blankets, pushing the roiling thoughts away. His mind went back to the night before.

At dinner, Shuichi had managed not to sit beside Eiri. He'd stayed at one end of the table next to Katsuya with one of the show managers across from him, listening to them tell the usual show-trouble stories, laughing along in all the right places… keeping his mask up but not with as much effort as usual with these two people who didn't know him quite as well as a few others further along the table.

For the duration of the dinner, he had been aware of Eiri, three seats down. Peeking over a few times, he'd tried to resist the urge to stare. The yearning to be near the writer had never waned and he still wanted to be near Eiri as he always had but…

But what?

Fear…?

Because in as much as he wanted to touch Eiri, or maybe just bask in the comfort of being near the man he loved, seek the calm that always overcame him now when near the writer… the image of the red dress had been burned into his mind.

"Forgive and let rest," Shuichi murmured to himself, still sprawled in the bed. The words tasted strange in his mouth, a dry sort of texture to it like it didn't really matter. With a sigh he rolled over, fighting a heaviness in his body he hadn't noticed until just then, and picked up the telephone then dialled a number from memory. The silence was bothering him now.

"Katsuko," a female voice answered.

"Shindou," Shuichi replied.

"It's good to hear from you Shuichi, you caught me at a good time. How are you?" He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Calm, strangely enough," he told her, wondering at the blankness of his mind. He tried not to think about it.

"You sound… different today. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Shuichi turned back over to face the window and curled up around one of his pillows. "I just woke up, looking out the window from my bed. It's… quiet here."

"Shuichi?" She sounded worried suddenly. "How's your music?"

And then it hit him… there wasn't any. Sitting up, Shuichi suddenly realised why the light had looked funny, why his body felt heavy… Oh dear, he thought, and let himself fall back on the bed.

"Shuichi?"

He couldn't breathe. Gasping, he whispered, "It hurts, sensei…" And it did hurt, a strange and very heavy throbbing in his chest. "I can't breathe very well…"

"Try and relax," she coaxed sensibly, with calm authority. There were a series of beeps in the background. "Think about the sound of the waves. Remember? We went to the Bay once and listened to the water?"

Right. The waves. It had been part of one of his first therapy sessions with her. The positive effects of listening to waves had come up in a test she had conducted on him… and they had gone to listen to waves together, to watch the water. He breathed, concentrating…

"Hello?" Her voice came over farther away from the receiver. It sounded like sensei was on another call. "Yes… Yes, I have him on my other phone. He's in bed but he can't breathe properly… Wait, K-san! It's a panic attack, please don't..!"

Too late.

Shuichi's bedroom door came crashing open. He didn't roll over, didn't need to because K came skidding to halt in his line of sight between the bed and the window. The crazy American had a gun drawn and his mobile pressed to his ear with the other hand.

"Shuichi?" He looked a little worried as he knelt by the bedside, "Are you alright?"

"Hey! What's going on?" It was Hiro, his voice echoing down the hall. Shuichi heard his footsteps approaching… yes, definitely Hiro. Shuichi could always tell, listening to the rhythm of his best friend's stride, the tempo a familiar rhythm.

The singer turned panicked eyes up at his manager, who nodded. From behind Shuichi, Hiro's voice came from the doorway, "Shu?"

"Out!" K ordered sharply, cocking and aiming his gun over Shuichi shoulder and at the door. Maintaining his aim, he stood and marched out of Shu's line of sight. Hiro protested noisily but the singer heard his best friend's voice mute out when K shut the door and locked it. Coming back to kneel before him, K holstered his fire arm. Into the phone, he said, "I'm beside him now. Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker."

The gunman propped his phone up on the bedside table before reaching over and taking Shu's phone from his hand. Disconnecting the singer's call, K tossed Shu's phone aside.

"Sensei," K ruffled Shuichi's hair. "He seems alright."

"Good." Katsuko-sensei sighed, relief audible through the crackling speaker. "Breathing, irises, colour?"

Shuichi continued to pant a little, the tightness in his chest still persistent, while his manager checked him over. He knew K was qualified as a paramedic, had done some serious learning, in order to qualify for the many licenses and gun permits he owned. But it was still strange to be handled so gently by such a big man. He tried to smile reassuringly but suddenly the pain peaked and his vision swam…

"Not looking so good," K reported. "I'm taking him to—Shu? Shuichi!"

And darkness descended.

--

Feed(back) me!