Title: Complicated
Author: Mat (matkashi)
Chapter(s): 3/??
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.

-

I have officially decided that "Kazamasa" is fucking hard to type quickly without screwing up.

Chapter 3: Helping Hand

Kouyou sat at his desk and watched as the children used crayons and colored pencils to each devise their own creation of elementary school artworks. He licked his lips and continued to glue the finished drawings to a long roll of construction paper to hang up in the hallway.

"Mister Takashima," a little girl whined, jumping up and down in her chair.

He glanced up. "What is it, Suki?"

"I have to go potty!" she cried.

He nodded towards the door. "You can go."

She hopped out of her desk seat and hurried off out the door, making Kouyou shake his head in amusement.

Moments later, a tall man walked through the door and up to Kouyou's desk, peering down at him. "Kouyou, may I speak to you in the hall for a moment?"

Kouyou frowned. "Of course. Kids, say his to Principal Hiroki."

"Hi Principal Hiroki!" the kids chorused with bright smiles.

"Hi children. Continue with your drawings," Hiroki muttered, nodding.

Kouyou stood and followed him out into the hall. "Is something wrong, Hiroki?"

The principal shook his head. "Not exactly. I'm just here to warn you. Board members will be coming here in a month to check out our teachers and they've told me they're looking for teachers that excel at their positions." He sighed. "The board is making some faculty cuts, but you're less likely to be cut if you're unique." He put a hand on Kouyou's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "Kouyou, you are one of the best teachers in this school, if not the best. We can't afford to lose you."

"What would you like me to do?" Kouyou asked, glancing back in his classroom to make sure the children were behaving.

"Learn a trade," Hiroki said. "A specific skill that could make you stand out and help in the classroom with teaching. Make yourself… unique."

Kouyou scratched the back of his neck. "I'll do my best."

Hiroki pat his shoulder and smiled. "You've got one month to think of something. Best of luck, Kouyou."

"Thank you for the warning, Hiroki."

"Of course. The school would suffer a severe blow if we lost you."

. . . . .

"It's shit."

"I beg your pardon?"

The man glared and leaned over the table. "The song. I listened to it. It's shit."

Yuu scowled. "It's not shit."

"I don't know who you're kidding, Shiroyama," the man snapped. "That composition was utter bullshit. A high schooler could make it. I don't know if you've forgotten, but in this industry we're big boys now. I don't want shit a kid could hand over to me after a week of composing. Fuck, probably less."

Miyavi giggled and Yuu's eyes narrowed. "What didn't you like about it?"

The man threw his hands up in the air. "It's too simple. Knock up the piano bits, add in some more strings, and maybe some staccato."

"I thought you wanted minimalism," Yuu replied, gritting his teeth. "Minimalism is simple. Make up your mind."

The man sniffed. "Minimize some more strings and piano, then."

Yuu stood from the chair and grabbed his disk off the table. "You'll have it in a week."

"Four days," the man replied, eyes hard.

Yuu rolled his eyes and walked to the door, pausing when he heard the man clear his throat.

"And Yuu, don't forget the staccato."

. . . . .

"What's wrong?"

Nao glanced up to see Hiroto staring down at him with concern. "Hiro?"

Hiroto smiled and sat down at the opposite end of the café table. "Hiro was driving his cab down the street when Hiro saw you sitting here. You look sad, Nao-kun. What's wrong?"

Nao stared into his tea and sighed. "I'm not used to telling people about my problems. It's usually the other way around," he muttered.

Hiroto nodded. "It must be hard to always be hearing other people's problems."

Nao shrugged and took a sip of his tea. "I suppose. I'm used to it."

"Would you like to tell Hiroto about what's on your mind?" Hiroto asked. "Hiroto is also used to hearing about people's troubles when he drives them places."

"It's just my girlfriend," Nao muttered, pursing his lips. "She's been distant lately. I feel like she's hiding something."

Hiroto tilted his head to the side, curious. "Do you think she's cheating, Nao-kun?"

