Authors Have Parties Too

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Author: Aja Hits: 3684
Disclaimer: It’s Gravitation and so obviously shonen-ai. Rating:

OT, mostly for that reason plus some language. Also obvious; it
doesn’t belong to me. Gravitation and its characters are the
property of Maki Murakami. I am simply a devotee. I appreciate
criticism: please read, enjoy, and review.
*~*Authors Have Parties Too?*~*

*Part 1: Invitation and Preparation*
[Friday evening]
“Eiirriiii . . .” Shuichi’s whining had a way of penetrating the skull

and cutting straight to the nerves.
“Aggh. Stop that! Why would you even want to go? I don’t want
to be there.” He leaned back in his chair, pushing away from the
laptop. Why had Mizuki even sent the damned invitation? His
editor knew how much he hated that shit. He didn’t enjoy being
around people in general. Fellow writers were an entirely
different can of worms.
“But, Eiri, I didn’t even know you had other author friends.”
“I don’t,” he said from clenched teeth. He lit a cigarette and

tossed his lighter onto his desk. Shuichi smirked at him from his
place on the stool next to his desk. Eiri knew that look. It said, I
can see through you. Okay, he admitted to himself, I don’t have
*many* author friends. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing
it out of his eyes. “Why did you pick up the mail today, anyway?”
“I’m supposed to be getting a package-- but don’t change the

subject!” Shuichi waved the post card under his nose. It had a
picture of books on the front with a big number twenty-five
super-imposed over it. “Mizuki-san even hand wrote it. She
wants you to come.”
Eiri stood and snatched the postcard from his lover’s hand. “No!
Who gave you permission to read my mail, anyway??” He
stomped out of the office, knowing Shuichi would follow him. He
was seriously annoyed. Mizuki had probably sent a postcard on
purpose, hoping Shuichi would read it. He dropped the card into
the wastebasket, walked down the hall and shoved the living
room door open; heading for the kitchen.
“Awww, Eiriiii, it’s a postcard! I didn’t open your mail— just

looked at it. Besides,” Eiri could hear the smirk in Shuichi’s voice,
“it was addressed to me, too.” He turned around in surprise only
to see the singer holding the retrieved postcard. Mizuki will pay
for this, he thought. He nearly bit through his cigarette in
irritation. There would be no getting out of it now. Shuichi
proudly pointed to his name on the invitation, skipping in front of
him to show it off.
Eiri brushed past the boy. With long strides, he reached the
kitchen and grabbed a beer from the ‘fridge. Popping the top off,
he took a long drink and leaned back against the countertop.
Shuichi sat on the island countertop, swinging his bare feet and
lightly kicking the cupboard door. The postcard was in his hands
and he was reading through it again, smiling triumphantly.
Damnit, he already thinks he’s won, Eiri thought.
“The 24th . . . that’s a Saturday, isn’t it? Will it be formal, do you

think? Are the book publisher’s parties like NG’s CD release
parties? Probably not, those are pretty casual, and they can get
kind of wild . . . I think it will be fun for you to talk to other
writers. You don’t do that very often, do you? Of course, you
don’t talk to anyone much, anyway, but you should definitely go!
It’ll be good for you!” Shuichi bounced off the cupboard and
wrapped himself around Eiri’s torso. “We’re going, right? What
will you wear? Black, probably. Should we go shopping? You
should wear more color.”
He sighed. Listening to his lover’s chatter soothed him in an odd

way. When Shu was babbling, all was right with the world. He
shook his head. It was still incomprehensible to him how the
singer could carry on long, one-sided conversations without a
pause or an obvious breath. He set his beer aside and hugged
the boy. “Alright, we’ll go. Now release me so I can go get some
work done.”
Shuichi let go of him immediately, throwing his arms into the air.
“Yay! We get to go to a party!” He started hopping and dancing
around the room. “You’re taking me to a party!”
“Keh. Settle down, brat. Today is only the second. The party isn’t
for another three weeks.” Eiri grabbed the beer and headed back
to his office.
His lover hugged him again quickly, briefly impeding his progress
across the living room floor. “I know, but I’m so excited! You
come to NG’s Christmas parties, but that’s because Seguchi-san
and your sister invite you, and you don’t go to the release
parties, usually, and I’ve never been to an authors’ party. They
must not come around very often. That makes this extra-special,
right?” Shuichi’s voice was muted by closing the living room
door. Eiri was relieved that he hadn’t been pursued. Apparently,
the excitement of the party was enough to keep Shuichi happy
for now.
The author rubbed one hand across his neck. He would have to
speak with Mizuki. If Shuichi found out how many of these
invitations he refused, he’d have trouble. He would have to make
sure that Mizuki did not make a habit of addressing mail to both
of them, either. That was sneaky. His editor knew how easily he
said no to her, and she also knew how hard it was for him to
refuse Shuichi. Still, I guess twenty-five years is an important
milestone for a publishing company, he thought. He sighed
again. Maybe I’ll get sick on the 24th and I won’t have to go . . .
***
[Saturday afternoon]
The following weekend, Eiri found himself shopping with Shuichi.

Why? Why did I agree to this, Eiri wondered. Why was it such a
big deal to Shuichi to have new clothes to wear to this damned
party, anyway? This was the eighth clothing store in the two-
story mall they had entered and they’d barely made it down one
arm of the building. Shuichi had tried something on in each one
of the stores. Eiri was carrying three shopping bags already and
only one was for himself. Shuichi had absolutely insisted on
buying colorful clothes for him. Considering Shu’s ideas about
color, the choices he made for Eiri weren’t too bad. I might even
wear them, he thought. He slouched in the tiny chair poised
beside the dressing room mirrors, desperately wanting a
cigarette.
Shuichi popped his head out of the changing room. With a big
smile, he jumped out of the booth and spun around, showing off
this latest fashion. Eiri wasn’t certain how he’d managed to put
the pants on. “Do you think these are too tight?” Shuichi asked
earnestly, holding up his shirt and rotating in front of the three-
way mirrors.
Eiri controlled himself admirably. “Yes.”
Shuichi glanced at him in a moment of surprise, telling Eiri

without words that he hadn’t controlled his voice as well as he’d
thought. A wicked smile chased the surprise off his lover’s face.
“Should I buy them anyway?” Shu’s eyes flashed, teasingly.
That look, combined with the pants made Eiri instantly horny.
Sometimes he hated how Shuichi could do that to him. He tried
for nonchalance; shrugging, he said; “Your choice.” He imagined
Shuichi wearing those pants when they were alone, later . . .
then he frowned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You wouldn’t
wear those to the party . . .”
Shu smiled knowingly, “No? You’d don’t think they’d be the hit of
the party?”
Eiri growled, “Come here.”
Shuichi laughed and danced back into the booth, shutting the
door. “Oh, no! I still want to try on a couple more things.
Fuck it, non-smoking or not, he needed a cigarette. He lit up.

After a few minutes, Shuichi came out of the dressing room in an
honest-to-gods suit. It surprised him. He looked . . . adult. Well,
technically, Shuichi was an adult; he just never acted like one.
“What do you think? I could wear this to the party, huh?” He

looked a little uncertain, tugging at the jacket hem and shifting
his shoulders.
“It fits you well,” he said non-committally. The pale blue-grey

looked good with his blue-violet eyes and didn’t clash with the
pink hair. Eiri wasn’t sure he liked the grown-up look on his
hyper-active young lover. The tight pants were definitely a better
look for him. He’d never seen Shuichi in anything this
conservative. Come to think of it, the singer didn’t own any
clothing that could be considered conservative that wasn’t totally
casual.
“You should buy it,” Eiri said. “The shoulders are a bit too wide
for you, but they do alterations here, don’t they?” Shuichi
nodded and bit his lower lip. “I’ll find a tailor,” Eiri volunteered. “I
have to find a place to put this out, anyway.” He gestured with
the cigarette.
“Eiri, you shouldn’t be smoking in here!” Shuichi’s protest was

half-hearted. The younger man knew how pointless it was to
argue with him when it came to his habit. Since they were the
only ones in the dressing room, Eiri kissed him deeply to give
him something else to think about while he found a tailor.
Knowing the effect his kiss would have, Eiri thought smugly,
that’s revenge for teasing about the tight pants. He followed up
the previous thought with; He’s so cute when he blushes.
***
The night of the 24th came around and Eiri was healthy. Damnit.
So was Shuichi, although Eiri may have trouble peeling him off
the ceiling when it was time to go— figuratively, of course. He’d
had lunch with that imbecile, Sakuma Ryuichi. The idiot was still
flying high from the idea of a new duet Sakuma had planned to
sing with him. Add to that the excitement of the party this
evening and ‘hyper-active’ was just too mild a term for Shuichi’s
state of mind, energy level, and enthusiasm.
Maybe I should thank Sakuma for taking the brat out of here, Eiri
thought. I don’t think I could have tolerated this all day. Shuichi
was sitting on the couch, dressed in his new suit, legs tucked
under him, toes in the cushions. Surely he’s not an adult. He
can’t even pretend to be an adult, Eiri thought, condescendingly.
Shu was loudly singing along with a music video on the TV and
bouncing erratically. Eiri watched his lover briefly from the
darkness of the doorway. Shu looked about two years old rather
than twenty. Eiri must have made some sound, because Shuichi’s
head snapped toward him and he jumped up.
“Is it time to go, Eiri? I’ll shut the TV off . . . ” He did, continuing
his babble. “I was just watching this new video an—”
“Let’s go.” Eiri turned away and reached into the closet to grab
his coat. It was about sixty degrees and raining lightly— around
average for May. Eiri pulled out his keys and slipped on his
shoes. Shuichi had had to buy new shoes, to go with the suit.
Sneakers just wouldn’t cut it. Fortunately, shoe shopping had
taken a lot less time than clothes shopping. With a bound,
Shuichi landed his feet in the shiny new shoes left by the door.
“Okay!” The kid declared. “You look good, Eiri. I like that red
jacket. It’s so much cheerier than black! What do you think the
party will be like? I’ve been wondering all week, ya know?” Shu
didn’t bother with a coat. They stepped out and Eiri locked the
apartment while Shuichi continued his prattle. “Does everybody
just stand around talking about writing? Is there much to talk
about like that?” Eiri thought it was a rhetorical question, so he
didn’t answer. “Or maybe they just stand around looking sour?”
Shuichi smiled at him and poked him in the ribs.
His lover’s implication was clear: Eiri would be required to

socialize. Grrrr. Shuichi laughed at the growl that trickled out of
him, clinging to his arm happily on the way to the car. It was so
hard to be annoyed with that bratt when he laughed like that, Eiri
thought.
As far as Eiri was concerned, book signings were a “necessary

evil” to promote his work, but these kinds of get-togethers
churned his stomach. Having Shuichi with him would either liven
the boredom, or . . . more likely, Shuichi would do something
that mortified him in front of his publisher, editor, and peers. He
punched the key fob with his thumb to unlock the car doors.
This would be the first time he introduced Shuichi to people in his

professional life. It was . . . a little intimidating. Surely, nearly
everyone had seen or heard about the media ambush on TV
wherein Eiri had admitted the nature of his relationship with
Shuichi. Still, he had never allowed any open discussion about it
with others. After all, his book appearances were professional,
and he made sure any interview did not include questions about
his personal life. This party was supposed to be a social occasion.
As such, some might consider it ‘open season’ for nosy personal
questions.
Shuichi could always read him. Climbing into the car, the singer
became serious. “Are you worried, Eiri? I’ll be good, really. I
won’t embarrass you.” He buckled his seat belt and looked at the
floor, saying, “It means a lot to me that you’re taking me with
you.”
Eiri noted that Shuichi’s usually messy pink hair had been
combed. It still slid into his eyes, though. The kid had even
offered to wash out the pink coloration, to make a better
impression. Eiri had told him not to bother. In truth, he had
become used to Shu’s odd-colored hair and its fruity, herbal
scent. Eiri remembered Shu’s original hair color, but . . . it didn’t
suit him anymore. Eiri, himself, had always refused to dye his
hair black to appear like a ‘normal’ Japanese. It would be
hypocritical to ask his lover to change himself for something as
petty as an office party.
Both men defied more than one social custom on a regular basis.
There really wasn’t a great need for either one of them to
conform, either— especially when they were so successful being
themselves. Besides-- the two of them had been public news for
some time and Shuichi mattered much more to Eiri than public
opinion. Eiri started the car and backed out into the street. “I
know,” he responded quietly. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be going.
***
Review Authors Have Parties, Too?
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Disclaimer: Obviously, it doesn’t belong to me. Gravitation and

its characters are the property of Maki Murakami. I am simply a
devotee. I appreciate criticism: please read, enjoy, review.
**Authors Have Parties Too?**

*Part 2: Party Time*
[Saturday night]
Eiko Publishing had rented a reception hall in a posh downtown

hotel complete with valet parking, a tuxedo-ed host to point the
way to the hall, a full bar, a buffet of hors’d’oerves, and a pianist
to play soft music. There was a microphone and podium at one
end of the room, next to a prominent display of recent, award-
winning books artfully arranged. Tables and chairs had been
placed about the room in a typical pattern. They were a little
early, but there were currently about forty people in the room.
There was probably enough space for over 200. In the next ten
minutes, the room would fill. Japanese always tried to be on
time. There was no such thing as ‘fashionably’ late.
Mizuki saw them first. “Yuki-san! Shindou-kun!” She waved from

a spot near the buffet. She was standing with two older
gentlemen in business suits and ties.
Eiri moved toward her. Shuichi waved back with a bright smile
and followed. One of the men excused himself before the two of
them reached Mizuki. Eiri thought he saw a look of contempt
cross the man’s face before his back was turned and he moved
away. Eiri didn’t recognize him.
“Allow me to introduce my fiancé, Fujimaru Sano.” I didn’t even

know she was engaged, Eiri thought. They greeted each other,
bowing respectfully. “I’m so glad you both came,” Mizuki gushed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear red, Yuki-san, you look
very nice.” Shuichi grinned at him meaningfully.
Eiri pulled out a cigarette, muttering, “Thanks.” She didn’t

comment on Shu’s uncharacteristic suit. Wasn’t that funny?
Maybe she couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t insult his
usual style of dress? Eiri lit up. Thankfully, he hadn’t seen any
non-smoking signs in here. To change the subject he asked,
“Who were you speaking with a moment ago?”
“Oh, that was Miyamoto-san. He’s one of our non-fiction best-

sellers. His latest book was a history of architecture in Kyoto. It’s
on the display table, if you’re interested,” she offered.
“Hm. What’s with that, anyway?” He nodded toward the table
and podium.
“There will be some announcements later, to honor the

company’s most prominent authors.” She winked.
He raised an eyebrow at her. He’d better not be required to make

a speech. He hated public displays. This may be less-than-public,
but still . . . He never felt any need to be honored for the tripe he
wrote.
Apparently sensing his ire, Shuichi distracted him. “Eiri, let’s get
something to drink, okay? Excuse us.” The kid grabbed his arm,
pulling him toward the bar. Eiri shook him off after two steps, but
followed. He really is trying to be good, Eiri mused. He isn’t
running or bouncing across the room, either.
The hall was filling up now and Eiri could see the cliques start to
develop. There; the non-fiction authors— he recognized a man
and woman he had met before, speaking with Miyamoto. By the
bar were the cookbook folks, loudly discussing the virtues of
cooking with saffron. The stuffy-looking group of men in high-
fashion suits were the publishing executives. He thought that the
giggling group of young women seated at a large round table
were secretaries. One of them was pointing toward Shuichi with
wide eyes.
“What would you like to drink, Shindou-san?” The bartender

asked as he approached.
Shuichi opened his mouth but Eiri put a hand on his shoulder
speaking for him, saying firmly, “Orange juice. I’d like a martini,
please.” He usually drank beer, but this was a special occasion.
He could drink something different once in a while. The bartender
glanced at them both and started preparing the drinks.
Shuichi looked at Eiri, pouting a little. “I wasn’t going to get

anything alcoholic. Really.”
The bartender handed over the drinks and smiled at Shuichi. “If I
may say so, sir, I really like your music.”
“Uh, thanks!” Shuichi said. He beamed at the young man, who

bowed politely and respectfully. When the man stood up, he wore
a big smile.
How did Shu have that kind of effect on people? Eiri wondered.
He knew how to charm people with words when he had to, but
his Shuichi could always put others in a good mood, just by being
around them. Even me, he thought. “Are you hungry?”
“Naw.” Shuichi shook his head. “Would you introduce me to some

other people? I only know you and Mizuki-san, here.”
Eiri looked around. Who might Shuichi get along with? “Ah. You
see that guy over there with long black hair? In the green shirt?
That’s Hitori Izumo. He’s a biographer. I know he’s written free-
lance articles on Nittle Grasper…”
“Yuki-sensei!” A woman in a soft pink suit stepped directly in

front of him, cutting off his path to Izumo. She put one hand on
his arm, familiarly. She was pretty, in an artificial way. Her short
hair had been styled and firmed in place by chemicals. She wore
a lot of make-up and walked in her own cloud of cloyingly sweet
perfume. Her dark eyes shined with the glassy look of the
hopelessly enthralled. She had been interested in him for a long
time. “How’s your latest book going?” She pointedly ignored Shu,
turning diagonally in front of the singer, as if to edge him out of
any conversation.
Eiri moved to displace her hand and gestured to his lover.

