Gravitation Fan Fiction ❯ Black Cat ❯ Desperately Seeking Shuichi ( Chapter 2 )

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Chapter Two: Desperately Seeking Shuichi

 

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On a scale of one to ten, the difficulty rating of disgorging my kitchen cabinets of their contents while my arm is in a cast ranks about two billion and six. At least I have painkillers. Hm. Maybe I should trade tasks with Tatsuha. Pulling stuff out of the refrigerator looks easier.

 

"What am I looking for, again?"

 

I check behind several canisters of rice. I know I hid some emergency Pocky back here. I'm sure of it. I hide the crap all over this apartment, just to make sure I always have it on hand to shut Shuichi up.

 

"I don't know," I grumble. "Shit that isn't supposed to be there."

 

Is this possible? Even if someone were playing a trick on me, it seems unlikely that they could find every box of hidden Pocky and every package of stashed candy. Unless they were just completely military about masking Shuichi's presence. That manager of his, the American one, he might have connections, but...

 

"Great Buddha on a Bicycle!" I turn around to find Tatsuha holding a styrofoam container out at me. "It's alive. It's fucking alive! This must be it, Eiri. This shit definitely shouldn't be here."

 

I take a tentative step towards Tatsuha, and the putrid smell leaking out of the container causes me to stop mid-step. Nothing smells worse than Chinese takeout gone bad. I suppress the urge to retch, and then I suppress the urge to smack my brother upside the head. "That's not it. Toss it."

 

"At you?"

 

"In the trash. The outside trash."

 

"Don't you want to see it? It looks really cool."

 

I turn around and go back to searching. I tried the easy shit first. The bathroom showed no signs of pink hair in the shower drain. No goopy products with ingredients like "mango-chamomile". No toothbrush. No towels with anime characters featured on them. No evidence of Shuichi having ever been in my bathroom.

 

No sign of him in the bedroom, either. No hairs on my pillow. No Shuichi clothing stuffed into the bottom of my laundry hamper in the hopes that I'll do his wash along with mine. There's no ridiculous but somehow provocative stage clothing hanging in my closet. I'm completely lacking in a particular variety of coconut massage oil.

 

My living room's entertainment center is devoid of Nittle Grasper DVDs.

Completely. My TiVo doesn't seem to be recording shows about the music industry, or other goofy sorts of programming. In fact, the only thing my TiVo seems to be recording these days is the Food Network.

 

So, now I'm reduced to looking behind the roach motels for evidence of Pocky. I don't think even I am cruel enough to stash Shuichi's sugary snacks behind insect poison.

 

It's not that I'm worried. I'm just... I'm just absolutely certain that he was here. I don't like the idea that my brain is playing these sorts of elaborate tricks on me. Despite the fact that I write romantic fantasies for a living, I am actually a realist.

 

Something touches my leg. I almost stumble over an open cabinet door in shock, but somehow manage to catch myself with my one good hand.

 

"Mrrow?"

 

Oh. It's that...cat. It looks at me for a moment, and then proceeds to rub its left flank against my ankle. I consider punting the thing out of the kitchen.

 

Yes, I seem to be missing a great many things "Shuichi". This cat, on the other hand, is apparently Shuichi's namesake. Alright, the thing is named "Shu-chan". Close enough.

 

"Mrrrrrrrooooowwwww?"

 

I stare at it. I'm really just not a pet person. What do you do with these things, anyway? Even if I use living with Shuichi as some sort of model for how one treats a pet, there's just some things that a man can do with a pop star that he CAN NOT do with a cat.

 

I guess it wants food. I nudge it away with my foot. "Yeah, yeah, alright. I'll feed you if you'll just leave me alone."

 

"Mrrow!"

 

I bend down, slowly and with more than a modicum of pain blossoming across my sternum, and peer into the bottom cabinet.

 

Strangely enough, despite the fact that I seem to be completely bereft of any scrap of evidence that Shindou Shuichi ever lived in my house...

 

I don't seem to be lacking in cat food.

 

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"Aniki, you want anything? I'm going to order Chinese."

 

I grunt in response and continue to flip through television stations. There's got to be someone on here, somewhere, showing a Bad Luck music video or an advert for one of their concerts, right? But, so far, nothing.

 

I end up stopped on the Food Network. They're showing how to make a Strawberry Soufflé. I find myself wondering why Shuichi chose to dye his hair pink, anyway. I mean, that's a pretty bold choice for a guy. Then again, Shuichi is always bold. Singing on stage isn't exactly the pastime of a milquetoast.

 

That cat is sitting next to me on the couch, curled against my thigh, purring happily. All I can do is to stare helplessly at the thing. It's just not right. I don't want a goddamn cat curled against me. I want...

 

Well, I mean, it's not like that. It's not like I miss him or anything. This is probably all for the better anyway, right? Now I'll have plenty of peace and quiet. Maybe I'll even get to fuck someone who isn't completely lame in the sack. There's a thought.

 

Why isn't that particular thought more interesting?

 

Eh. It's just because seducing someone new is such a hassle, that's all.

