Thank you for clicking on my fourth Gravitation fiction. This story is alternative universe setting, loosely based on the anime but there will be plot changes and re-interpretations of the characters for the purposes and tone of this story.
This story may touch upon subjects that may be triggers for readers: like homosexuality, sexual assault and abuse and sexual exploitation, mental illness, violence, psychiatric care, medicine, conflicted family dynamics, imbalances of power , suicidal thoughts,
As always, thank you for reading and feedback is very much valued and appreciated.
"Do you like ...pop music?" He asks me .
"Not particularly." I reply.
He takes a deep breath.
He's thin, small-statured, wearing oversized jeans and a ratty orange hoodie, his hands shoved deep in its front pocket. His hands are fumbling with something inside it. He looks anxious. Wan. He frequently looks around himself as if he expects someone to interupt us. Or like he's doing something he's not supposed to.
That isn't unusual. Considering the people I often get in here.
The boy takes down his hood and reveals a fresh looking face, and a shock of pink hair.
"My name is Shuichi Shindou and I'm a singer. " He finally says.
Taking another deep breath, he continues.
"It was a life long dream for me to form a pop group, and my passion ever since I could remember ... was singing. So my best friend and I started a band called Bad Luck. Our favorite band growing up was the group Nittle Grasper, so when we signed up to the very same label, NG- it was almost too good to be true. "
After a long pause. Shuichi speaks hollowly. "And it was ."
But with a name like Bad Luck, I wonder, what was he expecting.
I wait for him to continue.
He does in his own time.
Shuichi mumbles on, barely audible. " We ... later added a third member to our duo and our sound grew even better. Things... started to pick up for us even more. We were gaining interest and a devoted following , doing some endorsements and hearing some... really good feedback, including from the lead singer, and my idol from Nittle Grasper, Ryuichi Sakuma. He even wanted... to help me succeed- because he saw ...potenial in me. "
Shuichi takes out what hes been stowing in his hoodie front pocket.
Its a balled up paper.
He uncrumbles it slowly and smooths it out on the table top.
"These are some lyrics I wrote."
He hesitantly slides the paper forward toward me on the desk.
What do you think of them?" He asks timidly.
I take the paper . Read it.
I put it face down on the table.
I resist all that is in me to crumple it up again.
" Its the worst thing I ever read. " I say honestly.
Shuichi's eyes widen to an enormous level.
"But I'm a private detective. Lyrics aren't my forte, but they aren't yours ethier. " I light a cigarette. "But I can't see what yours could be. As evidenced from your writing, you know nothing. You have no talent."
The boy looks down, crestfallen.
"Good... I'm relieved to hear that." He whispers.
Odd response.
Odd like this entire meeting.
Shuichi asks me strangely. "...Have you been a private detective long Mr. Yuki?"
"Long enough." I grunt.
To someone who writes with so many clichés, I'll give the stereotypical response.
Long enough. Like smoking, I've done this job long enough, despite good sense, and everyone warning me against it. Done it long enough, to know I should quit before my luck runs out and the effects are irreversible.
And like smoking, I won't quit until it kills me.
" I ask because this is about ...sensitive information. " Shuichi cringes. "Have you... dealt with... similar cases before?"
"Every case is sensitive. " I tap my cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. "So yes. Discretion is my speciality."
"Okay." The boy says meekly. " For ...discretion, I'm ...willing to pay any price. Providing- I can afford it."
"There's no fixed price but most people find me affordable." I remind him."However I need to know what you're paying me for ."
"Ofcourse yes." He winces. " I'll ...get to the point then."
Shuichi takes several deep breaths, as if to coach himself.
With twitching hands, Shindou grabs out some magazines- teeny-bopper weekly publications from his backpack and throws it on my desk.
He points to a man on one of the covers.
"There are ...photographs- of me taken by ... this man. The lead singer of a rival band Ask who sings at the same label. His name is Taki Aizawa ." Shuichi whispers with a tortured expression." If these pictures were leaked, they could ...ruin my life."
Photographs I think: Could be of drug use, adulterous sexual liaisons. Worse possibly.
"When did this happen ?" I ask.
"A day and a half ago."
"And this Taki is blackmailing you with these photos he's taken. " I clarify.
"Yes. He is. Taki says he'll release them, unless I drop out of music business for good. "Shuichi trembles, pale.
"You want me to retrieve them for you."
"Yes."
"And then what?"
"Then what?" Shuichi utters. "Thats all I want ."
I say to him. "The problem may not just go away with the photographs, you understand ? "
Shuichi says nothing. Instead, he wraps his arms around himself, his countenance more frayed and hounded-looking then before.
"But I can do more than get back your photos ." I assert." I can get Taki Aizawa to stay away from you."
..."Even if he doesn't want to?" Shuichi asks in a small voice.
"Particulary if he doesn't want to. That's just an added service."
Shuichi shakes his head, arms still around himself. "It doesn't matter. Thats not what I want. I just can't have those photos out there, or hanging over my head."
I make the obvious inference. "So you can resume your career again."
"No, its bigger than that. And Taki will leave me alone... if I'm willing to give him what he wants...and I am. " As Shuichi's head bows, those pink locks obscure his face. "I'm going to quit the music business."
I say. "Bigger than that? I thought singing was your life's dream. Your passion. "
"Its not anymore. After what happened, I know it's not meant to be. It never was. And I don't feel anything in my heart to sing, and if there's nothing left there, why do it anymore? So you won't have to... read anymore of my bad lyrics Mr. Yuki. No one ever will. " Shuichi attempts a weak smile.
