Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.
Prompt: Suguru comes across a crying Shuichi in an empty studio room.
Rating: T for implied rape, dark material, and light language.
Drops
The notes were all wrong, and thought hidden in the damp security of the room where they were nothing more than a well-kept secret, it still felt immoral to even allow their existence. Like a betrayal. A ruptured spleen of pain, moans of dying sickness and unwanted departure. A funeral procession, perhaps, though instead of being the accompaniment, it was the grief – the cries of despair, the rages of denial. He hated funerals.
With a suffering sigh, Suguru Fujisaki pulled away from his keyboard, eyes of deep almond glaring at the instrument with a mixture of loathing and love as he powered it down. There was no real reason for him to be at NG today – he had been plenty of warning in the phone call from his cousin this morning that Bad Luck had the rest of the week off of work. But sitting around, not doing anything when he could be making music, made him antsy. And it angered him, that his band was not creating, not recording. One well-doing single, and Hiro and Shuichi were slacking off.
More Shuichi than Hiro, he was sure.
"Ugh." The sixteen-year-old pushed up from his bench roughly, hair the color of deep sea water dancing wickedly on his head as he strode from the practice room in haste, long legs making a perfect stride. He ignored calls behind his back or to his side as he passed by random workers – just people who wanted to get on his good side, so that they could get closer to Touma. Not that his cousin would allow that, of course. But it was still annoying.
Annoying, like Shuichi's lack of commitment to Bad Luck's success.
'He needs to understand that he's not a club performer anymore!' The teen raged silently, offering a glare to an overly-friendly secretary, who quickly backed off. 'This is the real thing. Bad Luck can't get anywhere without work, and if we don't start having results from our work … Touma will drop us.'
And he would have to go back to the boarding school. Back to the lessons, the reprimands. Pulled away from his beloved keyboard and constructions to be forced onto a proper piano and strict rules of composing. Back into a suffocating role where not even Touma Seguchi could rescue him from. Not twice.
He hated Shuichi for that small but strong amount of power he held. When the singer performed – God, but there was no one else Suguru would rather be around. Shuichi pulsated passion and devotion when he sang, poured life into his lyrics that made the keyboardist's fingers itch to create. But any other time, and the pink-haired teen was lax. Unfocused. Undisciplined. Uncaring.
He hated him!
"Hello, Little Touma!" Suguru was forced to jerk back as a taller body jumped in his path, eyes wide as he stared at the bouncing figure in front of him. Radiating happiness, smelling a little too strongly of cherries and Sakura blossoms, a pink rabbit in lieu of a face.
"Ryuichi," he mumbled back politely, forcing a small smile on his face. "What are you doing here?" The bunny danced to the side to reveal a beaming smile under mocha dark eyes.
"Oh, I haven't left," the legendary singer chirped, patting Suguru's head lightly. The smile faded slightly as the gaze became curious. "And you? You're not supposed to be here today. Touma said so." He gasped loudly before the teen had a chance to answer, eyes becoming starry in a silly expression. "Oh, Su-su, have you come to see Shuichi?"
Suguru froze. "Shuichi's here?" What? Why wasn't I told? Practicing without me? Ryuichi nodded, heedless of the other's internal words.
"Yep! In one of the back rooms, the one with the old piano. He asked me not to disturb him, so I haven't. But he looked like he could – oh, are you going to see him, Little Touma? I don't think he'd like that…" But Suguru was already moving.
'Practicing without me! Playing the piano…' His mind raged as he practically raced down the further halls, moving freely in light of the uninhabited area. 'The piano's mine – I play those notes! I put the tones there – it's mine! How dare he even think he could do this without me. That he could use that … that instrument.'
He paused outside the door, hearing a faint, repetitive measure, and scowled deeply at the thought of the hyperactive teen taking over the accompaniment.
'This stops now.'
He cracked open the door, and stopped.
The room was dark, save for the sunlight brought in by the small, high window on the other side. It bathed the small studio in a dusty glow, almost like sunrise over a foggy graveyard. The notes he had heard outside, once light, were now heavy, more obvious. There was a quality to them Suguru could not quite touch with a name … something haunting, doomed. A repeating chord of nothing but sadness and suppressed life. And yet it sounded … hypnotic. Like a broken music box.
And Shuichi was sitting there, both hands high over the black and white keys as his fingers moved in tight, rhythmic motion. His eyes weren't focused on the piano, or on the muddled notebook before him. Facing off into nothing, staring at the gray wall as he was bathed in the light. Suguru's breath caught at the sight of him, the difference rooting; he had never seen it before. His singer's face was caught in a torrent of emotion, not a sign of a smile in sight. The aura surrounding him swam in deepness – there was no happiness. No vibrancy. This was not the childishness he was used to, but nor was it maturity.
