A/N: This chapter scared me in the way it wrote its self. I only meant for Shu-chan to scream a little at Yuki, but… wow… it went on for like, a page on my word processor… Then I didn't mean for him to get down on the floor and beg, but, wow… And this chapter was planned for only two pages, maybe three… HOW DID IT TURN INTO SIX?! My brain is on weird story autopilot. At least it's not total crack! Enjoy and review for the sadly not appearing Ryuichi and Kumagoro!
Chapter Two: New York, New York
Shuichi looked out over New York City, leaning precariously against the icy metal railings of his fiftieth-floor-apartment balcony. He blankly trailed the streaks of red that were the break-lights of cars as the left the city for home.
He sighed, leaning further over, his blanket fluttering in the wind.
Home…
It had been three years and he still couldn't call this place home. He couldn't call Japan home either, considering the only place that his heart has resonated with was the last place he could ever return to.
Yuki… Yuki hated him. He was so entirely sure that it didn't hurt anymore. Instead, it numbed.
Shuichi dangled his arms and head over the railing, half-over it. He wasn't worried. He had hung far further off the railings, defying safety all together. He even fell once… But that was before, when he had a second-story apartment, and that time it was a mistake; Reiji had pushed him over.
Some nice man had caught him. He wasn't hurt, and that should've been the end. But, no. Instead he got sent to a shrink because he actually wanted to get hurt. The doctor had said it was depression and prescribed some pills that were immediately yanked away after about a month when the poor, drugged and dejected vocalist had tried to cut himself. They were too strong for his system.
Shuichi watched the people scurry around in the winter air. A burst of air came and his arms fluttered in the wind like paper.
He was a doll that had been tossed away after a while of play. Unwanted, uncared for. A broken doll.
Shuichi straightened and made his way back into his warm apartment, turning up his music. That was where his home was.
He had managed to create a world of his own, weaving his most precious thoughts and feelings with a melody everyone could hear, and hoped that they understood. But understanding was as far into his world as he wanted them; there was a distinct line in Shuichi's heart. He would care, laugh, and be with you, but if you crossed that line, he would reject you with every fiber of his being.
In other words, he had lost the will to love everything but his music.
One of Shuichi's older songs came on, the one he had written to show Yuki that he could write, the love song he concocted off of insolence and an unnamed passion. He broke down and began to sob in the middle of the room.
"Daijobu, daijobu, daijobu," Shuichi chanted, falling back into Japanese.
His world was one that was made of glass, the simplest touch, could—and would—shatter it completely.
Yuki gazed out the window of his hotel room. He hated New York. He loathed it with every filament of his living soul. And then some.
He detested it even more knowing the fact that he very may well run into the person he just didn't want to see. It turned out that XMR was hosting his book-signing.
"Irony makes the world turn 'round," Yuki muttered darkly, pulling on his jacket.
He would do everything he could to avoid Shuichi. He just didn't want to admit that he'd been dead wrong all that time. He also didn't want the boy laughing in his face. It had been three years, after all; who knows what Shuichi was like?
Yuki sighed and decided to go buy coffee at a café near the XMR building, then go in to do whatever they needed him to do.
It was going to be a very long day for Eiri Yuki.
Shuichi sat in a booth at Starbucks, across from Hiro, munching on a coffee cake. "So, anyway," he chimed, spraying crumbs across the laminated wood, "I think we should just practice for today. We have a concert coming up, and didn't Rage say that the drummer's coming in?" he asked.
Hiro nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Let him get acquainted to the wild ride that Bad Luck has to offer."
The door chimed as a customer walked in. This in itself was nothing special; Starbucks was a very popular place. It was the customer himself—a tall man with blonde hair and glasses with an aura that screamed "Stay the fuck away from me", that made Hiro want to blindfold and drag Shuichi out of here.
Hiro blanched; it was none other than Eiri Yuki. Shuichi made move to get up, not seeing the man a few feet behind him, waiting in line. "I'm going to get me a coffee, okay?" he asked. "Hiro, what's wrong?"
Hiro shook his head. "Let me get it for you, Shu. You write down the order of songs in case the new guy's like Fujisaki."
Shuichi nodded. "Makes sense," he hummed, pulling out a pen and pencil from the pockets of his coat.
Hiro scrambled over, pushing past a few chatting girls. They recognized him instantly, and gave a squeal. "Ooh! Is Shu—"
Hiro shushed them, growing into a panic. "Yeah, but he's working on some lyrics right now. We're going to do some new songs at our concert. Be sure to buy tickets," he purred, making the fanatical girls instantly melt.
"Oooh! Hiro is so cool! Bad Luck is so awesome!" they gushed, scrambling out of the shop. It wasn't much, but it was enough to catch the brooding novelist's attention.
He whirled around, facing the very annoyed Hiro. "Nakano," Yuki growled.
"Eiri Yuki," Hiro hissed. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Getting coffee," Yuki said, scowling darkly at the guitarist.
"What are you doing here; in New York?" Hiro hissed, stepping in front of Yuki in line. "Never mind: Keep your ass away from Shuichi, you got me?"
"Why the fuck should I do what you tell me to, you punk!" Yuki snapped, twisting his fist into Hiro's shirt.
"Because he's just fine without you screwing him over!" Hiro said angrily. "Get out of here now!"