“Yakamoto Megumi, Shindou Shuichi,” he introduced.
“Yakamoto-san is another romance novelist,” he added to
Shuichi. Eiri inhaled deeply from his cigarette, amused at the
woman’s brief, crestfallen expression. She adjusted her posture
to include Shu, grudgingly. Eiri didn’t answer her question.
“Uh, nice to meet you,” Shuichi said, filling the silent pause.
“Uhm. Nice to meet you, too,” Yakamoto said sullenly. “Aren’t

you… in a rock band?” As if she didn’t know, Eiri scoffed. She was
probably trying to tie Shu into a conversation just so she had an
excuse to stay by Eiri, where she could try to work her wiles on
him. Fortunately, Shuichi was more interested in speaking with
Izumo.
“Yes, Bad Luck,” the kid answered. “Our latest single, ‘Airplane’,
hit number one last week.” Shu’s bright smile worked such
wonders. Megumi’s responding smile looked kind-of sick, though,
when she glanced up at Eiri. Did she catch some hint of the
indulgent pride he felt for Shuichi? The singer’s voice changed a
little, becoming brusque. “Excuse us; Eiri was going to introduce
me to other people.” Was the kid bristling?
Eiri blew out smoke and moved around Megumi. “Don’t worry,”
he said quietly to Shu as they crossed the floor. “I’d never have
anything to do with her.”
Shuichi glanced at him with mild surprise. He was so easy to

read, with his emotions bared to world and his big eyes giving
away his every thought— yet he always seemed surprised that
everyone could read him. Hmmm. Reading him and
understanding him are definitely two different concepts, though,
Eiri reflected. They made their way over to Izumo.
The other author was not quite as tall as Eiri, putting him
somewhere under six feet tall. He wore a tailored, pinstriped grey
suit with a bright green shirt the color of spring leaves and shiny
black dress shoes. His long black hair was mostly pulled back in a
loose ponytail that left long strands of hair falling onto his
shoulders. The hair style reminded Eiri of Shuichi’s friend, Hiro.
Izumo had a long thin face and sculpted bone structure. His
green eyes registered interest as the two of them approached.
The man set his drink on a nearby table, freeing his hand and
offering it, American-style. “Yuki-san, nice to see you again.”
Eiri stuck his cigarette in his mouth and transferred his glass to
his left hand to shake hands. The man’s grasp was firm and dry.
He had long, thin fingers, Eiri noted. “You, too,” he greeted. “This
is—“
“You’re Shindou-san, of Bad Luck,” Izumo interrupted, turning to

Shuichi. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He offered his hand again
and Shuichi took it, shaking hands tentatively.
“Thanks! Nice to meet you, too,” Shuichi said. “Eiri said you’ve
written about Nittle Grasper?”
“Oh, yes. Years ago . . . I interviewed Seguchi-san a couple of

times for magazines. Now that they’ve reunited, I considered
writing a book about them. I wanted to fill in the three-year gap,
for fans, but I couldn’t get Seguchi-san to agree. He said
Sakuma-san wouldn’t want to talk about it, either.” With a half-
smile, he asked, “Has anyone approached Bad Luck about a
biography?”
Uh-oh, Eiri thought. I hope I didn’t make a mistake, introducing

them. Shuichi looked a little flustered. “No…” he responded,
cautiously.
Izumo laughed. “Don’t worry, someone will. You’ve been on top

of the pop-charts steadily for the last . . . hmm . . . about two
years, right?” He shook his head a little. “Someone’s probably
writing a biography about you or your band now. It’ll sell,
authorized or not.” Izumo waved a hand, dismissing the idea,
“Right now, I’m working on a biography of a Warring-states-era
warlord. It’s just a piece of history that interested me.”
“Um, ‘authorized or not’?” Shu repeated in confusion. “If

someone writes it, doesn’t that make him author-ized?”
Shuichi’s stupidity is showing, Eiri thought. “Idiot,” he drawled.

“Authorized means ‘approved’. If you don’t approve of it, it’s
unauthorized.” He took a drink.
“Damn! The tabloids are bad enough, Eiri. What awful things
could they print in a whole book?” Shuichi’s eyes began to water.
Not here, he thought. “Don’t think like that,” Eiri scolded him
coldly. “Most biographies are all about the good things.” He
glanced at Izumo, silently asking for help.
“That’s true,” Izumo added quickly. “Most biographers would ask

about the music— how you were inspired to write each song,
what brought the band members together— that kind of thing.
While I’m sure some of that is very personal, most of us don’t
want to get a reputation for mistreating or betraying the people
we write about.”
Shuichi sniffled, looking at both men. He stepped closer to Eiri,

almost unconsciously. “Sorry,” he said to the floor. “I didn’t
mean to insult you, Izumo-san,” he said quickly, looking up to
see if the man had taken offense.
“Not at all. I think you have reason to be cautious.” He smiled

affably, “I think I’ll go visit the buffet. Excuse me.” He nodded to
them and moved away, sliding between tables.
He has a point, Eiri considered. No one had approached Eiri

about a biography because as an author, he guessed he was
expected to write his own auto-biography. He had no intention of
ever doing that. Not directly, anyway. Little pieces of his life were
always finding their way into his writing. He crushed his cigarette
out in an ashtray and had another swallow of his drink while Shu
contained himself.
Eiri had been in the limelight before Shuichi had come into his
life, but the singer had added another dimension to the media
blitz. If someone did write a biography about Bad Luck, how
much would they pry into his life? Eiri resolved to check into Eiko
Publishing, to see if there were any such book proposals floating
around. If there were, then he would decide what action needed
to be taken.
“Why don’t we just sit down?” Eiri suggested. Shuichi nodded.

“People will come to us to talk, you’ll see,” he told the kid.
Shuichi nodded again. He was biting his lip. “Stop worrying about
it,” Eiri commanded.
Shuichi looked up at him again. “I’ll try,” he said in a small voice.

“You hungry?” Eiri shook his head no. “I’m going to go get some
food.”
Eiri pulled out another cigarette. Shuichi jumped up, but quickly
controlled his first inclination to bounce or run. Eiri could see the
effort it took for him to walk like a normal adult. It made him
want to laugh. He toned his reaction down to a smile before it
escaped. He hoped the singer wouldn’t take too long. Eiri didn’t
want to be swamped by the secretaries.
He crossed his right leg over his left knee, slouching in the chair
and puffing on his cigarette. He idly looked around the room and
moved the table’s ashtray closer to himself. It seemed that
Shuichi was the one who’d be swamped by the secretaries. Eiri
smirked, watching the women converge on the singer. The crowd
of females had appeared around Shu as soon as they saw that he
was by himself. I won’t rescue him until he needs it, Eiri thought.
Scenes like that had been happening more often, lately. Almost
two years of rock hits, Eiri mused. He still writes shitty lyrics, Eiri
thought, but the public sure eats ‘em up. He could hear Shuichi’s
melodic laugh over the subdued din of conversation.
One of the senior executives came before him, bowing, and

cutting off his line of sight to Shuichi. “Yuki-san, I’m glad you’ve
come.” What was his name? Eiri considered the man before him.
His face was lined from age and stress. He had thin white hair
and wore a very expensive suit. The man pulled out a chair and
sat beside him, in a rigidly upright posture. “You are this
company’s most prominent author, you know. I’m aware that you
usually don’t come to our gatherings and I just wanted to take a
moment to personally thank you.”
Eiri raised an eyebrow. What did the man expect him to say?
Was it a ploy to flatter and then ask for a favor? “You honor me,”
Eiri temporized. It wasn’t likely he’d blow-off a request from
senior management . . . Well, within reason, Eiri amended.
The man smiled, transforming his face from pale, aged leather to
that of a pleasant grandfather. “We’ll be making some company
announcements in a few minutes. Would you be willing to have
some publicity photos taken, in honor of Eiko Publishing’s 25th
anniversary?”
Eiri shrugged. At least he wouldn’t have to give a speech,

unprepared. “That would be fine, sir,” he replied. Mizuki should
have warned him. Maybe she hadn’t known?
“Good, good.” The old man slapped his knees and stood. “I see
your friend is returning,” he commented, “enjoy the party.” As
the man walked away, Eiri could see Shuichi making his way
back to their table, carrying two small plates. He was stopped
and spoken to often enough for Eiri to be able to finish his
cigarette by the time Shuichi returned. Eiri sat back, content to
watch the room, as the kid came closer.
Shuichi put one plate in front of him. “Look! Strawberry

shortcakes,” he said, excitedly. “I know they’re your favorite.
They’re really good, too. Try one,” the singer urged.
Eiri took another sip of liquor. Shuichi’s own plate was half
crumbs. He wondered how the younger man had been able to eat
from his own plate while both hands were full. He hoped Shuichi
hadn’t just sucked the hors’d’oerves directly off the plate. Eiri
waited for Shu to tell him about the people he’d been talking to,
because Shuichi talked about everything. Using his fingers,
Shuichi ate a small, puffy pastry in one bite and watched him
back. Eiri bit into the strawberry shortcake and was rewarded by
Shu’s smile. The dessert was good. He ate some more. For Shu,
Eiri’s acceptance of the food was his cue to jabber.
“The secretaries here are really nice. I didn’t know how many
authors like Bad Luck, either! A lot of people already knew who I
was!” Eiri thought that made perfect sense. Not all writers were
veritable hermits, like he was, after all. If any of them listened to
radio or TV, they would have heard of Bad Luck and Shindou
Shuichi. Shuichi himself just never seemed to grasp his own
popularity. Maybe that naivety was part of what kept him striving
for ‘bigger’ and ‘better’, blithely unaware how much he had
attainted.
Shuichi giggled, catching Eiri’s attention again. “I’m glad I didn’t

wear those pants— the ones I bought last weekend.” Eiri knew
exactly which pants he was referring to. “Someone over by the
snack bar already pinched my butt. If those secretaries were any
more forward, they might have carried me away. One of them
even put her phone number into my pocket.” He shook his head.
“Does that sort of stuff happen to you, Eiri??”
Eiri looked at him, golden eyes narrowing. He leaned forward to
comment, when a chime rang out over the crowd, calling for
attention. Most of the people who were standing swiftly found
chairs to sit down in, accompanied by a variety of scraping and
settling noises. Others moved to stand at the edges of the room
so everyone had a clear view of the podium.
A young executive called out in his best announcer’s voice, “As

you know, we are here to celebrate twenty-five years of Eiko
Publishing.” Everyone applauded, briefly, as expected.
The elderly man who’d spoken with Eiri earlier took the
microphone. “Welcome, everyone. I’m happy to see such a good
turnout for this event. We have had a very successful twenty-five
years. This is the result of hard work on the part of our authors,
editors, publishers, and staff; we thank you.” He bowed, humbly,
eliciting another brief round of applause.
“We have many exciting ventures planned for the future,” the
executive continued. “First, I wish to formally announce that we
plan to expand our company in the new year. Our romance
novels, in particular, have become so popular that we are
opening a new division. It will be called “Never Ending Dream”.
This new division will have all the support of the company’s main
branch, but will allow our readers to easily identify our most
popular genre of books. Our growth would not have been
possible without the work of one man in particular . . . Yuki Eiri!”
I guess that’s my cue, Eiri thought. He laid his cigarette in the

ashtray, standing up during the applause from everyone in the
room. Shuichi was grinning at him and clapping like a madman.
Photo flashes went off. Eiri did not enjoy being singled out like
this. The new publishing division was a complete surprise to him.
He didn’t really care who published his books but how had the
announcement stayed a secret until now? Big company changes
weren’t usually quiet matters. Indeed, there were a lot of
surprised faces in the room. Hopefully, the change wouldn’t
affect him too much. He hoped Mizuki would be part of the new
venture. He didn’t want to deal with breaking in a new editor.
The old man gestured him to the front of the room. Eiri
performed for the crowd: smiling and shaking hands with the
executives, holding still for publicity shots, and toasting the
company’s future. Did Shuichi ever feel like this? Like an exotic
animal on stage, paraded out by its trainers to perform tricks?
No, it was probably different for a performer. The performance
was the band’s payoff for hard work in the studio— a chance to
dazzle their fans and reap the praise of a live audience. Eiri knew
Shuichi loved that aspect of the music business. The kid craved
the attention.
Eiri felt his real work was done in private; in the cool, (relative)
quiet of his office. This . . . this kind of exploitation felt too open.
He hated it. He hadn’t done anything remarkable and, in his
estimation, he didn’t feel deserved of this kind of treatment.
As soon as he was released from the obligation of . . . trashy

pandering, he collected Shuichi and they left immediately. Why
did people pat him on the back over such nonsense? Why did
they feel it was necessary? Eiri wondered.
***
gurabiteshiyon.net

Disclaimer: suggestive situations and language. Obviously, it

doesn’t belong to me: Gravitation and its characters are the
property of Maki Murakami. I am simply a devotee.

*Part 3: Musings*
[Saturday night]
On the way home from the party, Shuichi was quiet. Perhaps the
singer was wary of Eiri’s uncertain mood. Eiri had a lot to think
about and he was tired. Phony public performances like that took
a lot out of him. It annoyed him how Shu was watching him
carefully. “It’s not your fault,” Eiri said harshly, hoping to
displace some of his lover’s tension. He was upset but didn’t
want to take it out on Shuichi.
Shuichi nodded. “I could tell you didn’t like it— the attention, I
mean. You’re *so cool*!” Shuichi looked at him with wide
admiring eyes. “I would have cracked.”
“Hmph,” Eiri sighed, blowing smoke out the slightly-open

window.
“I like it,” Shuichi said, seriously. “I always feel so good when

everybody tells me how much they like my singing.” Shuichi was
smiling softly, perhaps recalling his own experiences in front of
an applauding audience. “Why does it bother you?”
Eiri flicked his eyes to the speedometer, concentrating on not

letting his irritation translate into another speeding ticket. He
gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Shuichi wouldn’t
understand what he felt— which was that he didn’t deserve the
applause.
“Later?”
After a pause, he replied, “Maybe.” Shuichi smiled again and

flicked on the radio. Airplane burst through the speakers. It
seemed like the song was on the radio every five minutes, lately.
It was halfway through the third verse. Eiri had already had the
track memorized before he’d ever heard it on the radio. He
admitted privately that he liked it, largely because Shu had
written it for him. It was about running away. The song had a
nice sound to it, which could be attributed to Fujisaki’s deft
handling of the arrangement rather than Shuichi’s musical
composition. The original tune hadn’t been anywhere near as
good, in Eiri’s opinion.
Shuichi burst into song, singing duet with himself. It used to be

eerie when he did that. Now, like the kid’s babbling; it was a
comforting sound. It lightened Eiri’s mood, which was probably
the reason Shu had done it. His lover really was beautiful,
pouring his heart out in song. Eiri scolded himself to watch the
road.
The song ended and Shuichi’s voice dropped into speaking range,
talking over the next song seemingly without a pause for breath.
“So, you never answered me: *do* women still put phone
numbers in your pockets?”
Eiri shook his head and turned onto their street. “Idiot.” He’d
forgotten the snappy comeback he’d planned to use before.
Instead, he said, “you’re the one who does the laundry. Do you
find phone numbers in my pockets?” Shuichi frowned and he
touched his chin: a sign of deep thought.
Would that baby-face of his ever wrinkle or get laugh lines? Eiri
wondered. Before Shuichi had barged into his life, he hadn’t
thought about much of anything long-term. Now he was looking
forward to seeing his lover grow old?? Arrrggh! And there his
lover sat, taking his time thinking about it the possibility of Eiri
cheating on him? He narrowed his eyes and glanced at Shuichi,
waiting for an answer.
“Sometimes I find bits of paper in the lint trap, but most of the
time, they’re my notes that I forgot to take out of my pockets.”
Eiri’s eyebrow twitched into an arch of its own accord. When he

said ‘my notes’ was he implying notes for him, or by him?
Shuichi looked as innocent as he usually did. Eiri parked the car
crisply. “Get out,” he ordered snappishly. Shuichi grinned at him
and jumped out of the car, understanding his harsh exterior. The
kid ran to his side and attached himself to Eiri’s arm.
Eiri stomped on his spent cigarette and leaned down, pulling

Shuichi into an embrace and kissing him soundly. “Stupid tease.
You’re the only one for me and I’d *better* be the only one for
you!” Shuichi squealed and hugged him so tightly that his breath
was forced out. “Uff. Hey, enough!” Shu eased off and Eiri
tousled his fine, pink hair. “Let’s go home . . . and go to bed.”
Shuichi’s answering smile lacked its usual innocence but held
plenty of mischief.
***
[Monday afternoon]
“I’m serious, Mizuki, I want some answers,” Eiri said into the
phone. “I’ve been trying to reach you all damn—“
“Yuki-san, that’s an unusual switch.” She sounded distracted. Eiri

heard voices and movement in the background. Normally her
office was quiet.
“Yeah, it is a switch. Now—“
“I’m sorry, but I’m very busy. Tech support is taking away my
computer and I—“
“Why?”
“It’s the move to the new building. Upper management is really

pushing this. I can’t talk now, but how about we meet at that
café at . . . 4:00?” She must have turned from the phone,
because her voice faded and she was yelling, “Hey! I’m not done
with that! Just a minute . . . !”
“Okay, Mizuki, 4:00.” He hung up. Yes, it was rude, but he felt it
was justified. Hell, she probably appreciated him cutting the call
short. It sounded like she had other things to deal with right
now. The offices must be chaos. Mizuki was really flustered and
she’s one of the most patient souls Eiri knew. He figured she
could explain it all later.
Eiri still had a little more than an hour until four. Shuichi was due
home at six.
He moved into the kitchen and went about the process of
brewing fresh coffee. This new book division was suspicious. It
was *announced* on Saturday, and personnel were moving to
new offices on Monday? Bizarre. I wonder if this is actually a
quiet merger? Eiri thought. Had Eiko somehow usurped a smaller
publishing company? That would explain how the editors already
had a new office building. Who do I know that would have the
truth of the story, Eiri mused. He decided if the story didn’t
appear in the media within a week, he would track it down.
Until then, Eiri planned to focus on the possibility of a Bad Luck

biography. The idea of a whole book’s worth of tabloid junk about
the band had really upset Shu. It bothered Eiri, too; more than
he let on. The upheaval at Eiko headquarters would make it
difficult to track down information there, right now. Eiri brushed
his hair back, resting his hand on his head. Going to senior
management about this seemed a little overkill when he still
didn’t know if such a project existed. Of course, he could just
write a personal request letter, asking the company to not
release any unauthorized biographies concerning Shindou Shuichi
or Bad Luck. They would probably comply. It would be awfully
embarrassing to them if they created a new book division
because of my books and then lost my contract, Eiri thought,
smugly. Under his current contract, he only had to write two
more books. That fact gave his threat some weight to throw
around. I could even put a written stipulation in my next
contract, Eiri considered. Yes, I think I will, he thought.
Eiri thought he should do some snooping of my own, too. He
pondered the problem. First, he could ask Mizuki to see what she
could dig up, but Eiko certainly wasn’t the only publishing
company in Japan. The coffee steamed and Eiri listened to it
trickle into the pot. The smell prompted him to look for a
cigarette.
A biographer would want to interview people close to his subject,

Eiri thought. Who would talk, Eiri questioned himself, as he lit up.
Maiko, Shuichi’s sister, was the first option that popped into his
head. She might be really flattered if someone tried to interview
her about her famous brother-- and her mouth was almost as big
as Shuichi’s! Eiri frowned. Maiko was still in school at this hour.
Maybe he’d call her later and . . . and what? Ask her if anyone
had asked her personal questions about her brother? She
probably got those every day from friends and school-mates and
happily blabbed all about his life. Tell her not to talk to strangers
about Shuichi? Hah! She was about as tactful as her elder
brother, too, Eiri groused. At least Shuichi didn’t talk to his sister
about intimate details.
Maybe Shuichi should deal with her? He was on pretty good

terms with her-- as far as Eiri knew. Shu didn’t talk about her
much, but Eiri knew he would have heard all about it, in
excruciating detail, if brother and sister had had a falling-out.
The coffee pot clicked, setting itself to keep the coffee warm. Eiri
grabbed a mug and poured, inhaling the warm steam and the
wakeful scent. The mug was black with white letters that boldly
read, “LEAVE ME ALONE.” It was a gift from Shuichi. He half-
smiled in the (currently) private sanctity of his kitchen and
sipped his coffee; black and strong. When Shu drank the stuff, he
polluted it with cream and sugar. Eiri held it under his nose,
savoring it. This was the way to enjoy it, Eiri thought.
If could convince Shu to confront his sister, how could the kid
question Maiko without getting himself all upset? Maiko should at
least be warned to keep her trap shut, Eiri thought. After all,
Izumo had seemed to think that it was only a matter of time
before a biography came out. Eiri hesitated to even *think* it,
but . . . maybe a family visit was the solution? At least Shu’s
family wasn’t as dysfunctional as Eiri’s. The down-side was that
both Shu’s mother and sister were readers and fans of his books.
He sighed and took another drink. I’ll wait to see what Mizuki can
turn up, he told himself. There was no need to jump to extremes,
yet.
Who else might talk? Hiro had a dead-beat brother, didn’t he?
Some kind of failed actor or something? Getting him to talk
would probably be a piece of cake; a simple matter of waving
money in front of him. Eiri thought the man had some sense of
honor, but guessed the right amount of money could overcome a
lot of hesitation. Eiri didn’t know anything about Fujisaki. Shu
didn’t talk about him much, except to complain. Did that kid have
inconvenient family members, too?
The more Eiri thought about it, the more he felt ill. Life had been
so much simpler when he didn’t care about anyone. A new
thought occurred to him: what if the potential biographer went to
Tohma for permission instead of directly to the band? Tohma was
a shark and his company did hold certain publicity rights. To him,
almost any publicity was good publicity. Tohma would not qualify
what material went into print—unless something was printed
about Eiri, himself. If Eiri wanted to protect his Shuichi from
some rotten tell-all biographer, he needed to get busy. The
coffee soured on his tongue.
***
Author’s Note: The story grew past its original title, but I’ve left it
alone for consistency’s sake.
gurabiteshiyon.net

Disclaimer: It’s Gravitation and so obviously shonen-ai. Also

obvious; it doesn’t belong to me. Gravitation and its characters
are the property of Maki Murakami. I am simply a devotee. I
appreciate *all* the criticism: please read, enjoy, and review.
Thanks!

