Title: Complicated
Author: Mat (matkashi)
Chapter(s): 2/??
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Drama/Romance/Comedy/Angst/AU
Warnings: Sex, adultery, character death, violence, some blood
Bands: the gazette, Alice Nine, Miyavi
Pairings: Reita/Aoi, Aoi/Uruha, Kai/Uruha, Kai/Ruki, Tora/Aoi, Hiroto/Uruha, Tora/Shou, Reita/OFC, Nao/OFC, Saga/Nao

Summary: Yuu sees an imaginary man who likes kittens. Takanori has to stomp three times before he can walk through a doorway. Shinji is about to be made Chief of Surgery. Akira hasn't been attending his anger management class. And Takashi just started his own fashion label. What do all these people have in common? They're friends—and they're about to have their lives thrown upside down.

-

Chapter 2: Work

Yuu dreams of silence.

"Are you gonna eat that?"

Yuu sighed and continued to poke at his sandwich, looking as though he'd rather shoot himself than eat it.

"If you don't want it, I'll take it," Miyavi said, peering at the food.

"You can't eat, you asshole," Yuu grumbled. "You're not real."

"Well you sure know how to hurt a guy's feelings, eh?" Miyavi retorted, pouting. "Here I was, just wanting a bite of that sandwich, and you have to go and be a spoilsport."

"You're annoying," Yuu muttered. "You know that?"

"I try my best."

Yuu groaned and pushed the sandwich aside, standing from the table and walking into the living room to his guitar stand. Silently, he sat down on the couch and swung the guitar into his lap, calloused fingers sliding over the neck and hand grabbing one of his picks off the side table.

He glanced at a stack of papers covered in chords and tabs on the coffee table and sighed.

"If they have you compose any more, you'll run out of music!" Miyavi declared, pumping his fist into the air.

"It pays the bills," Yuu murmured, jotting something down on a piece of paper and holding the pen between his teeth to play a chord on the guitar.

Miyavi skipped to the other side of the couch and leaned over it to watch Yuu play, tilting his head like a curious child. "Which movie is this for?"

"Shut up," Yuu snapped. "I need to concentrate."

Miyavi whined. "Which movie?"

Yuu scowled. "The romantic comedy. You know, the one with the dog?"

"Oh, I remember that one."

Yuu rolled his eyes. "You remember it because I do, you dumb shit. Now leave me alone. I have to finish this song by Monday." He played a few more chords and then nodded to himself, writing it down in his notebook.

Miyavi sniffed. "You need to get laid."

Yuu dropped his pick.

. . . . .

Takashi dreams of inspiration.

Takashi sighed and took a drag of his cigarette, staring out over the back parking lot to his studio. Inside, he could hear the bustling murmur of his staff members working to put together the new fashion line in time for the runway show that was happening later that week.

Pursing his lips, he tossed the cigarette butt to the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of his leather boots hiding beneath designer jeans hugging his hips.

He pulled the door open and walked back inside, rolling his eyes at the panicked look of his assistant as he tried desperately to stop a piece of cloth from falling off a mannequin. He grabbed some pins off a nearby table and walked over to the doll, pushing his assistant aside to pin up the shirt sleeve and send the younger man a baleful glare.

"Pins," he said. The assistant cowered. "Learn how to use them or I will fire you, darling."

With a jerk of his head and a flick of his wrist, he left the sputtering assistant with the mannequin.

"Takashi," a woman called. "Takashi-san!"

The brunette turned and gave the woman a questioning look. "What?"

"How is this dress?"

He chewed his lower lip and surveyed the article of clothing before him. "Three inches shorter and instead of the belt I want you to bunch the left hip with a tie. Subtle. Not overly done. She'll be wearing that on the red carpet. Make it elegant."

The woman nodded almost spastically and ran off, screaming to the other designers about strings.

Takashi frowned and walked into his office, shutting the door. He felt tired—drained—and it wasn't just because he was overworked. Something felt dull and lifeless about his job lately, as though he wasn't doing exactly what he should be with his life. Yes, he loved design and fashion. He loved it with all his heart, but there was something missing.