The notes suddenly shifted, and Suguru jerked forward unconsciously as Shuichi's face suddenly scrunched up as though in pain. Before he could enter the room, however, words cut through the air; raspy and mixed with their own message. It sounded as though Shuichi hadn't used his voice in years.
"Twisted on the inside, I am, I know, but I'm frozen so perfect on the out,
I've been screaming, and crying for you.
Shadows calling, taunting. Lost and alone, I can't figure it out.
Please tell me, if I've anything to lose.
Please tell me you know I've been used."
Singing. Suguru stared, the disturbing tone enrapturing his anger and fading it away.
"Trusting the deceiving doves of pure white,
Their symphonic songs hypnotizing with notes of loving delight.
Bringing pain and nightmares inflicted with fight,
Innocence trusted, believed, and was gone in the night.
Though the days and promises, life no longer …"
"Damn it!"
It was like a violent storm. The keyboardist pulled back, surprised when the melody was slaughtered by a vicious onslaught of sharps and flats – Shuichi's fingers were replaced by his hands as his fists slammed down onto the keys. The small form was hunched over the piano, and even in the dim light Suguru could see it shaking.
"I can't do anything right anymore!" The shout was hoarse, followed by racking coughs that sounded just as painful, interrupted by brutal chokes.
Was he crying?
"Why did you do it?" He heard Shuichi whisper, dulled – he had yet to raise his head back up. "I would have done what you asked. You knew I would. Why … why did you hurt me? Please. Please tell me."
'Hurt him?' Suguru pulled back further, eyebrows drawn together. The chokes suddenly reined to sobs, so loud and heartbreaking that the teenager felt his body go knife-stabbing cold. Like he was frozen.
"Tell me!"
"Move." The word came a split second before Suguru found himself shoved to the side, a flash of gold darting by him and into the room. Startled, his gaze could not help but follow, watching as a tall figure carefully approached his breaking singer, pulling him into a firm but gentle embrace.
Eiri Yuki.
"Touma called," he could hear the novelist mutter lowly. "Damn brat. I told you to stay inside." He could see long, pale fingers card through silk pink hair; the trembling body pushing deeply into his.
"It hurts, Yuki." Suguru was beginning to hate that voice. It sounded so old, so … wrong. "It hurts. Always. Why won't it stop?"
"Shuichi-."
"Why did he hurt me like that, Yuki?"
Suguru pulled back, absently pulling the door almost closed behind him.
Had he been wrong? Had he misjudged everything so horribly?
(Why did he hurt me like that, Yuki?)
He stumbled back further. Felt sick, disgusted.
This was wrong. So wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
He dashed from the corridor as quickly as he had entered it, streaming past the still friendly faces, ignoring Ryuichi's "Little Touma", passing by the elevator currently resting on the top floor to instead chase up the stairs. This couldn't … this wasn't right.
Had he misjudged everything, or the situation? It had to be wrong. He barely flinched as he slammed bodily into the double oak doors.
"Suguru?" His cousin's voice, confused, with a tinge of grim reality. He turned his eyes upward pleadingly.
"Tell me I'm wrong."
-______________-
Two days later, and he was back in the room. Musty, as silent as the graveyard it both resembled and represented. He circled his quarry critically, taking in every aspect, remembering every scene. It gleamed back at him, flawed.
Smudges on ancient black hardtop, dried chips on the keys. Drops of tears from excruciating pain, forever frozen on an instrument who had been able to glimpse it. He trailed his fingers over it carefully, before finally sitting down.
(I can't do anything right anymore!)
His fingers moved on their own, flowing over the keys like ocean waves. A repetitive theme, mixed with random notes that didn't belong, but that were perfect. Ringing like drops of blood from a shallow wound, staining the pure instrument with the reality of the world.
(Why did you hurt me?)
Sharp. Wrong. Wrong. Right.
"What are you playing?" Hiro's soft voice – Touma had asked for him specifically, leaving Suguru in the guitarist's hands to explain everything. Two days, and they had come back here. Two days to lose homicidal tendencies. Two days to calm down. Two days to know that he could not kill a man, no matter the crime. His place was here. Here for when sanity was ready to be restored. Here for support to be leaned on. ASK was gone, and he could not follow.
The thought spent the notes he played to spiraling fury – he pictured a kaleidoscope of red and orange. And black. Black for sin, and death. He hadn't known before.
"Suguru?" A hand on his shoulder – the notes slowed, and he answered.
"A funeral piece," he muttered, flinching as his fingers grazed one of the tears.
"Whose?"
(Please tell me, if I've anything to lose.
Please tell me you know I've been used.)
"Everyone's."
(Please tell me you know I've been used.)
He wondered if Shuichi would understand.
Please let me know what you're thinking? :)