*Part 4: In Need of Facts*
[Monday afternoon]
Eiri arrived at the café early, but he had finished his coffee and
couldn’t find anything to watch on TV. Tohma hadn’t been taking
calls. His secretary claimed he was out of his office this morning.
There hadn’t really been time to get involved with his latest book
again, since he had a tendency to loose time when he wrote.
Instead, he killed time at the café. The temperature was in the
mid-seventies and he sat outside, smoking and surreptitiously
watching a lovers’ spat. It gave him ideas for his writing--
although his version would involve infidelity and a fatal disease.
Mizuki was ten minutes late.
“I’m very sorry I’m late, Yuki-san,” she plopped into a chair and
settled her valise at her feet. Eiri thought she looked harried. She
sounded a little breathless, too. She usually wore a feminine-
style business suit with a skirt and double-breasted blazer. Today
she looked almost casual in a muted green pants suit with the
jacket unbuttoned over a white blouse.
He waved to the server. “Whatever,” he told her dismissively.

Service was prompt; she ordered a Coke and he ordered another
beer.
“So, I see you don’t have another submission ready. What would
you like to talk about?” She knew he was all business around
her.
“Actually, I should have something for you by tomorrow.

However, I wanted to talk about the new division. How much did
you know about before the party?”
She shook her head. “It was a surprise to most of us. Apparently,
a few of the senior editors had word of the plan before the
announcement, but they were ordered to keep quiet.” Mizuki
tucked a fall of short, light brown hair behind her ear and leaned
her elbows on the table, setting her chin on her hands. “I didn’t
know they were going to take publicity shots of you, either. Did
you see the article in the ‘Tokyo Times’ entertainment section?”
He shook his head, ruefully. He didn’t need the attention. He

didn’t read the paper regularly and neither did Shuichi. Most
music industry news was covered in ‘Music Review’ or ‘Pop Beat’.
Reviews of his own work were generally covered in ‘Literary
Times’. He didn’t really care what other people thought, anyway.
His editor shrugged. “The article didn’t say very much.” She
pursed her lips. “It’s very . . . interesting over at HQ, today. The
new building is just down the street— toward the news stand on
the corner— number 4012. They were putting up a large pink-
lettered ‘Never Ending Dream’ sign on the front, today. You can’t
miss it, but it’s the building with the all-glass foyer that’s been
empty for the last three months.” He nodded recognition. “My
office will be on the 3rd floor.” Mizuki shook her head. “It’s really
amazing how almost everything is all prepared. It’s like the
entire building was just waiting for people to fill it. I’m not
exactly sure what’s going on, but there’s a big kick-off meeting
over there on Wednesday at 11:00. Supposedly, there will be an
executive there to answer questions and fill in the details. The
company is going about this all backwards, if you ask me.”
Eiri nodded agreement. He knew Mizuki would tell him everything

she could with little prompting. However, it sounded as if Eiko
was keeping everyone in the dark until Wednesday. Weird; very
weird, Eiri groused. “The other reason I wanted to meet was to
ask . . . uh, a favor.” He grimaced.
Mizuki’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Yuki-san? A favor . . . ? If I

can help . . . ” Her black eyes looked too wide with surprise.
Their drinks arrived and Eiri crushed his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Yes. Could you find out if there are currently any proposals for a
biography about Bad Luck or Shindou?”
Mizuki sipped her Coke. “I can ask, certainly,” she replied.

Settling back in her garden-style chair, she asked, “Is there
some rumor you’re tracing? Did you hear someone mention the
idea at Saturday’s party?”
Eiri sighed. “Not exactly. I’m just . . . ” Being cautious? Watching

out for my lover? Curious? Hah. Mizuki nodded again and gave
him a pert, knowing smile. He had a drink. When did she gain
the right to be so knowledgeable about my personal life, Eiri
wondered in annoyance. Okay, Eiri thought, she’s been my editor
for . . . five years, already? Damnit, maybe she is entitled, he
thought, grudgingly.
“I’ll ask around, quietly,” Mizuki said. “I don’t want to see

Shindou-kun hurt, either. The two of you are good for each
other.” She hurried on, knowing he wouldn’t like her impudent
remark, “I won’t be able to get much else done tomorrow,
anyway, until my computer’s hooked up again. They plan to run
phone-line checks tomorrow at the new building, too.” She
sighed. “It’s a mess.”
He was frowning darkly, but muttered a passable, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, brightly. “You said you’d have

something ready for me by tomorrow? How are the latest
chapters shaping up?”
They spoke briefly about the status of the book while she finished
her Coke. They planned a meeting for Wednesday evening so she
could update him about the company’s new division, any
information she found, and give him the new office phone
numbers. She also reminded him about the book-signing
appearance scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. It was a special
promotional grand-opening for a prominent book store chain. The
store was paying a considerable amount of money for the
privilege of having Yuki Eiri there, too. He always drew crowds.
The last time he had attended one, the book store ran out of
copies of his latest book. His fingers had been sore for days after,
from all the unaccustomed writing he’d done with a pen.
Mizuki left the café and Eiri stayed to finish his beer. Since he
wouldn’t be home tomorrow at dinner time, he wanted to make a
little effort to spend time with his lover tonight. Bad Luck was
going on tour again in another week and a half. Eiri hated the
needy feeling that took him over, urging him to spend extra time
with Shu while he was here, at home, in Tokyo. This feeling
seemed to prick him most just before tours cropped up. He
realized it was a pre-curser to the loneliness that set in when the
singer was absent.
It was becoming a predicable, cyclical routine between them.

This time, the band was due to be gone for a month before
coming back here. Then, they would continue the tour for
another two months. Eiri always debated with himself whether or
not to go along with the tour. There were pros and cons for going
and staying. If he stayed . . . he did work best in silence, and he
often finished a lot of writing. His peace of mind couldn’t tolerate
unending silence anymore, though. Tohma, Mika, and Tatsuha
checked up on him constantly when Shu was gone, too. They all
acted as if he was incapable of taking care of himself. Okay, he
admitted to himself, they have reasons for doing it, but they
don’t need to be so annoying about it.
On the other hand, if Eiri traveled with the band, he never slept
well; transferring to a different hotel room every night. He never
accomplished much writing on the tour bus, either. Not writing
left him with nothing to do all day, except entertain Shuichi. The
biggest reason *to* go was that they both functioned better
when they could be together. It was a weakness that he hated
and Shuichi thrived on. Maybe I’ll go with them for the second
stretch of the tour, Eiri considered. By the time he was done with
the beer, he had just about enough time to get take-out and get
home before Shu came home.
***
[Tuesday night]
Eiri cringed when he opened the apartment door. Shuichi’s

distinctive loud wailing echoed through the apartment. He
hurriedly shut the door and locked it. He *really* didn’t want to
deal with this tonight. He was tired. His hand and fingers hurt
from book signing. He was hungry, too. He had been hoping for a
massage.
How that idiot could have heard Eiri’s entrance over his own
bawling was a mystery but as soon as Eiri turned away from the
door, the wailing got louder and Shu threw himself into Eiri’s
arms. “It’s aw-aw-aawful,” he sobbed. “M-M-izuki said . . .
WAH!!” Eiri’s emotional wreck of a lover blubbered incoherently
against his chest, wadding the writer’s suit coat up in his small
fists. Eiri held Shuichi—mostly out of reflex because he’d been
knocked backward into the door with the force of Shu’s spastic
welcome.
Eiri wanted to hang up his coat and take off his shoes and tie. He
wanted to relax. It wasn’t going to happen unless he took control
over the situation. “SHUT UP!!”
Shuichi snuffled and hiccup-sobbed a couple more times before

he backed off. “I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice. He wiped his
face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt which was much better
suited for soaking up tears than Eiri’s designer suit.
“Idiot! Let me in the door. Let me put my coat away and take my
shoes off, first!”
“I’m sorry,” Shuichi whimpered. “I’ll get you a beer!” He

scampered away.
Eiri shook his head and rubbed his temples. This did not bode
well. The shoes came off and the coat found its way into the
closet. Eiri loosened his tie and took the opportunity to change
clothes. He put on a pair of loose, black pajama pants and an
unbuttoned over-shirt. At least he’d be comfortable while Shuichi
cried on him. Mizuki must have turned up a biography. There
wasn’t much else that she would say to upset Shu.
When Eiri came into the living room, Shuichi was sitting on the
floor with his back against the couch. On the table, he’d set out a
dinner of rice and sushi, beer, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter.
Shu’s eyes watched him hopefully, timidly. Eiri knew that
pleading look. It asked for forgiveness, even though the singer
didn’t need to apologize. He is adorable when he’s being so
submissive, Eiri mused, but a flip of mood can reveal his
stubborn strength. Eiri loved that side of the bratt, too. Eiri
settled onto the couch and Shuichi immediately laid his head on
the writer’s leg, wrapping arms around his calf. Eiri ran his
fingers through his lover’s fine pink hair, knowing the touch
would calm him down.
“Okay. I’ll eat and you can tell me about it,” Eiri said. He picked
up the plate. Flexing his abused fingers, he grasped the
chopsticks and dug in.
“The message is on the ‘machine,” Shu started. “She— Mizuki

said . . .” He sniffled a little and started again. “Mizuki said that
Miyamoto guy is writing a Bad Luck biography. She said it-it’s not
good, ‘cuz for some reason, the guy doesn’t like you a-and . . .”
Shuichi degenerated into tears again.
Eiri rolled his eyes and set aside his dinner. He’d only had two
bites. “Forget it, Idiot. Come here.”
Shu looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. His nose was running,
too. “But you’re not finished with—“
“Let me take care of it.” Shuichi nodded and climbed into his lap,
fitting himself against his lover like a long, heavy overcoat. Eiri
combed his fingers through Shuichi’s hair, releasing the scent of
the herbal shampoo the kid used.
“Eiri, she said it was bad. She wouldn’t say that if she didn’t
mean it.”
“I know.” Miyamoto, eh? Why would a popular non-fiction author

have a grudge against him? As far as Eiri knew, he’d never even
met the guy before Saturday night’s party. After a few minutes,
Shuichi’s breathing steadied and his grip relaxed a little. Eiri
could tell he was falling asleep. Idiot probably wore himself out,
letting his emotions loose and his imagination run wild until I
came home, Eiri thought. He held Shuichi against him, leaning
forward to grab his dinner.
Eiri knew he had the clout at Eiko to block Miyamoto’s book, but
it wouldn’t prevent the author from taking his manuscript to
another publisher . . . unless Eiko had already bought the
publishing rights, paid him an advance, or if his contract
stipulated exclusive association with Eiko. Maybe Mizuki’s
message would have some other useful information. Eiri had his
personal request / threat letter all typed up— just to be
prepared, he’d told himself when he wrote it. He’d send it, or
maybe hand deliver it tomorrow.
Eiri’s rice was cold by the time he ate it. He gave up on it and
leaned forward again, holding Shu, so he could reach the
cigarettes and lighter, along with the ashtray that sat in its usual
place on the table. Shu must have emptied it for him. He was
glad the younger man had had the foresight to set these things
out for him. Shu often came across as a klutz and a screw-up,
but he was really very caring and considerate. Eiri might not say
it, but he appreciated it. He lit up. Even the TV remote was
within reach, on the couch cushion. Eiri punched it on,
automatically turning the volume down. Shu had a tendency to
listen to the TV at a much higher volume than Eiri liked.
Predictably, the TV had been left on the music video channel and
Shuichi stirred against him when music first burst from the
speakers.
Shuichi was warm and cuddly against him. Eiri almost wished he
could sleep in this position and not wake up sore. Hmph. So
much for my massage, he thought, disconsolately. In the
morning, Eiri would have to coach Shuichi and tell him what to
say regarding the biography. If he didn’t, Shu was likely to start
a panic among his band mates and NG staff members. Then, Hiro
and K would come over here, knocking on the damned door . . .
or knocking it in— either looking for information or blaming Eiri
for making Shuichi depressed. He didn’t need that shit. Eiri
hoped he would be able to speak with Tohma, tomorrow.
***
gurabiteshiyon.net


appreciate *all* the criticism: please read, enjoy, and review.
Thanks!

*Part 5: Blackmail*
[Friday morning]
Eiri happened to be getting coffee when the phone rang, so he

answered it. When he did, he saw the message light blinking.
The little digital message alert said he had six messages. He
frowned. He must have been deeply involved in his writing to be
able to ignore the phone six times. This morning, he had finally
gained the focus he needed to work. True, he’d had a lot on his
mind this week, and the majority of it still wasn’t resolved, but
his focus probably had more to do with early-morning wake-up
sex than any thing else. He smiled, self-satisfied. He hadn’t
produced as much writing during the rest of the week as he had
this morning.
“Eiri speaking.” It had become necessary to identify himself first,

since he had been on the receiving end of some disturbing, one-
sided conversations with Sakuma Ryuichi.
“Finally!” Mizuki’s voice was full of relieved triumph. “I have to

warn you: since you stopped that book, Miyamoto’s been on the
rampage. He was about half-finished with his book, according to
his editor, Tsuzuki-san. He took the news badly and he’s really
pissed.”
“Why should I care?” He said, coolly.
“. . . Well, he can’t cause you any trouble on the book-end of

things, but . . . he has a reputation for having quite a temper.
Tsuzuki-san told me that most of the book was being done from
source-research; facts on public record, old interviews and TV
appearances, pulling together information from articles other
people had written— that kind of thing. However, an entire
chapter of his material must have come from someone close to
*you*, Yuki-san. It . . . wasn’t very flattering.”
“. . . I see.” If Tatsuha is responsible for this, I’m going to

throttle him, Eiri thought.
“I thought you should know as soon as possible.”
“Yes, thank you, Mizuki. Good day.”
“You’re welcome. Good day.” Was there a hint of surprise in her

voice? Was it so rare he was civil to her? Naw.
Eiri still didn’t know the real story about his publisher’s new book
division. When he and Mizuki had met on Wednesday evening,
his editor’s description of the company meeting sounded more
like a pep-rally than anything professional. The executive had
spent most of his time handing out new business cards and a
bunch of pens and paraphernalia sporting the new division’s logo.
There hadn’t been any constructive answers to the motives
behind ‘Never Ending Dream’. Eiri was still planning to deal with
this mystery— just not right now.
He kept the handset and touched the phone hang-up lever. He

started to dial Tatsuha’s cell phone when the front door
slammed, jarringly. A second later, his sister waltzed into the
living room, banging that door open, too. “EIRI!!” Mika hollered.
With a grimace, Eiri practically threw the handset into its cradle.
He stepped into the kitchen doorway, and growled, “What do you
want?”
“Eiri.” She smiled evilly and slipped off her sunglasses, stowing
them in her designer hand-bag. That was the smile she gave him
when she achieved a rare check-mate against him. “Father would
like you to visit him.” She made a casual, graceful gesture to
brush her long hair back over her shoulder.
He narrowed his eyes at his sister. She was always playing

errand-runner for their father. Trying to get him to visit the
family temple was not normally a cause for her to smile, though.
Pull teeth and hair, maybe, but not smile. She had no reason to
look at him like that unless he didn’t have a choice. “Coffee?” He
asked gruffly.
“That would be nice.” She kept up her evil smile and settled on
his couch, keeping her knees together tightly in her very short,
black mini-skirt. Her high-heeled black boots left stab-wounds on
his rug. He grimaced at her rudeness for not removing her shoes
at the door and he went back into the kitchen, filling his mug and
another with coffee. What kind of blackmail did she think she had
on him this time? He brought Mika the second coffee mug and
sprawled next to her on the couch. He set his own mug on the
end table and scooped up his lighter, while locating cigarettes in
his shirt pocket. Like asking her to show her poker hand, he said,
“What have you got?” He lit a cigarette and dropped the lighter
into his pocket with the rest of the pack.
She sipped the coffee, still smiling. “Father won’t let Tatsuha
come to Tokyo until you visit.”
“Pffft. And why should I care?” He exhaled smoke and set his
right ankle on his left knee. What kind of lame threat was that?
“The old geezer couldn’t keep Tatsuha home if he wanted to,
anyway.”
Mika’s smile got wider, and toothier. “He can and he will.” She
hummed a little. Ooooo, she’s really pleased with herself over
this one, he thought. He watched her sip the coffee some more.
“What would happen if Ryuichi-kun couldn’t see Tatsuha?” She
asked, rhetorically, silky-sweet.
He frowned. “Make your friggin’ point.” He guessed where she

was going with this. It would be a new low for her. She hadn’t
had this kind of leverage against him before Shuichi came into
his life, but she had always excelled at exploiting his few
weaknesses.
“Fine. If Ryu-kun can’t see Tatsuha, he’ll start driving everyone

crazy. Tohma’s out of town--” That explains why he’s not taking
calls, Eiri thought. “—So he’ll have plenty of extra time to visit
with his friends . . . ” Like Shuichi; Eiri silently finished her
implication. She took another sip of coffee, humming again. Oh,
she was in a fine mood. He could feel his jaw tightening. “Poor
Ryu-kun,” she said mockingly, “he doesn’t like to be alone. Did
you know that? Hmm. Who would he spend his time with, when
Tatsuha’s not available to play with him?” She tapped her long,
red-lacquered fingernails against her jawbone in fake
contemplation.
Mika and Tohma suit each other, he thought, they’re both

sharks. He blew smoke in a long sigh. It *was* check mate. He
didn’t want Ryuichi taking up Shu’s time; especially right before
another goddamned Bad Luck concert tour. He didn’t want that
monster in his house, either. The last time Shu had invited him
over, he’d colored on the wood floors with marker. Damn, damn,
damn! Oh, there were a few ways around it but in most
circumstances, it would be less painful to visit Kyoto.
He would have to go there for at *least* a day. Shuichi probably
would not be able to get time off, since everyone was working
hard to set up for the concert. NG had hired a choreographer this
time around and Shu had been bitching about it. That probably
meant the kid still needed a lot of work, as far as the
choreographer was concerned. Shuichi was scheduled to visit the
Shindou family after work tomorrow, anyway. Eiri had planned to
go with him, but considering today’s visit from his sister, plans
would have to be changed. Damnit! I am going to kill Tatsuha for
this, he thought.
“What does the old man want, anyway?” Eiri was defeated. He
may as well accept it.
“He didn’t say,” Mika said flatly. She finished off the coffee and
placed the mug on the table. She really didn’t know? Odd.
Eiri raised an eyebrow at his sister. “Are you planning to be

there, too?”
Her evil smile turned into a full-blown grin. “Of course I am! Both
of my brothers and my dear father at the family temple, while
my loving husband is away . . . ” Her laugh is just as black as her
twisted heart, Eiri thought. He snorted. She may as well admit
that she just wants to watch the show . . . and the fireworks that
are certain to follow, he thought, ruefully.
***
[Saturday afternoon]
Shuichi had not been happy about the change in plans. Eiri
wasn’t, either. Shu wanted to go with him. He couldn’t get out of
work, and when he’d tried to cancel dinner with his folks, his
mother had laid a thick guilt trip on him and he’d caved in. He
promised Eiri he would be in Kyoto by Sunday. Neither one of
them thought that Eiri would get away from family before then.
Now he was on his own in Kyoto. He wasn’t going to change into

a kimono— just to emphasize his interest in making this visit
temporary— until Mika had informed him that his father would
not see him unless he did. He’s getting a lot of mileage out of
this one, Eiri thought as he reluctantly dressed in his traditional
under kimono, kuro-kimono and haori [1], setting aside the
Western-style clothes he preferred. Afterward, he went to find
his father.
To Eiri’s great surprise, his father was at the back of the house,
sitting and drinking tea with . . . Miyamoto! The shoji [2] had
been opened so the two men could look over the garden. They
were chatting like old friends about *temple architecture*. At
that moment, several isolated bits of information fell into place.
Apparently, Tatsuha wasn’t the one who needed killing.
***
[1] Kuro = black. This is the kimono Eiri wears when he’s home.
The haori is the men’s half-jacket worn over the kimono on
formal occasions or bad weather. Eiri’s kimono looks to me like
the men’s version of a tomesode— which married women wear.
It is black with small family crests on it— but I couldn’t find any
special name for the men’s version. The under kimono has a
special name, too, but it’s essentially the short, plain white
kimono that is worn under the outer kimono and typically slept
in.
[2] Shoji are the door/walls of wood and covered with rice paper
in a traditional Japanese home.
***
gurabiteshiyon.net


appreciate *all* criticism: please read, enjoy, and review.
Thanks!