Nao chuckled humorlessly. "Probably. After all, who wants a limping cripple bartender like me? I wouldn't blame her if she cheated."

There was a soft sigh and Hiroto stood from his chair, walking over to Nao and pulling a chair up next to him. "Look at Hiroto, Nao-kun."

Nao raised his eyebrows and looked over at his friend.

Hiroto had a serious expression on his face and he stared Nao right in the eyes. "Nao-kun, Hiro never wants to hear you talk about yourself like that again." He reached up and squeezed the back of Nao's neck, smiling warmly. "You deserve a loyal companion and if that girl is cheating on you, she's a fool, in Hiro's opinion." He nodded decisively and Nao smiled.

"Thank you, Hiro."

"You never need to thank a friend, Nao-kun."

. . . . .

"Okay, let's close this guy up," Shinji said quietly as he stared down into the open abdomen of his patient. "Someone get my forehead." He held his bloodied gloves out in front of himself as a nurse walked over and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Thank you." With a sigh, he began to sew the wound closed, blinked slowly in the bright light of the operation room.

"Alright, get this guy to a room. We're done here."

There were relieved nods and the man was wheeled out of the OR as shinji pulled his gloves off and tossed them into the trash, tugging down his mask and taking in a lungful of air. He glanced down at his bloodied scrubs and frowned. Walking out of the OR, he stopped short when he saw someone grinning over at him.

"Kaza?"

Kazamasa nodded and held up a bag in his hand. "I brought lunch." He glanced at Shinji's scrubs. "Once you change, of course."

Shinji smiled and started walking down the hall, waving for Kazamasa to follow. They walked to the locker room and Kazamasa waited patiently for Shinji to change into some street clothes.

"How did you know this was my break?" Shinji asked as he pulled on his shirt.

Kazamasa shrugged. "I called in and asked when you'd be out of surgery."

Shinji smiled.

. . . . .

"Fucker!"

"What the fuck did you say to me?" Akira shouted, face red.

"I called you a limp dick faggot, motherfucker," the man spat. "What are you gonna do about it, sissy boy?"

Akira tore away from his coach and tackled the other man to the ground. He straddled his stomach and punched him in the cheek bone, snapping the man's head to the side with a pained grunt.

"Who are you calling a sissy now, you fucker?!" Akira hollered, punching him again and smirking victoriously as he felt the other man's nose break and blood dribbled down his face.

"Akira, get the fuck off him!" his coach shouted, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him back, thrashing.

"Let the fuck go, man!" Akira growled. "You heard what he said!"

"Yeah, but you don't need to break the guy's neck for it, you dumb shit!" his coach hissed. "You're on parole already!"

His coach didn't have time to say anything before the man with the broken nose ran over and grabbed Akira, throwing him to the ground and kicking his ribs.

"Ah, fuck."

. . . . .

"I like that one better." Takanori pointed to the purple shirt and nodded.

Takashi sighed. "I was hoping you'd choose the pink one."

Takanori rolled his eyes. "You would."

"What does that mean?"

"You kiddin'?" Takanori retorted. "You're the queenliest of all queens, Takashi."

"You aren't much better, mister "thespian"." Takashi pouted.

"If you're implying that sounds like "lesbian", then I officially think you're an idiot," Takanori replied, deadpanned.

Takashi shrugged. "I think the purple shirt would look cute with your black pants."

"I'm not aiming for cute," Takanori muttered. "More like suave."

"You can't look suave in purple."

"I can."

"Oh, la dee da."

"Shut up and give me the shirt, Takashi."

"Just because you're getting like three million for this movie alone doesn't mean you can talk down to me," Takashi said, handing Takanori the shirt.

"Four point two million, thank you," Takanori stated, tugging on the hem of his shirt five times before he could pull it over his head.

"Right. Four point two," Takashi answered, rolling his eyes.

. . . . .

There was a knock at the door and Miyavi jumped up and down. "Visitors!"

"Shut up," Yuu grumbled, standing from his chair and walking to the door. He pulled it open to reveal a haggard looking Yutaka supporting a bloodied and bruised Akira.