He only wished he knew what it was.

. . . . .

Hiroto dreams of recognition.

"Twenty-first and main. Nakagawa building."

"Of course," Hiroto said with a smile. "Hiro can get you there, ma'am." He started up the taxi and pulled out into traffic. "May Hiro ask your reasons to go to the Nakagawa building?"

The woman glanced up at the rearview mirror, meeting his eyes and staring as though she was judging his character. He swallowed nervously and kept his smile in place.

"My husband and I are getting a divorce," she said finally, sighing. "My lawyer works in the Nakagawa building."

"Hiro is very sorry to hear that, miss," Hiroto said, frowning. "Why are you getting a divorce?"

"He cheated on me," the woman said, sniffling. She pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

"Hiro is sure you will find someone much more worthy of you, ma'am."

She smiled through watery eyes. "Thank you, dear. You're very sweet. You don't happen to be available, do you?" She giggled and Hiroto laughed.

"You wouldn't want Hiro, ma'am. Hiro would be a bad boyfriend," Hiroto said honestly.

"Nonsense!" the woman chided. "You're a darling, truly."

Hiroto smiled. "Thank you, miss."

"You're quite welcome," she replied. They pulled up next to the Nakagawa building and she tucked her handkerchief away. "Wish me luck!"

"Good luck!" Hiroto said, turning around and giving her a bright smile.

. . . . .

Kouyou dreams of confidence.

The sky was overcast and the air was cold, making the children shiver in their puffy coats with red noses and puffs of fog appearing with their laughter.

Kouyou watched from the side of the playground as the kids ran about, screaming and laughing amongst themselves as they played their own imaginary games of good guy and bad guy in the cold day.

He shifted his weight and pulled his suede jacket tighter around his slim form. The day was a terribly cold one and he wasn't exactly fond of being outside freezing his ass off, but the kids needed their play time or they went crazy in class.

"Kouyou."

Startled, Kouyou turned to see who had called him. The rush of another class coming out to join them on the playground swept past and another homeroom teacher walked up beside him.

"Hi, Tenyo."

Tenyo smiled. "How are you today, buddy?"

Kouyou shrugged and gave him a polite smile. "I'm alright. The children are wreaking havoc, though."

"Yeah, kids can do that," Tenyo replied, nodding and stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. "Listen, some of us are going out for drinks after school. Do you want to join us?"

Kouyou took in a deep breath and looked away. "I have a lot to do after school today. Class has a new art project and I have to organize papers for the parent-teacher meet next Wednesday."

Tenyo frowned. "Oh, alright. Well, if you change your mind, we'll be at the Sakanchi bar over south."

Kouyou nodded. "Definitely."

But they both knew Kouyou had no intention of going.

. . . . .

Shinji dreams of peace.

"Doctor Amano to ward B."

Shinji groaned and grabbed his clipboard, adjusting his green scrubs and taking off in a quick walk towards the ward.

"What is it?" he asked as soon as he saw the nurse who had paged him.

"We've got a real bleeder in operation room C-2," she said, walking with him down the hall. "He was shot twice in a gang fight downtown. Took them twenty minutes to get him here and he's already been bleeding out for another ten on the pavement."

"Bullets still inside him?" Shinji asked, grabbing a mask and gloves outside the operating room.

The nurse nodded. "Yep, and they're lodged in nice and tight. One missed his heart by inches."

"Alright, thank you," Shinji said, entering the room.

The man was on the table, blood everywhere with a dazed and terrified look in his eyes.

"Have you given him sedatives?" Shinji inquired, walking up to the tableside and adjusting the lamp above it.

"Yes, Doctor," a woman on the other side said, handing him a sponge.

"Good, what's his name?"

"Peter Schemer."

Shinji leaned over the heaving chest of the man and looked him in the eye as he grabbed his tools and set to working on the wound in his shoulder. "Mister Schemer, you're going to be alright. I just need to take these bullets out and I'll sew you up good as new."

Peter blinked fearfully at him.

Shinji positioned the clip above the wound. "You're going to feel some pain here because we aren't able to put you completely out, but the sedatives will work as a pain reliever, okay?"