*Part 6: Tartuffe*
[Saturday]
Eiri approached the room where his father and a guest were
drinking tea. The Uesugi patriarch made a great show of
introducing his eldest son to Miyamoto Ranmaru-san. Eiri
appraised the man. He looked older than Eiri’s father. He had
sparse, faded grey hair on top of a round head, narrow black
eyes, a lumpy aged nose, wide pale lips and a jowly jaw line. As
Eiri had seen him in before, he wore a conservative grey business
suit, white shirt and dull, understated tie. Eiri only nodded to
acknowledge the introduction, being purposefully insulting. “The
two of you seem awfully cozy,” Eiri said. Kneeling, he gave a
temporary impression of behaving.
“Eiri,” his father cautioned. Doubtless, he knew better than to

trust Eiri’s ‘good’ behavior. In a more natural tone Eiri’s father
added, “Ranmaru-san stayed here while doing research for his
last book on—“
“--traditional Kyoto architecture,” Eiri finished. His father glared.

Miyamoto’s face turned red and blotchy. “So tell me, Miyamoto,
what made you try your hand at pop music biography?” To
anyone who knew him, those shining, intensely golden eyes were
a vibrant warn-off.
Even the old monk knew the signs of a winter storm in his son.
“Eiri, why don’t you have some tea?” Eiri did not answer, but
focused his burning, icy stare on Miyamoto.
Miyamoto was oblivious to his own danger. “I don’t have to

defend my work to you— a *romance* writer!” Miyamoto
practically spit the words, like he would disavow a cheap, back-
alley prostitute who had propositioned him. “And you! You would
meddle in my *legitimate* writing career— for what! For that
gay pink—“
“STOP,” Eiri’s father commanded with calm, quiet control.
Eiri found himself standing. He didn’t remember moving. He must

have taken a step forward, too. His blood was hot. A wash of
sparks sped through his body, making his skin tingle as they left.
Someone had hurt his Shuichi once and by god, he would not
allow it to happen again. “Excuse me,” he said blandly and he
stepped out into the garden. The cool grass felt good on his bare
feet. He pulled cigarettes and lighter out of his sleeve and made
his way over to the carp pool.
His father could not see what kind of viper his guest was. The
two old men probably shared enough common interests that the
Uesugi patriarch could not be made to see reason. Eiri rubbed his
head, tousling his hair. The damp wind helped clear his mind.
Had Miyamoto meant to provoke him? Mizuki had warned him
that the man was known for his bad temper. Eiri laughed at
himself, silently. He’d nearly assaulted the ass after an almost-
comment about his Shuichi. It certainly hadn’t been the personal
slights to himself; he could care less what the man thought of his
writing. Is Miyamoto a danger or just a windbag? Eiri wondered.
Eiri had smoked most of one cigarette when his younger brother
came and sat on a rock at the pool’s edge. He was in full monk
attire, smoking. “That guy’s a total prick,” Tatsuha said quietly.
“I hate it when he’s around.” He blew smoke in a near-perfect
imitation of Eiri. The prayer beads around his wrist clicked softly
when he moved. “He puts father in an even more-traditional
mind set. I think that guy is a little older, too.” Tatsuha’s voice
turned sulky, “I figure he’s the reason I’ll be stuck in fucking
Kyoto on my day off.” He pouted darkly. “I was planning to
spend the day with Ryu-kun, too.”
Eiri tossed his cigarette onto the damp, sandy edge of the water.
“I’m here. I think that lets you off the hook.”
Tatsuha glanced up at him from the corner of his eyes.

“Blackmail, eh? How does my being in—oh.” He was quick to put
the facts together. “Where is Shu?” He looked alarmed. “Tell me
he’s not spending time with my Ryuichi!!“
Eiri snorted. “He had to work today, and then he’s having dinner
with his parents. He’ll be here tomorrow, probably early.”
Tatsuha smoked some more, settling down. “That might be

interesting,” he commented quietly with dark warning tones in
his voice.
“Hm?”
“Damn Ranmaru-san.” Tatsuha put his cigarette out by stabbing

it into the wet sand and he stood up. From the other discarded
butts tucked in the sand near the rock, Tatsuha had done it
before. He looked sideways at his brother again. “This isn’t the
usual sort of visit, is it?”
“Doubt it,” Eiri said. He knew his eyes flashed angrily as he

spoke, but he couldn’t control it. “I blocked a Bad Luck biography
that sanctimonious asshole was writing.”
Tatsuha raised an eyebrow in surprise. Sometimes, Eiri felt like

he was looking into a negative image mirror when he looked at
his younger brother. His coloring was all pale gold where
Tatsuha’s was black. Other than that, the two of them could pass
for twins, right down to their voices. “Would Shuichi being here
be better or worse?” Tatsuha mused, aloud.
Eiri asked himself the same question, making it seem a as if he

was voicing his own thoughts and speaking to his own reflection.
“I don’t think he’d stay home if I asked. Bad Luck goes on tour in
about a week.”
“Yeah,” Tatsuha sighed. “I know. Ryu’s going along for the first
two weeks of it.”
Eiri frowned and dug into his sleeve for another cigarette. Shu
had neglected to mention that fact. Or had he? He had gone on
at length about the duet they had recorded this week. Maybe this
was related? A soft, low growl slipped out of him as he lit his
cigarette.
“Yeah,” Tatsuha agreed. “I know.”
Eiri blew out smoke and put his lighter away. He hated being
jealous of Ryuichi. Not only was the man was twice Tatsuha’s
age, he was a complete and utter hare-brained idiot. Tatsuha
and Ryuichi seemed devoted to each other— not that there was
any question of devotion on Tatsuha’s part! No, the question was
where Ryuichi’s interests lay. Reluctantly, Eiri granted that the
man was a powerful singer, but that was about his only selling-
point, in Eiri’s estimation. It annoyed him to no end that both his
brother and his lover were enamored of that child-in-a-man’s-
body. Eiri trusted Shuichi, but being with the young singer had
left Eiri vulnerable to so many things: socialization, black mail,
protective urges . . . and emotions. Like jealousy. Damnit.
When Shu arrived, would he stay away from Miyamoto? Would

he want to? It was quirky the way Shuichi would either confront
adversity head-on, no-holds-bared, or curl up and hide for a
week. Usually he only hid when the problem involved very deep
emotions that confused him. Eiri decided that Shu was more
likely to rush toward confrontation in this situation. He smirked.
Eiri’s father had been confronted by Shuichi before. The bratt had
won that day, succeeding in permanently breaking off Eiri’s
arranged marriage to Usami Ayaka, but Eiri wondered who would
come out the winner next time.
Tatsuha said thoughtfully, “You know, Shuichi almost gave

Father a heart attack when he—“ He was bringing up the same
incident Eiri was recalling but Eiri cut him short.
“Maybe this time the old man will follow through and die,” he
said coldly.
“Maybe he could get rid of Miyamoto,” Tatsuha corrected,

watching Eiri slyly.
“Hmph.” Maybe an encounter would only give Miyamoto

ammunition for his poisonous pen. “We’ll see,” Eiri said darkly.
Tatsuha laughed and Eiri looked at him. Mischievousness danced

in his brother’s eyes. “I don’t want to miss it,” he said.
Eiri narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Yeah, Mika came to watch,
too, but I thought you had a date,” he said pointedly.
Tatsuha chuckled wickedly. Eiri wondered if he had learned that

from their sister. “You think I’d leave Ryu-chan all by himself in
Tokyo? Tohma’s out of town, and here we all are. . . ” He
gestured to their surroundings, his kimono sleeve flapping in a
light breeze. Tatsuha smirked and put his arm across Eiri’s
shoulders. “I’ll just give him a call and he can come with
Shuichi!”
Eiri had to admit to a certain . . . prurient fascination with having

both obnoxious singers visit the temple together. Not only would
it upset Father, Eiri thought, smiling, but if my guess is correct, it
will infuriate Miyamoto . . . maybe enough to make him leave.
The Uesugi brothers laughed together conspiratorially until Mika
came to investigate.
***
Dinner that night was formal. A chill rain had chased the brothers
inside for the afternoon. Eiri had managed to hide with, er, sink
himself into a book during that time, but he was informed that he
must attend dinner. Mika usually got away with non-traditional
clothes, but the required formality even extended to her tonight.
Eiri hadn’t known she owned a tomesode with the Seguchi crests.
He didn’t think he’d seen her wear a kimono since she wore a
shiromuku [1] for her wedding.
Their father was really making a point of honoring his guest. His
children, on the other hand— particularly his sons, did their best
to end, stifle, or thwart all attempts at conversation in order to
maintain a very cold silence. Tatsuha is really good at this game,
Eiri realized. The younger monk’s experience in conducting
funeral rites gave him plenty of horrid stories to turn
conversation toward. The amount of grim, depressing detail he
could extricate from a scene was . . . impressive. Morbid, too.
Not to be out-done, Eiri simply invented tragedies he could relate
to otherwise happy topics. Mika was exasperated with her
brothers. Their father glared at them, balefully. He hated it when
the two of them showed a united front against him. Tatsuha and
Eiri were the only ones who ate with any appetite. The others
picked at the perfectly prepared food. Eventually they gave up
trying to speak. Both brothers were gleefully anticipating a much
more cheerful and entertaining breakfast tomorrow. Mika knew
*something* was up.
After dinner, the table trays were cleared and a staring contest
began. The stoic Uesugi patriarch finally started reprimanding his
sons in front of his guest. Miyamoto watched the whole thing like
a ball game he had bet money on. It was only a replay of the
same old arguments; ‘Eiri, shave your head or die your hair
black’, ‘Lose the earring’, ‘Move back home.’ Eiri was pretty sure
the old man had given up on the ‘get married’ argument. He
wasn’t sure about the ‘as eldest son, you must be prepared to
take over the temple’ bit. His father didn’t bring up either topic,
this time around. To both of them, the old man said, ‘Give up
smoking!’ It was a signal for both men to light up. The old man
was a hypocrite on that score, since he smoked, too.
To Tatsuha, their father started a relatively new rant, ‘you should

be thinking about marriage prospects.’ He also brought up
Tatsuha’s grades and the possibility of going to University. The
whole family could practically recite the script. They had the
arguments and the come-backs nearly memorized. Ironically, the
routine cleared the tense air and left everyone feeling mildly
annoyed.
With smoke hanging in the air and the chill rain still coming
down, Mika lit lanterns in the room and fetched the koto [2] from
storage. She must be desperate to change the ambient mood
and temperature in here, Eiri thought. Mika didn’t play the
instrument very often and probably hadn’t practiced in years.
She could only play a few traditional pieces well, but it always
pleased their father when she did play. Eiri guessed she
reminded Father of their mother. Her impromptu concert let
them all off the hook until morning.
After the patriarch turned in for the night, Eiri went to his room,
too. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, so he read a little
more. He never went to sleep this early at home, but to his
surprise, he found himself yawning. He turned out the light and
tucked himself into bed, a little sad that the sheets were cold and
there was no one here to warm them. Until morning, he
reminded himself. A smile crept across his face in the dark and
Eiri covered it with a blanket.
***
[1] Essentially a traditional bridal costume; shiro = white, thus,

an all white kimono ensemble. The tomesode was explained in
the last chapter’s footnote.
[2] It’s a traditional Japanese musical instrument; a thirteen-

stringed zither, about 2 meters long and made of Paulownia
wood. It is plucked using picks on the thumb and first two fingers
of the right hand, while the left hand can be used to modify pitch
and tone.
***
Author’s Note: I loved writing this one. It’s my favorite chapter

so far. It just makes me think about what kind of hellions the
Uesugi children were as a trio! If all three decided to make a
concerted effort for or against something . . . look out! BTW—
Did anyone get the Moliere title-reference?
gurabiteshiyon.net

Disclaimer: It’s Gravitation and so obviously shonen-ai. Some

swearing and very strong implication of male/male sexual
situations, in this chapter, but nothing graphic. Of course it
doesn’t belong to me. Gravitation and its characters are the
property of Maki Murakami. I am simply a devotee. Please read,
enjoy, and review. To those who have: Thank you!!

*Part 7: Chaos in Kyoto*
[Sunday morning]
A loud commotion woke Eiri. It was comprised of two very loud,

happy voices, singing and . . . the sound of furniture being
moved across the floor . . . ? Eiri rolled out of bed and dressed in
his kimono again. He ran one hand through his hair. The digital
travel clock in his room read 7:10 am. Bleeech. He headed for
the source of the noise.
He didn’t get very far before Shuichi threw himself into Eiri’s
arms, knocking him down and causing him to sit in the hallway,
hard, with a hollow thud. Shuichi straddled him, hugging him
tightly. “I missed you,” the kid whispered into Eiri’s ear,
snuggling. He clapped a hand over the sensitive ear, casting his
rambunctious lover an offended look. The herbal scent of his hair
and the deeper, clean scent of his body enveloped Eiri. Shuichi
giggled.
“Na no da?” Ryuichi peeked around the wall. “Where’s Tat-kun?”

He asked in a child-like voice. Eiri and Shu both pointed. “TAT-
SU-HA!” Ryuichi sang at the top of his (very considerable) voice.
Eiri winced. The older singer stepped over the two men on the
floor and slid open the indicated room door.
Miyamoto choose that moment to peek out his own door. “What
is all this racke…t?” The grey-haired author took in the pink-
haired boy sitting in Eiri’s lap on the floor, and the wild-looking
adult male with the pink stuffed bunny in his hand, pouncing on a
sleeping monk. Miyamoto’s eyes grew big, he spluttered, and
shut the door with a clap, as the wooden frame of the shoji
struck the door frame. Eiri could almost swear that some of the
other author’s grey hairs had gone white before his eyes.
Shuichi burst out laughing and Eiri chuckled a little. Ryuichi was
laughing, too, but shutting the door to Tatsuha’s room. They
could both hear Tatsuha’s just-awake voice, faintly, over
Ryuichi’s squealing and giggling. Shuichi looked at Eiri very
seriously and said, “Ryu’s really ticklish.”
Eiri grabbed his lover’s chin and kissed him. “I’m glad you’re
here,” he said quietly. Shuichi’s eyes shined, filling with water.
The kid grinned and nearly squeezed the breath out of him.
“Me, too!” He squealed. With spandex shorts on, Eiri could tell
how happy he was. Shu shifted his body around a little, rubbing
their groins together teasingly. That was dangerous in a loosely-
tied kimono.
Eiri pulled Shuichi’s arms off his body and kissed the singer’s
nose. Ug, Eiri thought, we have only been apart for one day and
we’re acting like . . . Eiri stopped his thought trail. They would be
wrecked in no time if he didn’t go with the Bad Luck tour. He
changed the subject. “Now what were the two of you doing that
made so much noise?” Eiri figured he may as well try to minimize
any damage.
Shuichi looked sheepish. “Well Kuma— I mean, Ryuichi, wanted

to bring presents.” Eiri hated it when anyone spoke about a
stuffed toy as if it was animate. “I told him he didn’t need to, but
Kuma— ah, Ryu-kun— insisted that it was lucky. Um . . .”
Eiri sighed. “Let’s go see.”
Shuichi bounced up like a spring and pulled his sweatshirt down

around his hips in a vain attempt to cover his erection. “Okay.
Um, Eiri?” Eiri looked up at him from the floor, holding a
cigarette against his lips. “Was that the guy who wrote—“ Shuichi
was pointing to the door Miyamoto had peeked out of.
“Yes,” Eiri hissed. He lit his cigarette and got to his feet. Shuichi
looked confused. “He’s a friend of my father’s, I guess.” Shu still
looked uncertain. Eiri put his hand on Shu’s back to propel him
forward. “Let’s see if we can find some breakfast, instead, okay?”
Shuichi perked up at that. “Yeah! We’d better fix a lot, though,