Akira averted his eyes and Yutaka looked unimpressed by the situation. "Akira got into another fight," the brunette said. "Let us in."

"Yeah, sure." Yuu stepped aside and let the two in, shutting the door behind them.

"He looks like shit," Miyavi said, looking at Akira.

"You look like shit," Yuu muttered, casting Akira a passing glance as he walked into the kitchen and filled a baggie with some ice.

"The other guy looked worse," Akira murmured with a haughty sigh as he sat down on the living room couch.

Yutaka and Yuu exchanged looks and Yutaka nodded. "It's true. The other guy looked mutilated."

Yuu shook his head and sat down on the couch next to Akira. "You have to stop doing this, 'Kira," he said softly, holding the bag of ice over Akira's black eye.

"He called me a faggot," Akira whined, reaching up and placing his hand over Yuu's to hold the ice firmer against his eye.

Yuu rolled his eyes and kicked Akira's foot. "You can't keep beating the shit out of guys just because they're assholes. That's why you are on parole with anger management classes. People are bastards. Get used to it, Akira." He slid his hand away and sat back into the cushions. "Gonna stay here tonight?"

"Do you mind?"

Yuu shrugged. "I'm used to taking care of your stupid ass."

Akira chuckled.

. . . . .

"What's wrong, baby?" Yutaka asked, brushing away the hair from Kouyou's face and kissing his forehead.

Kouyou shifted in his place on their bed, rolling over onto his side to face his lover. "The principal of the school told me today that the board members will be coming down next month," he said quietly. "Apparently they'll be looking for unique teachers, so he wants me to come up with some sort of skill that sets me apart."

"Well that shouldn't be too hard," Yutaka replied, trying to give his boyfriend a comforting smile.

"I can't think of anything," Kouyou groaned. "I'm at a loss."

Yutaka chewed his lip in thought and rolled onto his back, placing his hands behind his head. "You could teach the kids a second language."

"Don't be ridiculous. They're seven years old."

Yutaka giggled. "Just a thought."

Kouyou huffed and wrapped his arm around Yutaka's waist. "You're not help."

Yutaka flicked Kouyou's shoulder. "I resent that."

"Mm."

"Oh, I know," Yutaka said suddenly, startling the blond lying next to him. "Teach them karate."

"That's up to the gym teacher," Kouyou replied. "I don't help them with physical activities."

They were silent for a long time after that, both in their own thoughts.

"How about music?"

Kouyou frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Learn an instrument and then play for the kids. Maybe even teach them," Yutaka suggested. "They say music helps the brain grow."

"That's actually a good idea, but I don't know if I could find a good teacher in time," Kouyou muttered.

"You're forgetting something, aren't you?" Yutaka answered, looking over at his lover.

Kouyou looked confused. "What?"

"Yuu plays guitar, silly," Yutaka said. "Ask him to teach you."

Kouyou looked unsure. "I don't know, Yutaka. I know he's your high school friend and all, but I don't know him too well."

"Well then this is a chance for you to get to know him, Kou," Yutaka insisted. "He's one of my best friends. It would mean a lot to me if you got to know him better."

Kouyou sighed. "Fine, I'll ask him."

. . . . .

"What did you do today?"

"Chose what I'm going to wear on the red carpet next month." Takanori grinned.

"For me it was a long, hard day of bringing people drinks and letting them ogle me," Kazamasa muttered with a pout.

"I gave a man a new kidney."

Nao blinked. "I think Shinji wins for the "what we did today" chat," he said.

Shinji chuckled and took a drink of his rum and coke. "Transplant patients are always fun."

"You have a warped definition of fun," Takanori pointed out.

Shinji smirked. "You may have a point."

"Has anyone seen Hiroto around?" Kazamasa asked. "He and I were going to go to the racetrack on Friday."

Nao raised his glass and nodded. "I saw him today. He dropped by at a café to give me a pep talk."

"Aren't you usually the one giving the pep talk?" Shinji commented, crossing his arms over his chest and stretching his legs out under the table.

