I do not own FAKE or Gravitation, and I do not profit financially from writing this story.
Fingers drummed on the top of the table, and feet tapped with a nervous yet excited energy. It sounded like music, but without guitars and keyboards. At least, his actions sounded like music to Dee. It was the nervous kind of music, the kind one made when waiting for some big news or event, but it was music all the same. He only hoped his actions did not irritate Hiro. Since the guitarist's attention lay elsewhere, Dee could not tell, and he believed that he was, though Hiro had yet to say anything to him. To distract himself from Hiro's lean yet muscular body (for he truly wanted his partner to be done speaking on the phone so he could pounce), Dee started to look around their living space.
It was not the original apartment he lived in before he met Hiro. Oh no. Hiro was on the fast track to becoming an internationally famous guitarist for the band Bad Luck. Because of his celebrity status, they could no longer live in Dee's "dump of an apartment" . . . or so the band's manager, K, had declared. Not that Dee truly minded the upgrade in living space, but he figured his old place was not too much of a dump for K started to rent it as soon he and Hiro were in their new place.
And their new place was quite . . . spacious. It was not ostentatious or opulent, but it was the kind of place in which Dee could live. There were two large bedrooms, one for Dee and Hiro and one for a guest, two and a half bathrooms, a kitchen, a place for them to eat, and the current room they were in, the living room. Vintage posters lined the walls, posters of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and Elvis Presley as well as posters of Nittle Grasper, Bad Luck, and few other Japanese bands Dee did not recognize. There were even posters of several beautiful women of both American and Japanese descent on the walls, each woman posed with an instrument either as a group or an individual artist. Placed between each poster were the many music awards for each of Bad Luck's accomplishments in sales and popularity. Shuichi and Suguru also possessed similar accolades in their homes and probably the same posters as well. Several of the posters, especially the ones of the Beatles and Elvis Presley, were worth a small fortune apiece.
In looking at the posters, Dee felt . . . insignificant and unworthy of the person named Hiroshi Nakano and his affections. The rent on the apartment for one month alone was more than what he could afford on his pay as a police officer. Granted, Hiro did not come from a place of wealth – he had quit music for a short while, planning on becoming a doctor at his parents' insistence – but the life he now enjoyed . . . Dee felt unable to provide more than just love, support, and encouragement to his partner. He wondered if Hiro had any regrets about hooking up with him.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
His heart leapt into his chest the moment Hiro spoke, and Dee jumped. Not to his feet, though. It was more of a jerking motion with his shoulders. A glance at the guitarist told him Hiro was just a tad bit amused for sneaking up on the detective. He scowled a little at his partner and pouted.
"Not funny," he said, to which Hiro chuckled.
"It was for me," the guitarist replied, straddling Dee. Long, slender fingers touched his cheeks, gliding ever so gently towards his hair. "It isn't often I can sneak up on you like that, but it still doesn't answer my question. Penny for your thoughts?"
Dee continued to pout for a moment or so longer, but his pout turned into a warm and devious smile in the seconds he and Hiro touched. It was not lost on him that the guitarist could have whomever he wanted. There was no shortage of fangirls and fanboys for Bad Luck and for Hiro himself. Those people knew everything there was to know about Hiro, from his blood type and his birthday to his favourite food and hobbies. But there were things that Dee and only Dee knew about the guitarist, not only in the bedroom but out of it as well. For Hiro, the detective was unlike the screaming hordes who filled the arenas every night of a major tour. He met Hiro, not knowing who Hiro was, but knowing there was something special, something unique about the man now in his arms. Dee knew he could never completely chase away the doubts – the street-tough, wise-cracking orphan in him refused to relinquish even the tiniest of shreds – but he also understood he had very little to worry about with his partner. They were equals in their partnership, and he leaned forward to kiss Hiro on the lips.
"Just thinking of how much I love you," he said. "That's all."