‘cuz Ryuichi and Tatsuha are gonna be hungry in a little bit!”
Shuichi looked at him over his shoulder, winked and dashed off
to the kitchen. Eiri shook his head. Shu was right. There was no
longer the sound of childish laughter from Tatsuha’s room. The
voices were definitely those of two adults, now. Eiri snorted.
Ryuichi was no better at being quiet in bed than his Shuichi. He
followed his lover to the kitchen.
The kitchen was the only truly modern room in the building. The
floors were tile over wood, instead of traditional tatami mats. [1]
There was a modern refrigerator, an old-but-modern stove,
plenty of cupboards and lots of counter space. Shuichi was
gathering pans and dishes. “Eiri! Can you make one of those
American-style breakfasts, like you sometimes do for me? I saw
lots of eggs in the ‘fridge. Ryuichi would really like that. He told
me he likes scrambled eggs. I can make some—“
“YOU won’t do anything, except carry the dishes, Idiot.” Eiri tied
his kimono sleeves back with a ribbon of cloth. “Yes, I can make
American-style breakfast,” he said indulgently. It actually
sounded good to him, this morning. Shuichi jumped backward to
sit on the counter, away from the stove. Eiri leaned against
another counter, finishing his cigarette before he cooked. “How
was your trip here?”
“Oh. Not very much fun,” Shuichi replied contritely. “Sakuma-san

drove.” He drives?? The very thought of Sakuma behind the
wheel of a car disturbed Eiri. “You know how his face gets all
scary?” Shuichi pulled his face with his fingers. “He was all
serious, concentrating. He said he likes riding better, but K-san
said, ‘NO! Do you know what time it is!’” Shuichi did a credible
imitation of his manager’s voice. “—and he got all mad ‘cuz we
called him, but the car rental place didn’t mind, since they’re
open all the time, and it was really easy . . .”
Eiri smoked his cigarette, listening to Shuichi carry on. He was

glad that Sakuma took driving seriously. Then Shu’s rambling
caught his attention again, “. . . but the shrine didn’t fit too well,
and we kinda scraped the paint, trying to get it in the trunk—“
“The what?”
“Ryu calls it the ‘trunk’— you know, the boot? The back of the
car, where the bags go—“
“Idiot! I know what the trunk is! Did you say *shrine*?”
Shuichi stopped kicking the cupboard. “Yeah . . .” he said

cautiously. Eiri rubbed his forehead then put his cigarette out.
“It’s not too garish, or anything,” Shuichi rushed to defend
whatever urge had prompted the two of them to transport a
shrine in the trunk of a rented sports car. “Ryuichi looked at
some that were really brightly decorated, with lots of gold paint
and designs, but this one’s not like that. It’s one of those wall-
mounted cabinets you’re supposed to put stuff in to honor your
family ancestors, ya know?” Eiri looked at him, disgustedly. He
may not look like it, but he was Japanese and knew exactly what
Shu was talking about. He may not act like it, but he was still a
qualified Buddhist monk, too. Shuichi certainly didn’t need to
explain such things to him. Shu misinterpreted the look, though.
“Hey! I told him he didn’t need to bring presents, and he knew
we were coming to a temple and all—“
Eiri shook his head again. “Dummy,” he said calmly. That

explained the sound of furniture being dragged around. They had
probably scuffed up the tatami mats, too. “Don’t worry about it.
I’ll let my father deal with it.” Maybe the old man would even
have a use for it, Eiri thought. It was a really generous gift;
those things weren’t cheap. “You get the eggs out; I’ll cook. You
can start the coffee, too. The coffee maker is in that cupboard.”
Eiri pointed.
Shuichi smiled brightly again, probably relieved Eiri wasn’t upset

with him. He pulled out the coffee pot and set it up. Eiri asked
Shu about the visit with his family, knowing the simple question
would keep Shu talking for . . . a long time. The essence of the
monologue that followed was: everyone was fine.
Eiri was tending eggs and chicken-sausage when Mika entered

the kitchen, yawning. She was back in her usual attire of a mini-
skirt and blouse. Her hair was a little messy and she wasn’t
wearing any makeup, but she looked more like herself than she
had last night, playing the role of a dutiful, traditional daughter.
“Good morning, Shuichi-kun,” she said, unsurprised to see him

here. She sniffed, wrinkling her nose. “What’s that awful smell?”
Shuichi stopped his chop-stick drum beat and humming to

respond. “Good morning, Mika-san. It’s not an awful smell! It’s
American-style breakfast. . . . It’s just different.”
“Uhg! How can they eat that stuff first thing in the morning? How
can you? Can’t we have some tuna, or something?” She poked
her head into the refrigerator.
“You can fix some for father and his guest, too, then,” Eiri told
her. She grumbled, but complied.
“ICE CREAM!”
Mika froze in place for a moment. “No,” she whispered. Eiri

turned in time to see her eyelid twitch. Oh, sweet revenge, he
thought. “He’s really here, isn’t he?” Mika asked Shuichi,
forlornly.
“Yep,” Shu chirped happily. “Ryu-kun and I came together!”
Mika threw back her head and groaned, but her noise was kind-
of lost against Ryuichi’s chant of, “ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM, ICE
CREAM . . . !” It got louder until the older singer arrived in the
kitchen with a squeal. Ending his chant, he went to search the
freezer. Tatsuha came in behind him, dressed in jeans and t-
shirt, smiling widely. Ryu pulled his head out of the freezer,
shaking it sadly. “No ice cream for Kumagorou, no na da,” he
announced.
“But Eiri’s so sweet, he made American-style breakfast for us!”

Shuichi said to cheer him up.
“Oh, yum!” He inhaled the cooking smells happily. Mika rolled her
eyes. “Tat-kun, we can have eggs and sausage for breakfast!”
Ryu grabbed Tatsuha’s hands and danced him in circles. Tatsuha
didn’t look too sure about eggs for breakfast, but he was willing
to try it. Mika lit a cigarette and poured coffee for herself. She
looked like a shock victim. Eiri dished out breakfast. The other
two people in the house should be joining them shortly . . . for
one reason or another, Eiri thought.
About the time the breakfast trays had been set out, and
everyone was settling down to eat, the Uesugi patriarch
appeared. “More guests, I see,” he said flatly, kneeling before his
tray-table and settling his robes.
“Good morning!” Ryu and Shu crowed, nearly in unison. The old
monk looked at all of them. Ryu was so close to Tatsuha, he was
practically sitting in the monk’s lap, and there was a lot of casual
touching between the two of them. Between Eiri and Shu was the
palpably close warmth and comfort of an established relationship.
Mika sat alone, across from her brothers and their lovers, eating
quietly. There was no sign of Miyamoto.
“Good morning,” Uesugi replied. He frowned, “What is that

smell?”
“American breakfast; eggs and sausage,” Mika grumbled. “Don’t

worry, father, I fixed tuna for us and Miyamoto-san.”
The patriarch sighed. “I just spoke with Ranmaru-san. He has

decided to leave. Eiri, he came to me, hoping we could dissuade
you from blocking his book.” The old monk frowned and held up
his hand to forestall interruptions. Eiri had guessed the purpose
for bringing him to Kyoto when he first saw Miyamoto here. “I
still disagree with what you did, but I’m not blind, yet. I can see
what this boy means to you.” He sighed and looked around the
room again. “My two sons; disappointment after disappointment.
You both crush my hopes for the future and blatantly flout
traditions . . . Yet, both of you are happy.”
“My lovely, dutiful daughter . . . ” he continued, in a doting tone

of voice, turning in her direction. Mika looked up. Their father’s
face was sad. “You have always done the right thing, and you are
alone.” He shook his head. “I’ll leave you youngsters to your . . .
breakfast.” He picked up his plate and left the room.
“Wow,” Tatsuha breathed, mirroring Eiri’s thought. Shuichi

leaned over and hugged Eiri’s left arm. Eiri reached across his
body with his right hand, to touch Shu’s hand on his arm.
Tears trickled down Mika’s cheeks. “Excuse me,” she choked out.
She left, wiping at her eyes. Her food was mostly uneaten.
“Where *is* Tohma?” Ryuichi asked. Eiri looked at him in

surprise, one eyebrow arching up. Usually Ryuichi knew where
Seguchi was, even when no one else did, or when Tohma didn’t
want him to know.
Shu let go of Eiri’s arm to give Ryu a look of surprise, too, jaw
dropping in disbelief. “You don’t know??” Shu questioned him.
Ryuichi shook his head. “Really??”
“Kumagorou?” Ryuichi asked his stuffed rabbit, bringing it up

from the floor beside him. He twisted the pink rabbit’s little head
back and forth. “Kumagorou doesn’t know either,” the singer
confirmed.
Eiri wondered if Mika knew where her husband was, or what

Tohma was up to? It was unlike him to be gone for a whole week
without telling anyone.
***
[1] Tatami mats are the bamboo floor squares in a traditional

Japanese building. They actually lift off the supports and stuff is
stored between the floor and the ground. (Thus, the hollow thud
sound when Shu knocked Eiri to the floor.) That’s part of the
reason the Japanese houses look so sparse, too—everything’s
kept under the floor. Modern homes have non-removable flooring
and can make use of more furniture that is heavy or solid, and
Western-styled.
***
Author’s Note: Has anyone been wondering about Tohma?? What

about those pesky unanswered questions, like what *is* the deal
with the publishing company? What *has* Tohma been doing this
past week? What other sorts of presents did Ryu bring? . . . and
is that really the end of Miyamoto? Keep reading. ;]
gurabiteshiyon.net

Disclaimer: It’s Gravitation and so obviously shonen-ai. Of course

Gravitation doesn’t belong to me— its characters are the
property of Maki Murakami. I am still simply a devotee. Please
read, enjoy, and review. To those who have: Thank you!!

*Part 8: Concluding Kyoto*
[Sunday]
With four people to clean up, the breakfast dishes had been
washed and tray tables stowed away quickly. Eiri and Tatsuha sat
on the back porch, legs hanging off the ledge, smoking in
companionable silence. Ryuichi was chasing a couple of
butterflies and laughing. Earlier, he had scared the carp in the
pool, by splashing through it. Shuichi was sitting by the pond,
frowning and scribbling in a notebook. Occasionally, he would
stop and tap his pencil in rhythm, sometimes closing his eyes in
concentration. Eiri understood the lightning strike of inspiration.
Watching Shu write made him itch for his laptop.
“You should go talk to Mika,” Tatsuha told Eiri again. It was like a
children’s game of ‘you do it’, ‘no, you do it’. They had each been
trying to convince the other to confront or comfort their elder
sister. They had already agreed that Ryu and Shu wouldn’t be
acceptable as brother-substitutes or diplomats.
“Fine!” Eiri exhaled smoke and stood up, tired of quibbling. He

paused by the open entrance into the house. “You think she’s
had enough time to herself?” He asked Tatsuha. Shuichi must
have been keeping an eye on him, or he caught Eiri’s movement
in his peripheral vision because he looked up, as if clouds had
obscured the sunlight from him. Shu noticed Eiri’s gaze and
waved, watching him for a moment. Eiri prevented himself from
smiling. Shu went back to scribbling.
“Just get it over with. She might need someone to scream at,”
Tatsuha added quietly.
“Right,” Eiri agreed. “You get to pick up the cigarette butts,

then.” He walked in and went to his sister’s room. It was quiet
inside, but the door was shut. “Mika?”
“I wondered who would come.” She sniffled. “Come in,” she said
with resignation. Eiri wondered if her reaction was because she
didn’t want to be bothered, or because it was him. He pulled the
door open and shut it behind him. Mika was sitting on her
rumpled sleeping mat and there were still wet tear-traces on her
pillow. Her eyes were red and puffy. Eiri sat on the floor next to
her. He pulled out what was left of his pack of cigarettes, silently
offering her one. “No, thanks,” she said. She hugged her pillow
across her stomach. Eiri figured his sister would crack first if he
didn’t say anything. He located an ashtray on her desk, rose to
snag it and she spoke again. “I suppose you want to know where
he’s gone.”
“Nope. I don’t care,” he said honestly.
Mika sighed heavily with the hint of a sob. She tried to make
light of herself, saying, “Did you draw the short straw?” Eiri
shook his head. They both knew he wasn’t about to say
something mushy about caring for his sister. “It hurts,” she
confessed. “Father…” tears trickled from her eyes and she held
her chin up. She looked at him, bleakly. “My marriage with
Tohma was always treated as a business deal. I accepted that,
because I do love him.” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.
She tossed the tissue toward the trash, missing the basket. She
slumped. “I was holding on to the fact that I had done my proper
duties; as a daughter to contract a beneficial marriage and as a
wife. . . ” Her voice broke.
Mika sagged forward and Eiri moved slightly, to hold her head on
his lap. Her face was hot and he could feel her tears soaking into
his kimono. He hesitated to comfort her. He didn’t remember
ever doing this for her before. He wondered if Tatsuha had? Mika
had always taken care of herself while watching out for her
brothers. Cautiously, he reached out and smoothed her hair back
from her face. It wasn’t the same sort of gesture he made for
Shuichi, but there was some similarity. His sister cried brokenly
while he pet her.
Eiri tended to think of Shuichi as his weakness, but Shu had

given Eiri the strength to do this for Mika. In an odd way, it
felt . . . satisfying to help Mika. With her pushy ways, she
intruded into Eiri’s life, again and again; attempting to ‘help’ him
by bullying him into doing what she thought was best. Most of
the time, she had been wrong. Now, Eiri was just here for her
and that may be just what was needed. It certainly didn’t solve
any problems, but it comforted her against adversity. He wasn’t
sure how long he sat with her.
After a while, Mika pulled back. Eiri thought she had cried herself
dry. She blew her nose again, this time getting the used tissue
into the basket. She looked at him, smiling bitterly. “Tohma’s on
vacation. Nittle Grasper was taking a break. Bad Luck doesn’t go
on tour for another …well, Thursday, right?” Eiri nodded. “He
plans to be back Thursday. Work wasn’t too busy.” That didn’t
seem right, Eiri thought. Setting aside the fact that he didn’t take
his wife with him on vacation; why would Tohma not tell any of
his family, friends, or band-mates where he would be? It didn’t
make much sense, until Mika spoke again. “He’s found someone
who makes him happy.”
Now what? Eiri wondered. His father had been right. Mika had
followed the rules and she was miserable. Eiri and Tatsuha
fought conformity and gained happiness. It was completely
against what tradition taught them all. A part of him said, ‘Mika
knew what she was getting into’. He didn’t feel any need to
avenge her, nor any reason to punish Tohma. Eiri couldn’t think
of anything he could do for his sister. ‘At least he’s discreet’
would not be a helpful thing to say…
“Eiri? Mika? Are you in there?” Shuichi called from the hallway.
“Idiot. What is it?” Shu’s soft footsteps came closer.
“Want to open presents? Ryuichi-kun . . . um, he’s kind of

anxious,” Shu said from the other side of the door.
Eiri knew there was a world of understatement in that. He looked

at Mika. She shrugged and made a slight, sideways nod of her
head. He took it for ‘yes’. “Okay, we’ll come in a minute.”
“Okay!” Eiri heard the hollow patter across the floor as Shuichi
ran off.
“You go. I’ll clean up and be there shortly,” Mika told him. He
nodded and stood up, putting the ashtray back on the desk. She
stood, too. “Thanks,” she said quietly. She ran one hand across
his upper arm and turned away. He left.
In the hall, he realized that his right foot had fallen asleep and
his kimono was wet from Mika’s tears, so he changed into black
pants and a loose, white shirt. He transferred his lighter and
cigarettes into the shirt, too. The clothes made him feel more like
himself. What would it take to restore Mika to herself? He feared
it would take something that only Tohma could give her. As
generous as he was with his wife, Eiri wasn’t sure if Tohma was
capable of giving her more love than a friendship.
***
With both energetic singers bouncing around the room,

unwrapping presents became an interesting show to watch. It
seemed that Ryuichi had done his shopping at two stores: an
antique dealer and a professional costume shop.
Mika was given a beautiful rhinestone tiara that picked up and

refracted light, nearly making her glow. It made her happy, even
though it was completely impractical. Ryuichi called her ‘Queen
Seguchi’ and Tatsuha played along, waiting on Mika and asking if
her highness would like anything else? She hit him.
The Uesugi patriarch had been very pleasantly surprised by the

presentation of the shrine and a set of jade prayer beads. When
the present-opening degenerated into Tatsuha and Ryuichi
dressing each other up from a trunk of costumes, the old monk
departed, claiming temple duties.
Shuichi was given several boxes of strawberry pocky. He was

ecstatic— but it was only a slight elevation from his usual level of
hyper activity. Most of the time, Shu was incredibly easy to
please.
Ryuichi gave Eiri a katana and wakizashi, complete with display

stand. In his childlike voice, wearing a hairy grey wolf’s mask,
Ryuichi explained that the swords were used by samurai who
protected their clan and family. Tipping the mask back, he
winked at Eiri. Then he put the mask back into place and
bounced away, singing to his stuffed rabbit, gruffly. Like a wolf,
Eiri guessed. Shuichi joined in the singing and pretty soon, the
room filled with the sounds of a campground-like sing-a-long.
Eiri did not sing. Instead, he considered the swords, pulling the
katana from its sheath and inspecting the blade. The hilt alone
was about a foot long, wrapped in black cloth, pattern-twisted.
The blade was a little longer than two feet, curving slightly and
finishing in a diagonally-edged blade tip. [1] The blade was really
beautiful; finely polished steel with a raised hamon temper line
down its center. The sheath was unadorned; smooth, black,
lacquered wood. The tsuba was a plain metal disc separating hilt
and blade. The weapon was breath-taking in its simplicity and
violent purpose.
Living in a temple and training as a monk didn’t encourage sword

study or weapons’ training. Buddhists were schooled to strict
non-violence. Eiri smirked. He knew what his balance of karma
looked like. He had a long way to fall in his next life. Eiri had
studied Japanese swords and armor once for a book he’d written,
set in the Sengoku o-Togi Zoushi [2]. He liked this katana. It was
a very nice example of its kind. He sheathed it, considering the
role of family protector. He supposed it was true. It brought his
mind back to Mika’s problem.
Eiri had emerged from his past, thanks to Shuichi. In many ways,
he had grown up since then. He had become . . . more human
and less like the cold snow of his self-imposed namesake. It was
one of the reasons that he had asked Shuichi not to call him Yuki
anymore. It was no longer who he was. Eiri had thought that
Mika had grown up a long time ago, but maybe she had just
chosen a different way to hide in childhood.
Shuichi’s face was suddenly two inches from his own; large,
merry, blue-violet eyes filling his vision. Eiri jerked back,
instinctively. Shuichi kneeled in front of him, grinning. He
probably would have jumped into Eiri’s lap, if Eiri hadn’t been
holding a sword. The writer set it aside and his lover took that for
an invitation, sitting on him and wrapping legs around his waist.
“Yes?” Eiri said coolly.
Shuichi laid his head against Eiri’s shoulder, wrapping arms

around his neck. “I’m having so much fun,” he said, “but I want
to go home and be with you.”
“Idiot. You are with me,” he teased warmly, putting one arm
around Shuichi’s back. He knew what Shu meant.
“Mmmm,” Shu answered, nuzzling Eiri’s neck. “*Just* you . . .