Nao laughed. "Yeah, that's what I said to him. Anyway, don't you have his cell number, Kaza?"

Kazamasa smiled bashfully. "I did, but I lost it."

Nao pulled a pen out of his pocket and grabbed a napkin off the table, jotting a number down on the cloth and handing it to the younger man. "Here. He works from three to ten, I think, but he wakes up early."

"Thank you," Kazamasa said gratefully. "You have been friends with him for a while, right?"

"Yeah, we met through Akira," Nao replied.

"Speaking of Akira," Shinji interjected, finishing off his drink. "Yutaka called me earlier and said Akira got into another fight. He's staying over at Yuu's place tonight."

"Shit, a couple more knocks to that head of his and I have a feeling we'll need to check in there to make sure his brain isn't mush," Takanori quipped, waving a hand through the air. "Has he even been to one of those classes the court ordered?"

"I doubt it," Nao murmured. "You know Akira. He hates doing what he's told."

"Who knows what he's do without Yuu and Yutaka," Shinji said. "Those two really watch out for him."

"Well they've been friends since high school," Takanori responded. "That's a fuckin' decade."

"Almost fifteen years, actually," Nao observed.

Takanori groaned. "Don't remind me that we're approaching the thirty years old mark, man. I don't want to remember that."

Kazamasa giggled.

"Oh shut up, Tiny Tim," Takanori sniffed. "We all know you're the baby of the group. Not even fuckin' twenty yet. It's a joke."

"I'm not a baby!" Kazamasa huffed. "I'm twenty next month, I'll have you know."

"Oh, how exciting," Takanori cooed, grinning. "I'm ten years older than you and I've got a helluva filmography to show for it, kid."

Kazamasa glared half-heartedly and sat back in his seat. "Mister big and famous."

Takanori nodded. "Damn right I am. I've earned it."

Suddenly there was a sharp beeping noise and Shinji shot up in his seat, reaching down to look at his beeper. "Ah, shit, they're paging me in," he groaned. "It's fuckin midnight and they're paging me in." He grabbed his coat and stood from his seat. "Sorry guys. I gotta go."

They all said their goodbyes and Shinji left into the night, leaving the other three sitting in silence.

"It must suck being on call like that," Kazamasa said thoughtfully. "I'm glad my clients can't call me up any time."

"What's it like?" Takanori asked. "Being an escort, I mean."

"I don't know," Kazamasa responded with a shrug. "I mean… I'm good at it, but it's not really what I like to do or anything. It's easy enough to smile and men and make them think you're interested. Getting paid for it is a plus, that's for sure, but I really wish my art would take off so I could survive off of that instead of letter men gawk at me all afternoon."

"I would have thought it would be nice to be gawked at for being pretty," Takanori said, tapping his fingers on the table.

"You think I'm pretty?" Kazamasa inquired with a smile.

Takanori rolled his eyes. "With those lips kid? A stunner, I'd say."

"You're too kind." Humored sarcasm.

"Probably."

Nao swirled his straw around in his glass. "I went to the art gallery with your work yesterday," he said, looking over at Kazamasa. "It's impressive, Kaza. Seriously, I would buy that stuff."

"Buy it then," Kazamasa said, laughter evident in his voice. "I could use the cash."

"I heard being an escort pays pretty well," Takanori said, crossing his legs.

"Not when you're renting an apartment in this city it doesn't," Kazamasa replied. "I could use spare change."

"Go hold a coffee cup on the street corner, then," Nao said jokingly.

"Tried it, but all I got were old gum wrappers and condoms," Kazamasa retorted with a wink.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Nao said wisely, nodding and stroking his chin.

Takanori laughed. "And these are the people I hang out with."

"Bah, you love us!" Kazamasa declared, pumping his fist into the air.

"We are the best you'll ever get, Taka," Nao said, slapping Takanori on the shoulder. "Appreciate us."

Takanori rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "I guess I'm stuck with you."

"Acceptance is the first key to happiness."

. . . . .

Be grateful for those around you, for you never know what your life would be like without them.