"I didn't come to see him! Like I would ever want to see that fucked up, sorry-ass, pathetic excuse for a vocalist!" Yuki shouted, drawing the attention of every patron in the store, especially the notice of the person he most wanted to see… or rather, didn't want to see. Yuki internally smacked himself. Why did he yell like that? Maybe he really did want Shuichi's attention… Well, he was about to get it, wanted or not.
Shuichi stood, turning towards the ruckus, his large eyes falling on the two.
Everything seemed to go in slow motion, as Shuichi made his way over to the two. His head was bowed, so neither could tell what his reaction was as the black-haired singer gently pried Yuki's hand off of Hiro.
Much to Yuki's own distaste, he couldn't help but to notice how soft Shuichi's fingers were, drawing back memories of the times that they were together. He almost shuddered as the repressed came flowing back. He really didn't want to remember; he didn't want to admit he was dead wrong.
"Shuichi," Hiro mumbled, stepping back.
Shuichi shook his head; he was trembling. Whether from anger, tears, or a combination of both wasn't revealed for a few more seconds. The store was quiet as a crypt.
"You… you have… no right," Shuichi spat, looking up at Yuki, making the man flinch with the sheer amount of hatred and unrefined longing in his violet eyes. "You have no right to come in here and pick a fight like that!" he screamed, his voice vibrating off the walls.
Yuki was stunned. He thought that if he did run into the boy, he would cry. He wasn't even shedding a tear at all. Instead, he was screaming at him. How…incoherent. Oh, he was still shouting…
"After three years you come in and act like nothing's changed. Where the hell have you been, Eiri Yuki?! Huh? In a cave? At home, typing on your precious laptop?" Shuichi goaded, leaning forward. Even after his growth spurt, he still had to stand on his toes to stand eye to eye with Yuki. Despite that, his presence seemed to have swelled; it was now larger than the store, possibly filling up the entire block, smothering those who heard his voice.
There was nothing musical about that voice any longer. It was harsh and callous, going ragged from the sheer force in his screams. Meticulously practiced screams, trained to carry the most noise in large amounts of space. Shuichi could probably sing to a whole arena without a mic by now. It sounded like he had that kind of breath control.
"You know what you can do?! You can take your attitude and stick it up your ass, Eiri, you'd better leave now and hope that I don't sic XMR's lawyer on you for trying to beat up Hiro! Because you had no fucking right to do that to him! If there's anyone you should fight, it should be me! And there's no real claim to that either! I should be the one to punch your lights out! I hope you slip on a banana peel and fall in front of a train, Eiri Yuki!" Shuichi screeched, pulling his fist back and sinking it into Yuki's cheek with a sickening crack.
Yuki reeled backwards, his hand tightly clasped over the large red knuckle imprints on his skin. What… this couldn't be his Shuichi… For one, Shuichi wasn't that strong. And his Shuichi would never… but then… the right to call him his Shuichi was banished three years ago, when he brutally dumped Shuichi in a bar—at Tohma's command.
Shuichi picked up a plate from the counter and threw it on the ground. Whether he did it for dramatic effect, or he just missed Yuki was unreadable. "HOW DARE YOU COME HERE AFTER THREE YEARS? HOW DARE YOU EVEN TRY TO TALK TO ANY OF MY FRIENDS AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO ME! YOU SCREWED ME OVER!" Hiro rushed forward and held the struggling Shuichi back. "GET OUT! GET AWAY FROM ME! IF I EVER SEE YOU AGAIN, I'LL PUT A RESTRAINING ORDER ON YOU SO STRICT THAT YOU'LL HAVE TO LIVE ON THE MOON TO FUFILL IT! DO YOU HEAR ME EIRI YUKI?!" It seemed that Shuichi had hit a stride and was now screaming whatever came to mind. It was like shaking up a can of cola then only opening the top a little; eventually the pressure becomes so great that the can explodes. Just like Shuichi. But eventually the cola runs out of steam, and becomes just a small trickle…
Yuki blinked, seeing tears pool and cloud the anger brightened violet orbs. Shuichi was crying. "I'll make sure to send you to the moon, Yuki, and I'll send you without your laptop and a space suit so you shrivel up and die! I hope you get hit by an asteroid! I hope… I hope… I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" he sobbed, falling limp in Hiro's arms, slipping to the floor. He pounded his fists against the linoleum. "Just go away, go away! Please, I… please, I'll beg, just go away… I don't want to see you; no, no, no, no! Go away, please, go away. Disappear, go back to Japan, just please," the young man whimpered, dropping his head against the floor, positively wailing. "P-p-please…"
Yuki stumbled backwards, rather stunned at Shuichi. This particular… tantrum? Outburst?... was very uncharacteristically Shuichi. So just for the sake of the boy's sanity—Yuki was sure it would dissolve if he even stayed on the same block as the singer for any longer. He pushed the door open, leaning his back against it, taking in the sight of the trembling, sobbing, and begging Shuichi in something akin to horror.
Hiro shot the blonde man a scathing look, and Yuki hastily left, hearing a wail escape the poor boy on the floor as the door swung shut with its cheerful tinkling bells.
Terribly shaken, Yuki stopped by the first bar he found open and drowned his newly arisen memories and sorrows in hard liquor.
"New York, New York... Why the hell do all the bad things happen here?" Yuki muttered as a sarcastic toast. "And always to me," he added in undertone.