and me.” Shu’s breath brushed his skin.
“Stop that,” Eiri scolded. He looked around the room, self-

consciously. Mika was laughing over Ryuichi’s and Tatsuha’s
antics with the costume trunk. Shuichi nibbled Eiri’s neck,
causing nerves to fire and those fires spread. Eiri dumped the
singer onto the floor. With a glance, Shuichi knew he wasn’t truly
angry and the kid laughed. Eiri growled, causing Shuichi to laugh
more. The others were oblivious. “Get your stuff. I’ll say my
good-byes,” he instructed.
Shuichi bounced up. “Goody,” he said. “Shall I put our stuff in

your car?”
“Okay. The keys are—“
“—in your left-hand coat pocket, I know.” Shuichi gathered up

the swords and pocky and took them away. Warning Shu to be
careful was probably a waste of his breath, so he didn’t bother.
Eiri approached his sister. She was still wearing the shining
crown. “We’re leaving. If . . . if you need me . . . ” he started,
awkwardly.
She looked surprised. “Thank you. I’ll see you on Thursday, for
the kick-off concert, right?”
Eiri nodded. “Shu wouldn’t let me miss it.”
She smiled a little. “I’ll be okay,” she lied, giving him a

reassurance he neither needed nor believed. “See ya.”
“Bye, Tatsuha, Ryuichi,” Eiri said. Ryuichi waved Kumagorou in

the air at him, not breaking his song.
“I’ll see you Thursday, Aniki. I can stay over, right?” Eiri nodded.
Tatsuha and he could be lonely together . . . if Eiri decided to
stay home for the first part of Bad Luck’s tour.
Eiri went to the temple to tell his father good bye. The old man
was lighting incense. “I’m going home, Father,” he announced.
Old Uesugi nodded. He stood and turned toward his eldest son,
setting a hand on Eiri’s shoulder. He frowned. “I pray for you all,
but look after your sister, Eiri.” It was possibly the most practical
request the old man had made of him since he’d moved out.
Well, besides the old saw, ‘quit smoking’. That was practical, but
there wasn’t any chance the old man would ever see it happen.
“And quit smoking!” Hypocrite.
***
[1] Okay, so I’m American. I work in feet and inches even

though *I know* metrics are used every where else in the world.
One foot = 30.48 cm; and the length of the whole blade: 91.44
cm. Incidentally, the katana information is true and tsuba = hilt
guard.
[2] This is alternately called the ‘feudal period’ or ‘warring states

era’.
***
Author’s Note: It was kind of a ‘downer’ chapter, so I tried to

liven it up a little at the end. I hope I succeeded. I wanted to
show how Eiri’s become more accessible to others— not just for
Shuichi. Shu still gets the biggest benefits of Eiri’s good-side,
though. I was also able to put in my reason behind using ‘Eiri’
rather than ‘Yuki’.
About Tohma: apparently, there are some Tohma-haters out

there, but I think he has his place. I don’t *like* him, but I feel
like he is a deeply neutral, gray-area; neither good nor evil.
gurabiteshiyon.net


*Part 9: Back in Tokyo*
[Wednesday afternoon]
Eiri was disgusted with himself. He still couldn’t decide whether

to travel with Bad Luck or not. He had to decide by tomorrow.
Shuichi had packed his stuff last night. He had cast Eiri
significant looks while he did it, too, until Eiri had yelled at him
and gone for a walk in the park. When he returned, his suitcase
had been set out, open, near the dresser. Shu had been asleep.
Even the main character in Eiri’s book was waffling. One moment
Eiri was sure he was strong enough to be alone for a month. In
the next moment, he was just as certain that he couldn’t be
alone for more than a day. Compromise at one week? Tatsuha
would be around Thursday and Friday. That would only leave five
more days in the week. That was do-able, right? Arrgggh. When
had become so dependant??
He saved and closed down the word processor program with the
latest chapter of his book. He’d been picking at it for the last
hour— re-reading it and changing a word here or there. He just
hadn’t been *adding* to the story. Why? Because he couldn’t
keep his mind on it. DAMN IT. He lit a cigarette and accessed the
internet.
First, he scanned his e-mail. Hmm. One from Mizuki, one from
Shu, and a bunch of junk mail. He clicked on the one from Shu.
It was a comic strip about music. Shuichi had probably thought it
was hysterical. Eiri shrugged. Next he checked an on-line news
site. As he scrolled down the page, a minor headline caught his
attention, ‘Eiko Publishing Swallows Competitor’. He clicked on
the link and read the article. It claimed that Eiko had taken on
the debt and holdings of the Mikuno Book Company for an
undisclosed price. The reporter cited speculation from different
sources who disapproved of Eiko's decision, claiming that the
lesser company’s debts had been too big for Eiko to absorb and
said there was little to be gained from the deal. The article
concluded that Mikuno was now being called ‘Never Ending
Dream’ as a new division of Eiko.
Eiri did a search for a Mikuno Book website. He dead ended in a

‘page not found’ message. He checked the Eiko website, to see if
they had anything new to say to the public. Their ‘news’ page
only featured new and upcoming book releases. He went back to
the e-mail. Mizuki had sent him three links and she had pasted
an ‘attention all employees’ message at the bottom. He scrolled
down, reading. It was basically a request for Eiko personnel to
not speak with the media.
The first link took him to a stock-watch site. Eiko stock had fallen
over the course of the week. The second link was a pessimistic
article about the new division. A publisher, cited there, said, “In
the business of publishing, it is suicide to pin profitability on the
hopes of a single author.” From the context, Eiri was pretty sure
that person was referring to him. Contemptible moron, he
thought derisively. Eiko actually had a large group of romance
writers; he was simply the most prominent. The third link
brought up a database style document. It was titled, ‘Authors
Transferred to Never-Ending Dream’. Authors were listed
alphabetically. Eiri recognized some of them, either from
meetings or conventions, or book covers. He was certain that
some of them were new to Eiko. He saved the document to his
hard drive. He sent a reply to Mizuki thanking her for the
information.
So, it looked like Eiko had bought out Mikuno and turned it into
Never Ending Dream. There was nothing wrong with that; it must
happen all the time. Big fish swallow the little fish and that’s the
way of the world, right? Eiri drank some coffee. In his opinion, it
was risky for Eiko to take on a lot of debt in exchange for the
smaller company’s holdings, but it wasn’t without merit. He
wondered just what factors influenced taking on Mikuno. Did they
have better distribution, a paper mill, a better printing factory?
He would watch the situation. It still felt like he was missing a
piece of the story. If Eiko failed, he’d just have to find another
publisher.
He was about to disconnect from the internet when his mail alert
beeped. It was another message from Mizuki. It said, “You’re
welcome. A bit of advice for your main character: have him go
ahead and do it. Then he can have adventures and you can
torment him. If he doesn’t go, the whole book would be about
him being depressed and mopey. Besides, you already did a
character like that in ‘Fear of Fate’.” Eiri snorted. Sometimes
Mizuki was a little too wise about what went on in his head. He
disconnected and shut down, setting his glasses on the desk. He
was out of coffee and needed a break.
---
When Shuichi came home, Eiri’s suitcase was packed. The two
cases sat beside each other near the door and would be obvious
to Shu when he came in. Eiri would pack up his computer
tomorrow. He wasn’t likely to get anything written between now
and tomorrow night’s concert-- since Shu would be home during
the day— but he could try.
He was sitting on the couch, surfing TV channels when he heard

the door open... there was the sound of Shu’s bag hitting the
floor, then, “TADAIMA, EIRI!” Shu came skidding into the living
room, sliding on sock-feet. “Eiri! You’ll come!?” Shu sat at his
feet, settling between his legs and laying his head on Eiri’s lap.
“I’m SO happy,” he squeaked, hugging his calf.
Eiri rolled his eyes, and placed his cigarette between his lips to
free his hand to run it through Shuichi’s pink hair. Shu sighed
happily, closing his large, expressive eyes. Eiri leaned over his
lover to put his beer down and turn the TV off. When he sat up
again, Shuichi crawled up his body to straddle him, tucking his
head under Eiri’s chin. Eiri held his cigarette, blowing smoke. He
sighed in temporary contentment, knowing the quiet wouldn’t
last for more than 10, 9, 8, 7…
“Hiro won the bet,” Shu said slyly. Eiri grunted. “There was bet
down at NG about whether you’d come with us for the first part
of the tour. If you don’t change your mind again, then Hiro wins
the bet.”
Eiri brought his cigarette to his lips and inhaled. He wasn’t sure if
he should be offended that people were making bets about his
decisions or if he cared at all. Okay, he decided quickly, I’m
pissed! They had no right! Why does everyone think they know
what goes on in my head! “Who bet?” He asked.
“Oh, just about everybody. Shu sat up and held out his fingers,
ticking off names; “Tohma, Noriko, Hiro, Fujisaki, Sakano didn’t
bet but K did, and Tomino,” the choreographer, Eiri’s memory
supplied, “and Hikaru—“
“Stop. Was Hiro the only one who thought I’d go?” Shuichi
nodded. Hah. I guess that shows how much they know about
what I’m thinking. “You didn’t bet?”
Shu’s eyes got big and he violently shook his head ‘no’, followed
by a breath-shortening hug. “I don’t try to second-guess you,
Eiri! I love you. I’ll accept whatever you decide. I *want* you to
come, but . . . I know other things are important to you and that
I can’t always have you to myself and you—“
Eiri kissed him. It was the most effective way to shut him up. He
also wanted to do it. It was a deep, passionate kiss. Without
words, it should tell his little lover how much Eiri felt for him;
how important the kid was. Eiri intended to pull back, but Shu
pursued, chasing his lips and licking them, raising himself up to
reach Eiri’s face and molding his body against his lover’s. Shu
sucked gently on Eiri’s lower lip and the writer responded by
holding Shu’s head and taking the younger man’s breath away.
He pulled back, letting go just long enough to remind him, “You
have me all to yourself now, Idiot.”
Shu answered with a grin, stripping off his shirt and reaching for
Eiri’s shirt buttons. When Shu had the shirt open, he ran his
hands up from Eiri’s waist, spreading his fingers over every inch
of the writer’s chest and sliding his fingers under the shirt where
it still clung to his shoulders and pushing it off his arms. Eiri
obliged him by leaning forward enough to finish removing the
shirt. Shu trailed his fingers over Eiri’s bare arms, caressing his
skin.
Eiri consumed Shu’s lips and ran his hands over Shu’s back.
Goosebumps of anticipation sprang up on the younger man’s
sides. Shu’s hands reached for his pants. Pressed together, half-
naked was how K found them. The kissing stopped.
“OH! Excuse me,” the tall man said in English. Eiri looked up in
surprise and deep annoyance. Long bits of blond hair hung
around the man’s face, loosened from the long ponytail that
sprouted from the back of his head. He wore sun glasses, a white
shirt tucked into khaki slacks, a blue tie at half-mast, a shoulder
holster with a large pistol, and a rifle, and a sub-machingun.
Why is this man standing in my house and why does everyone I

know walk in and out of here and use this house like it’s a train
station!! “GET. OUT. NOW.”
Eiri moved one hand to prevent Shu’s hands from completing

their self-appointed mission. Shu blushed, realizing they’d been
interrupted. He had a look of shock on his face before he sagged,
putting the top of his head against Eiri’s bare chest.
“Sorry, I can’t do that,” K said. Switching to Japanese, he

announced, “I’m going to stay here and protect Shindou-kun.”
Eiri frowned. “From what?” He hoped that the gun-toting lunatic

couldn’t give him a good reason.
Shuichi chuckled weakly, turning toward his manager. “Uh, K-

san, uh . . . you don’t need to . . . be here.”
K frowned at the boy and strode forward, offering Eiri a piece of

paper, pulled from his pocket. “Yes, I do,” he replied.
Eiri took the paper and read it. It was a death threat. He had to
admit that that was a good reason. He asked K, in English, “Who
knows about this?”
K shook his head. He answered in Japanese, “It just came to NG

studios. We’re arranging body guards for the tour, but until then,
I’ll be here.” K grinned, drawing and chambering a round in his
favorite handgun.
***
Tadaima = I’m home. Standard response should be Okaeri =

welcome home.
***
Author’s Note: This is kind of a holding chapter, setting up for

the next action. I hope it’s enjoyable, anyway. Sorry to set up a
lemon and mess it up for them, but that’s life!
gurabiteshiyon.net



*Part 10: Thursday*
Eiri woke up in a really bad mood. K’s untimely interruption had

soured the previous evening— not to mention the bad news he’d
come with! Then, Shuichi had had nightmares about people
shooting at him. Eiri figured he’d had *maybe* two hours’ sleep.
K’s deep snoring was an atrocious sound. A nightmare of his own
had woken him last. His bedside ashtray was full. He needed
more cigarettes, damn it. He was sick with worry. He hoped the
stress didn’t affect his health so badly that he wound up in the
hospital again. He hated that place. He had planned to spend
today doing something with Shuichi. Now that was spoiled, too.
It all added up to a very bad day.
Shu whimpered beside him, reaching out for him in his sleep. Eiri
put his hand on Shu’s hair and he settled. How did he remain
such an innocent? He wasn’t, really; he just looked and acted like
it. So much had happened to him that could have, *should have*
altered Shuichi’s world view. He just seemed to be able to
maintain the same childish naivety, despite what had been done
to him; a belief that most people were good or kind. Eiri’s eyes
narrowed in sudden determination, watching over his sleeping
lover. *I* am the one who is wise to the world and I will make
certain that nothing bad happens to Shindou Shuichi.
Who would want to kill the kid? Eiri considered the problem.
Rabid fans? Some traditionalist against pop music? Maybe
someone with a prejudice against gays? Miyamoto? Would he go
that far? That idea led to another can of worms, so to speak.
Since Eiri and Shuichi’s relationship was public knowledge, it may
be one of Eiri’s rabid fans. He shook his head. He had witnessed
some of the lengths fans went to just to see either of them, or to
get an autograph. If one of them had become obsessed and
jealous . . . What a tangle.
Then there was the tour to consider. K said that professional

body guards were being hired for the tour. Security had better be
a big concern, Eiri thought sourly. In his mind, there was no
longer any doubt that he would travel with the band.
At 7:22, he finally decided there was no longer any point in
staying in bed. He rubbed tired eyes and got up for the day.
---
Eiri was puttering around the kitchen, eating some leftover take-
out for breakfast, when K came in, wearing wrinkled clothes and
looking sleep-mussed. “Coffee?” He asked, sniffing the air.
“Mugs are there.” Eiri pointed to the cupboard over the coffee
maker and leaned back on the counter, eating.
K poured and drank some coffee. Then he turned around grinning

and cheerily said, “Good morning!”
Eiri snorted disdainfully and said, “’Morning.” He finished off his

breakfast and told K, “There are more leftovers in the ‘fridge.
Help yourself.” He glanced at the clock on the microwave. It read
8:19. “Shuichi should be up soon. I’ll be in my office.” He put his
plate and chopsticks in the sink and took his coffee with him.
“Wait,” K said in English. “Will you be touring with the band?”
“Yes.”
“Oh no! I lost the bet,” he said. He sounded overly cheerful.
Eiri spun on him angrily. “Shuichi gets a death threat and you’re
worried about a stupid bet at work!?!”
“I’m taking that very seriously,” K said, in an authoritative tone.

Looking into his eyes, Eiri could tell it was true. “This morning,
we have a team repairing some recent sabotage to Bad Luck’s
tour bus. It is not a joke.” He drew his ever-present hand gun
from its holster and caressed it disturbingly. His blue eyes
acquired a malevolent shine that spoke ill for those who crossed
him.
Sabotaging the tour bus was certainly not a joking matter.

Security teams were only one step, though. “Have the police
been called?” Eiri asked sharply.
“Yes. They have the original note, too. NG is co-operating with

them.”
Eiri nodded. “I have some more information for them. Who do I

call?” K walked forward to hand him a police detective’s business
card from his shirt pocket. Eiri took it. “Has Tohma returned?”
K shook his head ‘no’. Eiri realized K’s hair was down. He must
have taken out the ponytail to sleep. “He is supposed to come to
his office at 10:00 today. I have left messages so he will know
what is happening.”
Eiri nodded again and retreated to his office. In the hallway, he

could hear Shu singing in the shower. It sounded like bits of
SuperDrive, “. . . don’t forget to smile again . . . I just want to
keep on dancing forever.” Eiri smiled. Amidst a death threat and
nightmares of assassins, the kid could sing about smiling and
dancing. Eiri shook his head. I really don’t deserve him, he
thought for the thousandth time. [1]
About half an hour later, Eiri had sent the police detective,
Yoshiro Mamaru-san, an e-mail with an attached file of
information including names of enemies or potential suspects
complete with any contact information and a short note about
each. He had also given the detective Mizuki’s contact
information so that they could talk to her and access his fan mail
at the publishing office. Since the media had staked out the
apartment and broadcast its location on national news, a lot of
their fan mail had been coming here. He would have to contact
the post office about holding onto it. It probably wasn’t safe to
open right now. Besides, they’d both be gone for at least a week
—maybe even the whole month. Eiri sent one last e-mail to
Mizuki, with Yoshiro-san’s contact information and warned her
that he would be in touch and why. She’ll love that, he thought
sarcastically.
He hit ‘send mail’ about the time that Shuichi came in, yawning.
The singer was dressed in a black Nittle Grasper t-shirt with the
band members outlined in silver and loose shorts with
suspenders. He had a towel draped around his neck and Eiri
could see that his hair was still damp. It had that slightly-limp,
not-so-fluffy quality to it that it only attainted when wet, and it
was a darker shade of pink when wet. Shuichi was humming
SuperDrive. He took his place on the stool beside Eiri’s desk. Eiri
looked at him.
“Good morning!” He said exuberantly. Eiri winced. His ears were

always more sensitive to sound when he was sleep-deprived.
“Ooo. Sorry,” Shu said in an exaggerated whisper. “Eiri? Didn’t
you get any sleep?” Shu jumped up and stood behind him to rub
his shoulders.
“Not much,” he replied, leaning into Shu’s fingers. Obligingly, his

lover dug his fingers into sore muscles, coaxing out the tension.
“K said I’m not allowed to go anywhere,” Shuichi pouted. Eiri

stayed quiet, relaxing under his touch. “I wanted to go out and
now . . .” His voice caught in a sob and he sniffled.
Eiri pulled away. “Shut up. Don’t you dare cry about not going
out!” He was incensed. How could the younger man not
understand the gravity of his situation? Someone wanted to kill
him! Eiri was concerned about his safety at a concert with
security teams and body guards. He let his worry loose and lit
into the singer, “There is no way you are leaving here, unless I’m
sure you’ll be safe!”
The younger man’s eyes swelled with impending tears, but he

was smiling. “You care about me so much!” Shuichi latched onto
him, hugging his arms to his chest, while his small body spilled
over Eiri’s lap.
“Ug! Get off! Of course I care, Idiot!”
K was suddenly standing in the doorway. “I’m glad we agree that

no one’s going anywhere today,” he announced with a smile.
Have I *no* privacy? Eiri wondered angrily. He looked up at K

from his desk chair/Shuichi prison. “What do you mean, ‘no one’s
going anywhere’? I’m almost out of cigarettes.”
K whistled, polishing his gun. “No one,” he repeated, happily.
“And you,” he said, directing his comment to Shuichi, “Let. Go.”