"That's a relief." I mutter.
The boy's head sinks lower and he slumps about three inches deeper into his chair.
For a long time he says nothing.
After saying that, I feel slightly guilty. Which was a rare emotion for me .
Its not a good emotion either. It's a liability.
"So ...can you help me Mr. Yuki?" Shuichi croaks. " Will you take my case?"
I take a long drag .
"Yes. I can. But once I retrieve these photo, what would you have me do with them?"
Shuichi suddenly looks up, his expression desperate.
"You have to destroy of them." Shuichi clasps his hands together." Every single last one of them and make sure no one ever sees them, or knows about them. Just...please... don't ever look at whats on them or develop them... if they aren't already developed already! Please! You have to promise me you won't look- I don't want anyone to see whats-"
Mid-sentence the boy chokes incoherently, and claws at his own chest. Then his hands clutch at the air , as if they are struggling as if trying to form something out of the ether.
Trying to collect himself, he looks everywhere in the room but at my face.
The minute his eyes lock with mine, Shuichi erupts into tears.
He collaspes forwards into his hands, and makes loud gut-wrenching noises.
The sounds of somebody losing it. Wailing and groaning. Gruelling sounds.
I stare at him and contemplate my options.
Part of me is tempted to tell Shuichi to get the hell out. That he's making a racket . That he's at the wrong office. That this kid should be at my brother in law's.
Then again, I have no idea what was contained in those photos, if this Shuichi isn't hiding misgivings of his own.
I'm not going to ask either.
"Yes I can promise you that." I say.
"Okay. Good. I'm s-so- s-sorry! So sorry. I don't know why this is happening- " Shuichi warbles into his hands, soaking his own sleeves. "I don't know why I'm crying. I haven't cried yet, I've been good and strong so far-so why did it have to happen here and now of all places?! "
I think: Maybe telling the kid he had no talent rode him too hard.
"Wait M-Mr. Yuki-" He moans. "Just give me a moment... for me... to pull it together..."
After that he bursts into another crying jag.
It takes longer than a moment.
For far too long ,Shuichi sits there in my offices and carries on, face down on my desk . Miserably. Like somebody's dying. Occasionally, he make noises that sound almost like words- "horrible" or "oh God" or something else, and raises his head to gasp for air. I see rivulets of tears run , through the gaps in his hands, dribble into the channels of his clenched teeth and to slick his contorted features.
Not only is the sight of this boy crying uncomfortable. It is hard to watch.
Which is also rare for me. As in my job, your base level of human sympathy is in short supply. You see a lot of tears. You cause them too.
I avert my gaze . I smoke my cigarette. I allow him time to compose himself.
When he doesn't- I impatiently grab a pack of tissues from my drawer and push it towards him.
Shuichi takes it and with it, mops his face up. He's quieted down, now sobbing silently.
"Done." I snap.
"Yeah. Sorry. Sorry. Part of the crying now is ... relief. That I know somebody... will help me with this ...That I don't have to worry about one thing at least. You will help me, will you? I was told you could." He burbles out, tears still dribbling down his chin.
"Yes.I'm good at what I do." I tell him. "And I'll take care of this matter for you. Do you have a number I can reach you at?
He sighs , wipes his blotchy face on his hoodie sleeve. "Do you have a pen ."
I give him what he asks for.
He takes the paper. The one with the lyrics, and he writes his number on the back of them.
"Here." Shuichi pushes it forward, still red-eyed. "You can reach me here."
"Alright. I'll call you when its done from an untraceable number. " I take the lyrics with his number on the back. "As for my fee, I'd like half the payment up front. The other half, when its the task's completed. "
"Do I have to write a check ?" Shuichi readily snatches for his backpack again. "Or can I pay in cash? "
I access him- the kid's vulnerable, in a bind, inexperienced, (One of the frist things he told me already told me he's willing to pay anything. Meaning: whatever on the photos must be bad). He's a rising star probably with some money off those gigs and endorsements.
I could probably name any number and make a killing - although one has to add in the risk factor of the case, assuming I don't wind up getting myself killed.
I tell him he can pay me cash, and how much.
Shuichi rummages through his backpack again.
I can see he's carrying alot of cash on him in a white envelope- a recent withdrawal.
What he's got, he shoves forward. I count it and its done.
"Thank you Mr. Yuki. I'll expect your call." He hurriedly stands and gathers his things , frantic to get out .
"Leave the magazines here." I tell him.
He does , and brings his hood back up over his pink hair.
I look out the window and see why.
Its raining pretty hard.
"And your lyrics ?" I call out as he nears the door.
"... My lyrics?" He asks me startled, as if hes already forgotten them.
"I can rewrite your phone number somewhere else." I hold the battered song up between my fingers. " So don't you want them back?"
I think: because I don't want them.
" No. I don't. Take them. Like I said: I don't need them anymore." Shuichi says with dismal determination. "I mean it when I said I was quiting. And like you said , they're no good and I have no talent, right Mr. Yuki?"
"I prefer just Yuki." I correct him.
He turns around to go.
Then I say towards his back. "Take care of yourself Shindou."
I never say that to anyone who leaves my office.
I figured if they had , they wouldn't find themselves in here to begin with.
He stops, as if considering how to reply.
..."You... take care too.. Yuki." Shuichi mumbles over his shoulder.
Then he's off.
I never hear that said to me either.