Without waiting for a response, he quickly pushed the tool in and fished around for the bullet. Peter groaned in pain and the nurse held the wound open so Shinji could grab the bullet and pull it out.

"The other one went clean through his leg," the nurse said.

Shinji nodded sharply. "Good, then let's patch this guy up and get him on a blood bag."

. . . . .

Akira dreams of rest.

"Left. Right. Duck. Kick. Again!"

Akira punched out when his coached called it, ducked, kicked, swung out, all in perfect precision, hitting dents in the punching bag as he panted and dripped with sweat.

His normally spike hair was wet and clinging in tendrils to his face, soaking through his noseband and making it hard to breathe. He refused to take the band off, saying it got him into the mindset he needed to fight. The noseband was what made him Reita, the national kickboxing champion.

"Left. Right. Switch!"

He coach continued to call out moves and Akira began to feel the strain of his muscles protesting the past three hours of training. His stomach was clenched and sore, his back stiff, and his neck tired, but he didn't stop. He needed to train for the upcoming match the next day. He had to be in top form, which meant training until he felt like dying.

"Kick. Duck. Left hook!" his coach shouted. "You can do better than that, Suzuki!"

Akira grunted and punched the bag with all his might, teeth clenching around the guard in his mouth that he likes to use even when he wasn't fighting. He said biting it kept him focused.

He sighed and willed his limps to slow to a stop, spitting the guard into his hand and grabbing his water bottle.

"Something on your mind, Suzuki?" the coach asked.

Akira shook his head, sending droplets of sweat into the air, and took a swig of his water. "I'm fine, coach."

"You seem distracted."

"You sayin' I'm not making my hits right?" Akira asked, brows furrowed.

"No, you're on it just like you always are," the coach replied. "But there's a different look in your eyes. You're thinking about something."

"It ain't got nothin' to do with my training, so no need to talk about it," Akira replied stubbornly.

"Been going to your anger management classes?"

Akira groaned and threw his head back in irritation. "Why does everyone always ask me that?"

. . . . .

Takanori dreams of chaos.

He was humming. Humming right in the middle of shooting a scene. Why was he humming? It was because there was a siren passing by outside.

His costar sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for the siren to pass so Takanori could stop humming and get on with the scene.

It passed and Takanori stopped, nodding apologetically to everyone in the room, including the camera. "So where were we?"

The director frowned. "Why don't we take a break. We've been at this scene for two hours. Everyone take twenty."

Takanori nodded and set off towards his trailer, stamping his foot three times in the set doorway before stepping outside. The day was bleak and looked like rain, just the kind of day Takanori didn't like. With a small scowl, he made his way to the trailer and inside it, sitting down in a small chair and staring at the mirror in front of him. He tapped it twice to make sure the mirror wouldn't suddenly break while he was sitting there and then let out a heavy breath.

He knew the director had called a break because of him. That was the third siren to pass by that scene. Apparently a lot of people were breaking the law that day. Takanori was frustrated with himself. He knew it was stupid that he had to hum. He knew his eardrums wouldn't burst if he heard the siren, but for some reason he couldn't stop himself.

He thought the medication was supposed to be helping with that, but apparently not. Sure, he had made some progress here and there. One time he had only stamped twice in a doorway. Another time he had been able to eat a whole meal without eating sugar first. They were small steps, but it was something and Takanori was proud of himself for that.

He only wished that his OCD wouldn't get in the way of his work. He had interrupted almost every scene at least once with his problems, and though the director was willing to put up with anything to get Takanori in his movie, it was still extremely agitating.

He stared at his own reflection in the mirror and frowned. Would he ever be free of this burden?

. . . . .

Kazamasa dreams of love.

"You have a customer!"

Silence.

"Kaza, you have a customer!"

Kazamasa shot up off the couch, startled. He adjusted his pink silk shirt and sighed. "Sorry. I was taking a nap."

"No more naps," his boss snapped. "You have a customer at table three. He requested you specifically."

"Why me? Has he been here before?" Kazamasa asked, frowning.

His boss shrugged. "I don't recognize him, but it doesn't matter. He paid a high price for you, kid. Go work your magic."