He pushed his lover off, forcibly. He was in no mood for
cosseting. This was bad. He didn’t think he could tolerate K’s
barging-into-rooms, Shuichi’s whining and pouting over being
grounded, worry over the death threat, a headache from lack of
sleep, and NO CIGARETTES! It was unthinkable! His stomach
tightened in warning of his stress level. He glared at both of the
other men in the room and left to find his pills.
Shuichi hit the floor on his butt, but quickly popped up again,
wiping his shirt sleeve across his eyes and nose. “You could call
Mika to bring you some cigarettes,” he offered.
Eiri rolled his eyes. He brushed past K. There was another

headache. He hadn’t talked to Mika since Sunday and he felt just
the slightest bit guilty about that. He consoled himself with the
fact that he had told her, ‘if you need me,’ which certainly
implied that she could contact him. Since she hadn’t, she must
be okay. On the other hand, he couldn’t think of anyone else who
would run the errand for him. He frowned.
“You could invite her for lunch?” Shuichi said, following him,
testing Eiri’s acceptance of his suggestion. Eiri sighed. The
alternative was worse. “Maybe she talked to Tohma this morning.
Wouldn’t you like to know?” Shuichi prodded.
Eiri rummaged around in the bathroom drawer. He couldn’t find

his pills, so he considered the question. Actually, he would like to
know. “Fine,” he said grumpily. “I’ll call her.” He brushed past
Shuichi and headed into the bedroom.
“Hey!” Shuichi started. He stepped back when Eiri turned his

golden gaze on the singer, but Shu stood his ground this time,
angrily setting his hands on his hips.
“What?” Eiri knew his voice was cold and tight with pent-up
frustration and anger.
Shu frowned back at him, leaning forward to stick his face in

Eiri’s way. “You better ask her nicely or she won’t help you out,
you know!” Eiri knew he was right but didn’t want to admit it, so
he glared, and continued his search, looking around the bedside
table. A rattle from behind made him turn. Shuichi was holding
his prescription bottle, watching him to see if he’d stuck a nerve.
He had. Eiri stepped forward with his hand out, “Give it to me,”
he ordered.
Shu’s face crumpled as he place the bottle in his hand. “You’re

not taking care of yourself, again, are you?” The singer sank
down, folding his knees up and sitting on his butt in the doorway
and his tears started again. Eiri ate two pills, swallowing them
dry. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Shuichi moaned. “All this is going on
and you . . . you’re getting sick again, aren’t you? Eeeeiiriii!”
Shuichi buried his face in his hands.
Why did Shuichi pick the worst times to have emotional break
downs? Never mind; he has them all the time, Eiri thought.
Some of the time, it was just more inconvenient. Like now. He
felt so tired, physically and emotionally. He snapped the medicine
lid shut and dropped the container into his pant’s pocket. He
ruffled Shuichi’s pink hair, in a cursory apology and stepped over
him.
He pushed past K, who was standing in the hallway

eavesdropping, and he went to the phone. He dialed, trying to
keep his bad mood under control. Gritting his teeth, he listened
to the sharp, digitalized ringing. Mika’s voice mail kicked in. Eiri
found it easier to talk to the unemotional, non-judgmental
recording. He left a brief message that wasn’t polite, exactly, but
neither was it insulting. He hoped his sister followed through or
he’d . . . damn. He’d only have two cigarettes until someone
from NG came to pick them up for the concert, or he sneaked out
the window, that’s what!
Only a couple of minutes had passed when the phone rang. K

moved toward the phone immediately and read the number off
the phone’s small LCD screen. “It’s Seguchi-san,” he said, picking
up the receiver.
“Hey!” Eiri was annoyed all over again. K didn’t have the right to
answer his phone! He moved forward, to take the phone away,
but the conversation was too short.
“K, here. . . Yes. . . Okay. See you later!” K set the phone down
again. “Seguchi Mika-san said she will be coming for lunch at
11:00 and she will bring your cigarettes.” K grinned at him.
“What will we be having?”
***
[1] At the beginning of track 15 in the manga, Eiri says, “I don’t

deserve anyone now. I gave up on deserving anyone a long time
ago.” TokyoPop translated it differently in their official version,
but I like the fan-trans version cited here.
***
gurabiteshiyon.net

Disclaimer: It’s Gravitation and so obviously shonen-ai.

Gravitation doesn’t belong to me—its characters are the property
of Maki Murakami. I am simply a devotee. Please read, enjoy,
and review. To those who have: Thank you!!

*Part 11: Lunch*
[Thursday]
K vetoed ordering food from any of their usual favorite places.

His reasoning was absolutely paranoid, conspiracy-theory stuff,
but Eiri didn’t argue about it. There was a large salmon fillet that
needed to be eaten up before they left. He decided to cook that
along with some rice and veggies—those would need to be used
up, too. The last time he’d made a last-minute decision to travel
with Bad Luck, they’d come home to a vile, rotted mess in the
‘fridge.
While Eiri busied himself in the kitchen, K urged Shuichi into

working on his latest song lyrics. Evidently, the spark of
inspiration in Kyoto had produced something worth working on.
Shuichi sat at his computer with his head phones on and Eiri
could see him fiddling with the sound construction on his music
editing program. K watched TV. The music video channel, Eiri
noted sourly. At least K watched it at a tolerably human volume.
Mika showed up right on time. She almost never bothered to

knock or use the doorbell, but this time, the door was locked.
She was a bit surprised when K opened the door with a gun
trained on her head, but once over the initial shock, she took it in
stride.
“Hello, everyone,” she said. She wore a tight, knee-length khaki

skirt today with an elegantly patterned floral-print silk blouse. It
had ruffly cuffs that partially hid her hands and a similarly-ruffly
V neckline that obscured her cleavage. It was a very feminine
combination. She’d left her footwear at the door, this time. Eiri
was glad because her sharp heels had left scratches on the
hardwood floors.
Shuichi slipped his headphones off, saved his work and shut
down his computer. “Hello, Mika-san. How are you?”
She didn’t answer him, tossing a plastic shopping bag onto the
living room table. “Here are your cigarettes, brother dear. You’d
better pay me back.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Eiri said. “Shuichi?” Knowing what he was

asking, Shu jumped up to pay Mika back for the cigarettes. Eiri
wondered briefly whose wallet Shu would get the cash from, but
it didn’t really matter.
“So, have you spoken with Seguchi Tohma-san?” K wanted to

know.
Mika frowned a little. “I have. He jumped to take care of all the

*important* details.” Eiri heard the bitterness in her voice and
the special emphasis on ‘important’. He guessed that Tohma
didn’t think his wife fell into that category.
K nodded. Either the man didn’t know about the tense nuances
between the two Seguchis or he purposefully chose to blind
himself to them.
Shuichi returned quickly and handed Mika some bills which she
pocketed, without looking at them. The money wasn’t important
to her. It was more like keeping score between siblings: Eiri had
done her a favor by listening and being there for her when she
needed someone, now she was doing him a favor by bringing him
the cigarettes. It made them even but an expenditure of money
would upset the balance.
Eiri dished up the food and brought it to the three in the living
room. K sat at ease, perhaps because he knew that Tohma would
be personally over-seeing the details when he could not. Shu
watched Mika and K, moving his eyes back and forth between
them, uncertainly. His thoughts were so obvious; he wondered
how much he could or should say about family matters in front of
K. Mika . . . looked like she was cracking around the edges.
“Lunch is ready,” Eiri announced, setting two plates on the living

room table. “Shu, help me with the rest.” Shu ferried two more
plates of food to the table while Eiri asked their guests, “What
would you like to drink?”
“More coffee, please,” K requested.
“Bourbon?” Mika queried, seriously. Shuichi’s eyes widened at

her. Eiri just nodded.
“You can get your own,” Eiri told Shu, as the kid set their lunch
on the table.
The younger man bounced off to the kitchen, declaring, “I’ll get
K’s coffee, too, then.” The two of them fixed drinks, moving
around each other in the kitchen with practiced ease. Shu had
juice and Eiri popped open a beer. K and Mika accepted their
drinks. Eiri and Shuichi sat. They all began eating in silence.
Shuichi’s eyes kept flicking from one to another, waiting for the
tension to break. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he drew
breath to speak, but Mika beat him to it.
“Eiri, I don’t want you to go on this tour.”
He shook his head. “Tough. I’m going.”

Mika’s lips tightened. “Your publicist turned up a death threat in
your fan mail and another one was sent to Shindou-kun at NG
today. The police believe these letters are all related.” K frowned
at her while he ate. Had K known about that?
“So, I’ll be extra safe among the extra security surrounding Bad
Luck,” Eiri argued.
Mika raised her voice, “With both of you in the same place, twice
as likely to be in danger!”
Shu started crying. “I don’t want either of us to be in danger!

Why does someone want to hurt us? Eeeeiirrrrriiii!”
Eiri looked at his sister and felt his voice drop by a few degrees.
“I’m staying with Shuichi.” Shuichi sniffled and sobbed.
Mika harrumphed, but dropped her eyes and started eating

again. She knew how to pick her battles. “Will you please stay
back stage?” She looked down at her plate when she said it. Eiri
decided that the request wasn’t unreasonable, so he agreed. She
seemed surprised by her quick win.
Eiri raised his eyebrow at her. “Mika, I’m not suicidal,” anymore,
he added silently. “I have a lot to live for and no intention of
dying anytime soon.” His eyes strayed sideways to his lover,
whose emotions had taken a sharp turn. Shu looked at him with
tear-filled adoring blue-violet eyes, chewing on his own shirt. Eiri
averted his gaze, continuing to speak to Mika, “staying back
stage and out of danger sounds good to me.” The determination
crept into his voice again, when he said, “I want to be there for
Shuichi,” the one I love. If I can prevent any harm from coming
to him, I will. If anything happens, I must be there, with him, Eiri
told himself.
Mika watched him with a sad, knowing little smile. That look said,
‘I know what you’re thinking. I see your love for him.’ It was also
bitterly jealous. She only nodded, acknowledging the unspoken
feelings.
Shuichi was not capable of containing himself. He heard the

unvoiced sentiments in Eiri’s words as clearly as Mika had. He
just always expressed himself more volubly than normal people.
“Eiri,” he cried. With happy tears, he threw his arms around his
lover’s neck. “I love you!!”
Eiri squeezed him once, briefly. “I know,” he said warmly. With a

note of command, he ordered, “Now sit down and eat.” The
conversation was a little awkward with K’s blue eyes watching
them intently, but everything that had been said or done here
had already been known to Bad Luck’s crazy gun-toting manager.
Mika tossed back her alcohol and changed the subject. “Tohma
said he’d send a car at 5:00 tomorrow to pick the three of you
up. Shuichi-kun, you’ll be taken for stage prep immediately. Eiri,
you’ll probably want a book, or something. The concert won’t
start until 7:00.”
He snorted. He might bring a book, but he doubted he’d actually

get any reading done. Reading required a modicum of thinking
and Eiri wasn’t sure if he could spare any thought for someone
else’s inconsequential written words today.
Mika finished eating and sat back. Reaching into the purse at her
feet, she located cigarettes and lighter. “By the way,” she said,
lighting up, “I saw something that may interest you, Eiri.” She
reached into her purse again, extracting a newspaper clipping
with a small picture at the bottom. She passed it across the table
to her brother. “Today’s society column mentioned that the
grand-daughter of Eiko’s founder, Kunikida-san, is getting
married to a Mikuno Akira.”
Kunikida-san, *that’s* the name of the old guy who thanked me

for coming to Eiko Publishing’s 25th anniversary party, Eiri
thought. He accepted the paper, telling Mika, “Yes, that is
interesting.” Here’s the last piece of the puzzle, he thought. The
picture showed a demure young woman and a young business
man sitting together. The column noted that Kunikida-san’s
grand-daughter, Akiko, was his only heir. Coincidentally, Mikuno
Akira was the eldest Mikuno and was ‘also involved in the
publishing business.’ Conspiracy unveiled, Eiri thought,
satisfactorily. He made a mental note to share the information
with Mizuki, later. A wedding and a merger all in one. He
wondered if the publishing company deal was written into the
official dowry documentation.
***
Author’s Note: Well, K. was very quiet, but I guess he was busy
stuffing his face and watching the scene. ;-) The questions are
being answered and this fic will be wrapping up pretty soon. Are
you looking forward to the concert??
gurabiteshiyon.net



*Part 12: Concert*
[Friday]
K was a nuisance and a menace, as far as Eiri was concerned. All

Thursday evening and all Friday morning and afternoon, K had
stayed close to Shuichi. Eiri wanted to spend time with his lover,
but he didn’t want to be watched, either. Instead, he spent his
time isolating himself and pushing Shu away. Eiri was certain the
situation wasn’t fun for Shuichi or himself, but K seemed to be in
his element.
At precisely 5:00, the expected car arrived. It was a limousine

with an escort of five professional-looking bodyguards in black
suits, white shirts, black ties, and sunglasses, plus a chauffer. A
team of four burly men surrounded Eiri and Shu, when they
stepped out of the apartment. A fifth man stood by the car,
watchfully. They all moved quickly and alertly from the
apartment door to the car and from the car to the heavily
guarded door marked ‘Back Stage’. Shuichi had been whisked
away by one pair of guards to be painted, dressed, and fussed
over. K went with Shu, probably for a last-minute pep-talk with
the band. Eiri’s pair of bodyguards were set to guard the dressing
room door, wherein Eiri lounged on a couch, smoking. He didn’t
know where the fifth guard went.
Tohma sat across from him, sitting up straight with one knee on
top of the other and his hands in his lap. He wore a dark purple
suit with pinstripes, a black shirt, black half-boots with black side
zippers, and his trademark black hat. He looks happy and
healthy, Eiri thought. Seeing his brother-in-law’s smiling face
made him feel bad for his sister. There was a strange silence
between them. Tohma had been Eiri’s friend for a long time, and
in some ways, Eiri wanted to ask him about the new person in his
life that Mika had hinted at. In another sense, Tohma was
betraying Mika. If Eiri admitted knowing this, or discussed it, did
he somehow condone Tohma’s actions or share Tohma’s guilt?
Past ‘hello’, what could they talk about? While Tohma was on his
quiet little get-away vacation, there were all kinds of things Eiri
had wanted to speak with his friend about. Now, most of it fled
his mind, under the stresses of the current events.
Eiri was saved— sort of— when Sakano came in. The producer
was having an attack of nerves. The man adjusted his glasses,
and wiped the sweat off his forehead nearly continuously, using a
wide white handkerchief. Directing his frantic babbling toward
Tohma, Sakaono voiced concerns about everything from a minor
sound system malfunction, to the would-be assassin offing the
lead singer in the middle of the concert. Eiri gritted his teeth,
severely annoyed. He wished he did not have to tolerate this . . .
nervous wreck of a human being. He would not allow anything to
hurt Shuichi! He refused to let morbid possibilities worm their
way into his mind.
“Sakano-san,” Tohma said, smiling easily. Tohma stood to pat

the producer’s shoulder, reassuringly. “Everything will be fine.
There is a technician working on the speaker. He said it would be
repaired in plenty of time. Someone just pulled a wire loose
when the cords were tripped over.” Tohma glanced at Eiri. It was
probably a simple task for NG’s president to notice Eiri’s
tightened jaw muscles and a slight twitch in the writer’s right
eye. “Why don’t you go check in on the opening act, Sakano-
san?” Tohma made it sound like a suggestion, but the producer
took it for the order it was.
The man bowed and nodded. “Of course, Boss, right away!”
A moment later, Bad Luck came in, Shuichi leading with a

spinning leap. Hiro and Fujisaki trailed after him. Shu was
pumped up with the adrenaline of his impending performance.
The other two band members were more subdued than they
usually were before curtain-call. Eiri could tell that all three were
trying to get themselves revved up and put on bright faces for
the show tonight.
Tohma smiled at all of them. “You all look great! This will be a
terrific concert!” He patted Shuichi’s shoulder once, saying, “Do
your best, Shuichi-kun.” Tohma’s tone almost sounded like a
threat, Eiri thought. Shu nodded, confidently holding up a
‘victory’ hand sign. [1] Tohma smiled, his eyes crinkling. “If you’ll
excuse me, I need to find Ryuichi,” he said, and left.
Eiri saw that when Shu moved his head, the kid’s hair didn’t
move. Ick. Eiri hated it when the make-up people did that to
Shu’s hair. He grimaced. He liked to touch Shu’s hair and it
calmed both of them, but he wouldn’t touch it when that goop
was in it. It felt awful; stiff and a little sticky. Shu had also been
covered in glitter tonight. Even in the moderate glow of the
ordinary fluorescent lights, Shu’s skin and hair cast sparkles
around the room. A quick glance at the others confirmed that all
three band members had been liberally glittered.
Shu’s concert clothes were normally skimpy, but tonight . . .

Mmm. He wore a pair of black leather short-shorts, a belly-
baring, cropped-short, short-sleeved shirt covered in colored
sequins, and a black long coat. The coat’s sleeves were sheer
fabric ending in an opaque shiny black fabric for the cuffs with
large sparkly buttons and multi-colored sequin trim running
around the cuffs. The rest of the coat was the same shiny opaque
stuff as the cuffs and the bottom had two rows of the colored
sequins. The open front had more large sparkly buttons that
caught and reflected light. The bottom of the coat must have
been weighted or stiffened somehow to flare out around the calf-
hugging black boots with sequin trim around the tops that
completed his ensemble. It really was too bad about the hair, Eiri
thought, and the other people, because he wanted to touch his
lover. A lot.
Hiro and Fujisaki looked good, too, but they paled in comparison
to Shuichi’s shining, exuberant presence. Hiro’s long, dark red
hair looked like a disco ball it held so much glitter. Like the
singer, he wore a shirt of sequins, but his covered more. He was
complaining about it itching when he came in. The shirt was
tucked into relatively ordinary black leather pants and under
those; he wore his usual black boots which had been shined and
polished. Fujisaki wore a sequin shirt, too, but it was mostly
covered by a short black jacket with silver braid across the front.
It reminded Eiri of a marching band uniform. The keyboardist
wore black pants, too, and black boots along with a black neck
collar. Fujisaki’s short brown hair looked like it had been painted
with glitter and goop until you couldn’t tell that it had ever been
brown. It stuck up at weird angles, casting light from the glitter
into onlookers’ eyes. The three of them really would look great
on stage, Eiri thought.
He stabbed his cigarette out in the already-full ashtray. He

crooked a finger at Shuichi and the singer came to him, smiling
happily. “Eiri! This is gonna be so good! Did you peek at the
crowd? There are already so many people here!”
Eiri smiled indulgently. Bad Luck had been at the top of the pop
charts for two years and it seemed as if Shu never tired of the
attention. The singer still peeked out of the stage wings or
through the curtain to catch glimpses of the audience at every
concert. Usually, he did it to look for people he knew in the
crowd, but tonight, Eiri would be watching Shu from the wings.
Eiri pulled his lover’s glittering body into his lap as soon as the
kid was close enough to reach. “You look great,” Eiri whispered,
sliding his hands under the coat and groping Shu’s butt.
Shuichi blushed bright red. “Eiri!” The kid laughed and leaned in
to kiss him. Shu’s body froze a moment in surprise when Eiri
kissed him back, then relaxed as both of them poured
themselves into the kiss.
“Hey!” Hiro objected, breaking off his quiet conversation with

Fujisaki. “Don’t get carried away in here!”
“We have a show to do in a few minutes,” Fujisaki added.