Kazamasa nodded and walked out into the main floor, heading towards table three. Three men were all sitting around it, laughing and drinking scotch. Businessmen.

Taking a deep breath, Kazamasa brought a small, alluring smile to the surface and walked over to the table. "Hello boys," he said, resting his hands on his hips. "Which one of you gentlemen requested me?"

One with short, spiked hair gave him a sleazy grin and patted his thigh. "It was me. Aren't you a pretty thing?" He looked Kazamasa up and down and Kazamasa resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "My friend told me about you. Said you were the best escort he ever had."

Kazamasa smiled politely. "Well you'll have to thank your friend for me."

The man leered and Kazamasa kept his small smile, delicately bowing his head and looking away to portray timidity in seduction. His lips were tilted and a tongue darted out, moistening the pouting flesh. The man's eyes followed the movement and she shifted in his seat, staring almost rudely.

"Would you like another drink?" Kazamasa asked, gesturing towards the empty scotch glass in front of the man.

The man smirked and nodded. "Get me something you like and we'll share," he said.

Kazamasa shook his head and winked. "Now, now, you know escorts aren't allowed to drink. I'll get you another scotch." He twisted his hips and walked away to the bar.

The bartender chuckled. "Got yourself quite a card today, Kaza."

Kazamasa rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

. . . . .

Yutaka dreams of passion.

"I like this one." The client picked up one of the sketches and slid it across the table to Yutaka.

Yutaka grabbed it and held it up to the light. "Yes, this one is my favorite."

"We want to start construction on the new mall by September. Do you think you could have a full array of architectural map outs by then?" the client asked, sipping his coffee. "We need more than just sketches if we're to start this up."

Yutaka nodded. "Of course. I can have them done in two weeks."

"Two weeks!" the man exclaimed. "Can you honestly deal out quality that quickly?"

Yutaka steepled his fingers. "Mister Yamamoto," he said slowly. "My work is always quality."

Yamamoto laughed. "I like you."

Yutaka shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "You hired me to design your mall because you believe I'm the best. Naturally, I'll give you the best if that's what you want."

"It is what I want," Yamamoto replied. "And I know you'll deliver, Yutaka. I'll see you in two weeks, then."

Yutaka gathered up the papers and stood from the table, holding his hand out to shake Yamamoto's. "Two weeks."

He walked out of the meeting room and down the hall to his office. Adjusting his tie, he pushed the door open and collapsed into his desk chair, tossing the sketches carelessly onto his desk. He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. "Two weeks. Way to force another two weeks without sleep, Yutaka," he chastised himself.

He needed to promise such deadlines because it was one of the reasons people hired him. His work was not only genius, it was fast, and people loved speed when it came to construction and design.

He bit his lower lip and grabbed his coffee mug, taking a swig of the lukewarm drink and grimacing.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

. . . . .

Nao dreams of honesty.

"Martini, three olives."

"Coming right up!" Nao said cheerily, spinning the mixer in his hand and grabbing a glass. He poured the drink and speared the olives, dropping them into the drink and handing it off to the man sitting at the bar.

The man took it and paid him, sighing. "So is it true what they say about bartenders giving good advice?"

Nao looked up, surprised. "Well I'm not sure if I can give you advice, but I can always listen if you'd like someone to talk to."

The man sighed again and Nao prepared himself for a long story.

"I think I'm gay," he said.

Nao's eyebrows rose. He hadn't been expecting that. "Why is that?"

"I cheated on my wife with a man," the man replied.

"Well that's definitely a good reason, then," Nao responded. "So, what are you going to do?"

"My wife is going to her lawyer today to get the divorce papers," the man muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

"And your lover?"

"He's not my lover. It was a one-time thing," the man answered, rubbing his temples. "But still, I think I'm gay."

Nao nodded. "Well there's nothing wrong with that."

The man shrugged and tossed back the rest of his drink. "I just don't know what to do now. That's all."

"Well looks to me like maybe you should start dating guys instead of marrying women, for a start."

The man laughed. "That's a good point."

Nao smiled. "I thought so too."