“Shuichi-kun needs to be thinking about his vocals, not—“ Hiro
elbowed the keyboardist, cutting him off.
Eiri chuckled, letting Shuichi go. His young lover looked over-
heated and his eyes shined as much as the rest of him. As Shu
moved off his lap, Eiri trailed his fingers over the fabric of the
long coat as it slithered off of him.
K walked in, giving everyone a glimpse of the bodyguards

clustered in the hall. “Falling Star is just taking the stage, now,”
he told them. Falling Star was the all-girl band that would be
opening for them for the first month of the tour. Eiri didn’t know
much about them. He didn’t think Shu did, either. He had only
heard Hiro talking about them, earlier. “Everybody ready?” His
booming voice brooked no arguments.
“Yeah!” The band yelled.
K stood there grinning, with his hands on his hips. “We just have
to hope that Tohma can find Ryuichi before the duet!” The tall
American laughed. Shuichi’s grin turned weak. Hiro shook his
head.
Fujisaki put a hand to his chin, considering. “Well, we could

always save that for the end. If we re-arrange the song schedule,
we could—“
“Don’t worry,” K said in a burst of English. His eyes narrowed and

he punched one large fist into his other hand. “We *will* get
him.” Shuichi let out a little, ‘eep’. Hiro shook his head again and
Fujisaki shrugged.
---
Eiri was given a special spot in the wings to stand, flanked by his
two appointed bodyguards. He was also given a hard metal stool,
in case he chose to sit. He had a decent view of the stage, but he
wasn’t allowed to smoke here. Bad Luck moved into place as
Falling Star cleared the stage. From what Eiri could see in the
dim back stage lighting, all four of the young women were cute.
They giggled as they left, chatting to each other in high-pitched
feminine whispers.
An MC [2] came out and made a brief introduction. Eiri doubted

the man was heard over the wild screams and chants of ‘Bad
Luck! Bad Luck!’ The lights came up; momentarily blinding. The
band members made their own light show with their flashy
clothes. They kicked off the show with ‘Airplane,’ to showcase
their latest number one single and moved into older favorites,
like ‘Rage Beat’, and ‘Sweet, Sweet Samba’. Eiri thought
‘Airplane’ had started a little cold. Maybe the band had been too
conscious of the danger of being up on the open stage at first,
but they soon lost themselves in the music. Shuichi was pure,
shining, and beautiful, singing his heart into the music.
Eiri, on the other hand, was turning himself into a wreck. He

wanted a cigarette in the worst way. There were a handful of
uniformed policemen in front of the stage and one or two
wandering around back stage. A line of bouncers kept the
screaming crowd at bay and off the stage. Shuichi’s bodyguards
stood on the opposite wing of the stage from him and his two
goons. Despite all this trained security, Eiri scanned the crowds
as if he, personally would make the difference. Whenever the
body guards moved, or a police radio crackled, he focused on it.
Was there trouble? Had they caught someone with a gun, or
found another saboteur near the vehicles?
Eiri knew he was jumpy. He didn’t realize just *how* jumpy until
Tatsuha said, “Aniki,” [3] and he nearly leaped out of his skin.
How embarrassing, Eiri thought. He could usually control himself
better than this! A body guard stepped between the brothers,
until Eiri confirmed Tatsuha’s identity.
Eiri sat down on his stool, still wanting a cigarette. He fondled his
lighter instead. Tatsuha laid an arm across Eiri’s shoulders and
Eiri noticed that his younger brother held the infamous rabbit,
Kumagorou, in his other hand. “I suppose you’re the reason that
half of NG was out looking for Ryuichi?”
Tatsuha grinned. “Yeah. That’s why I’m back stage, too. Ryu-kun
had reserved a seat for me, but when we got here, he was swept
away to makeup and wardrobe. I was swept here.” He leaned
over some more, to be heard only by Eiri, “What’s with all the
muscle-men? I was frisked twice, getting through here.”
“Death threats. Body guards,” Eiri said, succinctly. Tatsuha

whistled. The brothers watched the concert. As the music
continued and nothing bad happened, Eiri began to relax. He
wasn’t sure if Tatsuha’s presence had anything to do with
relaxing, or if his muscles were just tired of being strung so
damnably tight, but it was a comfort to have sympathetic
company.
About halfway through the concert’s scheduled run-time, K

flashed a hand signal from the other wing and produced Sakuma
Ryuichi. The singer was dressed in the same black-with-sequins
theme as Bad Luck. Seeing him, Tatsuha said quietly, “I just
want to eat him up!” ‘No! Virtual’ finished in flashing array of
lights and keyboard that faded to black.
Dimmer lights came up and a spotlight settled on Shu. “We have

a special treat for all of you!” He smiled and sparkled while the
crowd screamed and girls swooned. Shuichi held up his hand for
quiet, holding the crowd with his personality. “Sakuma Ryuichi
and I,” more excited screaming, “have composed a duet we’d like
to sing for you!” Another spotlight hit the stage and Sakuma
made his entrance, moving to stand with Shuichi. The crowd
surged. Eiri jumped to his feet as one of the bouncers fell down
and the sharp report of a gun sounded loudly from near the foot
of the stage. The band members went flat against the stage, as
they’d been coached. The curtain fell, protecting the band from
sight.
There was terrified screaming, now, and another shot was fired.
Spotlights centered on a pile of security, subduing the threat.
Everyone could see, in the glare of the lights that a gun was
wrested away from a grey-haired man, face-down at the bottom
of a pile of people. A policeman produced handcuffs and the man
was turned upright. Miyamoto!
Shuichi came running into Eiri’s arms, crying hysterically and

rubbing face paint onto the writer’s shirt and neck. Eiri didn’t
mind. He held his lover, hugging him tightly. He almost stuck his
fingers in Shu’s hair before he remembered the nasty goop.
Instead, he ran his hands over Shu’s back, and under the shirt.
The kid was sweaty. The coat had been discarded earlier and
Hiro had been right; the sequins were scratchy. Eiri looked out at
the audience. Paramedics and police were grouped around the
fallen bouncer. Eiri mentally shuddered, squeezing Shuichi to
him. That could have been my Shuichi. Thank god it wasn’t. Eiri
didn’t know if the bouncer had seen the danger and moved
toward it, or if Miyamoto was just a bad shot. Either way, Eiri
thought, if ever Buddha listened to me, I hope that man’s life is
spared and that Miyamoto is punished . . . harshly.
Over all the noise and yelling, Eiri spoke to his lover, “It’s all
over, now, Shu. The police are taking Miyamoto away. He’ll never
bother us again.” Behind the curtain, Tatsuha knelt next to
Ryuichi, holding him. The other singer had fallen apart in much
the same manner Shuichi had; shocked and scared. “It’s okay,”
Eiri repeated, partly for himself, partly for Shu. “It’s all over.”
***
[1] I don’t know what they call this V-fingered hand sign in
Japan. In America, it is used for ‘peace’ or for ‘victory’ depending
on generation and on the situation. Victory seems to suit, here.
[2] I don’t know if MC is universal, or some American adaptation.

. . It stands for Master of Ceremonies. It’s the announcer for a
stage performance.
[3] Aniki = an old form of ‘big brother’, just in case you didn’t
know. ; )
***
gurabiteshiyon.net
Fanfiction > Drama > Authors Have Parties, Too? > Author: Aja Hits: 3684

*Part 13: Epilogue*
[Monday, September 8]
Eiri woke up in his own bed for the first time in over two months.
He stretched, feeling Shuichi shift around beside him. It smelled
like home. It was such a good feeling! No back aches, this
morning, either. Eiri swore that hotel staff stuck rocks in the
mattresses, chuckling all the while. Ugh. After three months of
touring with Bad Luck, with only a short visit home two months
ago, it was a great relief to know that there was no hurry today.
The public would *not* be waiting outside the door. They could
both sleep in, today. Then again . . . Eiri reached out and trailed
his fingers across Shu’s naked shoulder.
Shuichi half-turned, looking at him with sleepy blue-violet eyes

and a big smile. “Mmmm. Eiri?”
Eiri smiled back at him. No face paint, this morning. No hair

gook. No glitter. Just pure naked Shuichi. Eiri turned Shuichi
over, pulling him close and kissing him.
---
It was afternoon by the time they decided to climb out of bed

and settle in to being at home again. When they came in last
night, they had dumped their luggage near the door and gone
straight to bed. Looking over all of it during the day, it was
surprising how much they had accumulated. They had each
started the tour with one suitcase, plus Eiri’s laptop. Shuichi had
two more suitcases now, because people kept giving him things.
For some reason, the bratt felt obligated to keep most of it. At
least he threw away the ladies’ undergarments, Eiri thought.
However, the stuffed animal collection was becoming especially
annoying.
Eiri sighed. He didn’t feel like unpacking yet. Tohma had picked
up their mail from the post office and it set by the rest of their
crap in a big paper bag. Eiri decided they could sort through it
over a leisurely brunch. He cooked and Shuichi up-ended the bag
of mail over the kitchen table. Shu had pretty much sorted it into
‘mine’ and ‘yours’ piles by the time the food was ready. The kid
talked the entire time, verbally high-lighting names of people
who had sent mail. There was a small stack in the middle of the
table made up of things addressed to both of them.
“Shuichi, when you get your juice, would you grab my coffee?”
Eiri set the plates on the table, shoving the mail around a little to
clear a spot.
“Sure. Oooo. One from Never Ending Dream, to both of us!”
Shuichi remarked, setting in the center pile. The singer shuffled
another three letters in his hands, dropping them into his pile.
Eiri snatched the pink Never Ending Dream envelope from top of
the mutual pile. Shuichi smirked at him and sauntered over to
the refrigerator for drinks, whistling ‘Time in My Heart’.
Privately, Eiri blamed the last letter from his publisher for all the
trouble with Miyamoto. Eiri *would NOT* be going to any more
book-related parties with or without Shuichi! Quickly, he ripped
open the envelope. If necessary, he hoped he could get rid of it
before Shu tried to read it. Eiri scanned the flowery-scripted
letter, which invited him to a party in his honor, to celebrate
Never Ending Dream’s first book release to be number one on the
best seller list. ‘Golden Sands’, his last book title. He shredded
the paper and its flowery script into tiny pieces in his hands. Are
the pieces too small to put together and read, he wondered?
Where can I hide them?
Shuichi broke off his whistling, setting the coffee in a little

clearing between stacks of mail before the writer. “So what was
it?”
“It just informed me that ‘Golden Sands’ made number one on

the best seller list,” Eiri said blandly. He was a much better liar
than Shuichi. A partial truth was the best way to pull it off. “We
should bring the trash basket in here.”
“Here,” Shuichi said, sitting and handing him the bag the mail
had been kept in. “I’ve been using this.” Eiri nodded and placed it
between them, and to his right, on top of some of the mail. He
tossed the pink scraps into the bag, making a mental note to be
certain that this bag found its way to the incinerator before
Shuichi got too curious. “Why’d you rip it up, then?” Definitely,
too curious.
Eiri frowned. “I’ve told you before; I don’t need or want

accolades for my work.”
“Yeah, but . . . Eiri, people want to give them to you. Can’t you
just, you know, accept that?” Eiri met his lover’s earnest gaze
across the table. Shuichi gestured vaguely toward the hall. “It’s
like all that stuff that people give to me. They just want me to
see them. They can’t have a piece of me, because I’m all yours!”
Shu grinned. “They can listen to my music, and they can give me
something from themselves. That’s enough for them, er, most of
them.” Shuichi took a couple of bites of brunch, watching him.
The singer was probably hoping to avoid another discussion

about rabid fans. There had been several over the course of the
tour. Eyebrows coming together, Eiri thought about what he’d
said. Sometimes Shuichi’s naivety held unexpected wisdom.
“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered.
Shuichi’s brows went up. “What was that, Eiri?” Shu mocked him,
cupping one hand around his ear, “Did you say, ‘you’re right’??”
Shuichi giggled and grinned at him.
“Shut up.” Shuichi laughed some more.
Once the mail had all been placed in stacks, Shuichi shuffled
through his piles to find the ones he wanted to read first. “It’s
from Maiko,” he said, holding it up to show him an envelope
decorated with a strange doodle of . . . a dog? Shu’s sister had a
very odd sense of humor. The kid pulled out a newspaper
clipping and a letter. He read the clipping first. “Eiri, read this!”
Shuichi dangled it in front of him, so he set down the mail he’d
intended to open.
The headline read, “Would-be Killer Gets Maximum Sentence”.

Eiri read through it. Miyamoto was found guilty and had been
sentenced to life in prison for two counts of assault with a deadly
weapon, four counts of attempted murder, and he was charged
for assaulting police officer. The judge found Miyamoto to be
‘unremorseful’ for his actions and because of the nature of his
crimes; the public prosecutor had argued that the author was ‘a
danger to society’. Mixed with the profuse public outcry against
him, the judge had decided to invoke the maximum penalty.
Though the trial and sentencing had been completed in a near-
record time frame for a criminal case, the article noted that
Miyamoto was appealing the sentence and the final outcome may
take years to settle. It didn’t really matter how long it took to
arbitrate the man’s appeals. Eiri was confidant that Miyamoto
would never get out of jail.
“Maiko said everyone’s well and they’d like us to visit when we

get back.” Shuichi dropped the note. “I’m glad Miymoto is in jail.
I hope he stays there.”
“Me, too. It’s what he deserves.” Shu nodded once in agreement.

Eiri wondered if Shu ever felt vindictive about Taki’s assault on
him. Eiri would have liked to have seen that bastard get thrown
in jail, too.
“Here’s one I don’t recognize, but it’s addressed to both of us.”

Shuichi held out another envelope. Eiri took it. Kazekura? Hm.
The return address listed was here, in Tokyo. He opened it and a
snapshot photo fell out. It showed a large smiling man in a blue
hospital gown, tucked into a hospital bed. At his bedside stood a
pretty young lady holding flowers. He passed it to Shuichi and
read the note. In a feminine hand, the letter thanked them
profusely for covering all of Kazekura Tomoko’s medical expenses
and for sending the flowers. He was expected to make a full
recovery. The picture was of the bouncer that had been shot,
three months ago, pictured with his daughter.
Eiri passed the note to Shuichi, who burst into tears over it.
“That’s SO nice!” Both of them had wanted to do something to
thank the man. Paying his hospital bills had been a simple
matter, but important. The flowers had been Shu’s idea. The
singer sobbed and sniffled, blurring his words. Lots of translation
practice on Eiri’s part allowed him to decipher what Shu was
saying. “I’m so glad he’s okay. It says he’s gonna be fine!”
Shuichi climbed into Eiri’s lap, burying his face in his lover’s neck.
“It could have been one of us. That bullet might have hit . . .”
“Shhh. Shuichi, he won’t hurt anybody anymore. He can’t.” Eiri
laid his hand on Shuichi’s soft hair. “Everything’s okay.
Kazekura-san has probably already made his recovery. No one
else was harmed. Miyamoto will never get out of jail,” Eiri said,
with the voice of conviction.
“You’re right,” Shu said with a little more clarity.
“I usually am,” Eiri commented blithely. Shuichi giggled.
***
Author’s Note: I had to do some research on Japanese legal

issues to complete this epilogue. Essentially, capitol punishment
was only an option for Miyamoto if someone had died, i.e.
Miyamoto murdered the security guy. I wanted the poor guy to
live, so I guess Miyamoto gets life in prison. That’s harsh. It’s
worse than death, in my opinion. (Especially when you look at
Japanese prison conditions!) Sorry, my bloodthirsty fans, but I
couldn’t have him hanged. ^_^ Still, he’ll get what he deserves,
eh?
I am messing with the usual legal timeline . . . a sensational trial

like this would normally take an absolute minimum of six
months, but I wanted it to coincide with the end of Bad Luck’s
three-month-long tour. Artistic license at work! I hope you liked
it.


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*~*Authors Have Parties Too?*~*

“Eiirriiii . . .” Shuichi’s whining had a way of penetrating the skull

“I don’t,” he said from clenched teeth. He lit a cigarette and

“I’m supposed to be getting a package-- but don’t change the

“Awww, Eiriiii, it’s a postcard! I didn’t open your mail— just

“The 24th . . . that’s a Saturday, isn’t it? Will it be formal, do you

He sighed. Listening to his lover’s chatter soothed him in an odd

The following weekend, Eiri found himself shopping with Shuichi.

Eiri controlled himself admirably. “Yes.”

Shuichi glanced at him in a moment of surprise, telling Eiri

Eiri growled, “Come here.”

Fuck it, non-smoking or not, he needed a cigarette. He lit up.

“What do you think? I could wear this to the party, huh?” He

“It fits you well,” he said non-committally. The pale blue-grey

“Eiri, you shouldn’t be smoking in here!” Shuichi’s protest was

His lover’s implication was clear: Eiri would be required to

As far as Eiri was concerned, book signings were a “necessary

This would be the first time he introduced Shuichi to people in his

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Disclaimer: Obviously, it doesn’t belong to me. Gravitation and

**Authors Have Parties Too?**

Eiko Publishing had rented a reception hall in a posh downtown

Mizuki saw them first. “Yuki-san! Shindou-kun!” She waved from

“Allow me to introduce my fiancé, Fujimaru Sano.” I didn’t even

Eiri pulled out a cigarette, muttering, “Thanks.” She didn’t

“Oh, that was Miyamoto-san. He’s one of our non-fiction best-

“There will be some announcements later, to honor the

He raised an eyebrow at her. He’d better not be required to make

“What would you like to drink, Shindou-san?” The bartender

Shuichi looked at Eiri, pouting a little. “I wasn’t going to get

“Uh, thanks!” Shuichi said. He beamed at the young man, who

“Naw.” Shuichi shook his head. “Would you introduce me to some

“Yuki-sensei!” A woman in a soft pink suit stepped directly in

Eiri moved to displace her hand and gestured to his lover.

“Uhm. Nice to meet you, too,” Yakamoto said sullenly. “Aren’t

Shuichi glanced at him with mild surprise. He was so easy to

“You’re Shindou-san, of Bad Luck,” Izumo interrupted, turning to

“Oh, yes. Years ago . . . I interviewed Seguchi-san a couple of

Uh-oh, Eiri thought. I hope I didn’t make a mistake, introducing

Izumo laughed. “Don’t worry, someone will. You’ve been on top

“Um, ‘authorized or not’?” Shu repeated in confusion. “If

Shuichi’s stupidity is showing, Eiri thought. “Idiot,” he drawled.

“That’s true,” Izumo added quickly. “Most biographers would ask

Shuichi sniffled, looking at both men. He stepped closer to Eiri,

“Not at all. I think you have reason to be cautious.” He smiled

He has a point, Eiri considered. No one had approached Eiri

“Why don’t we just sit down?” Eiri suggested. Shuichi nodded.

Shuichi looked up at him again. “I’ll try,” he said in a small voice.

One of the senior executives came before him, bowing, and

Eiri shrugged. At least he wouldn’t have to give a speech,

Shuichi put one plate in front of him. “Look! Strawberry

Shuichi giggled, catching Eiri’s attention again. “I’m glad I didn’t

A young executive called out in his best announcer’s voice, “As

I guess that’s my cue, Eiri thought. He laid his cigarette in the

As soon as he was released from the obligation of . . . trashy

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