 

I don't miss Shuichi. I don't. I'm just upset because it's rather jarring when you discover someone with whom you've been living is possibly a figment of your imagination.

 

Tatsuha pokes his head back into the living room. "Hey, bro, where do you keep your phonebook? I gotta look up the number for the Chinese place."

 

"It's right next to the refrigerator..."

 

Wait. The phonebook. Phonebook. How stupid can I be?

 

"Tatsuha, bring me the phonebook."

 

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Alright, so who should I try first? It's not really a contest. If anyone knows the location of Shindou Shuichi at any given time, it's got to be Nakano. I flip through the thin pages of newsprint until I find the name in question.

 

Nakano.

 

Apparently, there's dozens of them in the Tokyo area.

 

"Heh!" I pick up the phonebook and shove it into Tatsuha's face, obscuring the `Hot Girls of Hokkaido' show that he's watching. "See? Nakano Hiroshi." Hmph. Wonderful. Now I am acting like a pre-pubescent boy, trying to prove that I'm telling the truth to a skeptical parent.

 

"I thought the guy you're looking for was named Shuichi."

 

The corner of my lip twitches. I jerk the phonebook away and stare at the name. Great. Now I have to call him. Nakano isn't exactly my favorite person in the world. No, my favorite person in the world would be…

 

Well, Nakano and I have a tacit understanding in regards to Shuichi. A gentlemen's agreement, you could call it, even though neither of us are gentlemen. I dial, one-handed, and hold my cellphone to my ear. This won't be pretty.

 

It rings, and a man with a voice like a sumo wrestler picks up. “Nakano residence. Hiroshi speaking.”

 

I say nothing. I'm too shocked. It's not him.

 

“Who is this? Kiki? That you? I tole you t'stop callin' here. I ain't gotchur money.”

 

This is not the guitarist you are looking for. Move along.

 

I click the cellphone off and stare blankly at the television. I can feel Tatsuha's gaze boring into the side of my face. He doesn't ask. At least he has that much sense and decency.

 

“Beer run,” he says, and stands up. Tatsuha grabs my wallet off of the coffee table and rifles through it until he finds a large enough bill. He takes my ID, too. No one ever suspects that he's not me. I don't know why. Ugly motherfucker looks nothing like me. “I'll get you more cigarettes.”

 

After Tatsuha is gone, I flip the channel back to the Food Network. The Hot Girls of Hokkaido aren't really all that hot, if you ask me.

 

No. No. Maybe Nakano is just unlisted. It's a possibility, right? There are other people I could call. Shuichi's manager or producer. The keyboardist. Tohma will definitely have the correct number for his own cousin.

 

First, I'll try Shuichi's mother. She won't deny the existence of her own son. I flip through the book to try to find the section labeled “Shindou”. There's about twenty. I don't remember Shuichi's mother's name, but his sister is named Maiko or Keiko or something like that. Maybe she's… Nope. Not listed.

 

I know. I can find it by address. That's the easiest way to…

 

There's no Shindou living in the correct prefecture.

 

How old is this phonebook, anyway? Maybe I just need to find a newer one. I flip to the front cover.

 

It's current.

 

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In the movie “Leon”, there's this great line where the villain, played by Gary Oldman, grabs one of his henchmen and says, “Get me everyone.”

 

The henchman then asks, “What do you mean…everyone?”

 

And Gary Oldman yells, “Everyone!”

 

Subsequently, dozens of police cars and SWAT vehicles flood the streets.

 

Tonight, I call everyone.

 

I call every Shindou in the book, just in case, just thinking that maybe one of the addresses is listed incorrectly. None of them are related to Shuichi.

 

I call Tohma, and after a rather aggravating conversation about the bands currently signed to NG, and how he can't recall ever even hearing of a band called `Bad Luck', I get Fujisaki's phone number, along with a few others. Tohma denies me nothing. Except, on occasion, my privacy.

 

Fujisaki's mother calls him to the phone with a screechingly piercing tone. Our conversation is brief. I tell him that I'll kill him if he lies to me. I tell him that I want to know where Shuichi is. Shindou Shuichi. His bandmate.

 

Fujisaki only says that he doesn't know what I'm talking about. He asks if I am sure that I have the right phone number. He says that this isn't a very funny joke, and that prank calls are illegal, not to mention puerile. I hang up the phone.

 

I try Shuichi's producer, that nervous mouse of a guy, Sakano. He's someplace loud when he picks up the phone. I have to raise my voice just to be heard. But, Sakano, too, proves to be a dead end. He says that he's never heard of Bad Luck, but if I can tell him where they will be playing next, he'll try to stop by some time and see if they're any good.

 

There's only one person left to call.

 

I glance at the door. I have to do this quickly, before Tatsuha returns. I dial, and wait for the long-distance number to connect.

 

I've met the guy a few times, through Tohma. I like him even less than Nakano. Nakano is just overprotective of his best friend. This one, on the other hand, sometimes, I can see it in his eyes… I can tell he's got more to him than meets the eye.

 

“Helloooo! You've reached Ryuichi! Aren't you lucky, lucky, lucky?”

 

I try not to cringe. “Where's Shuichi?”

 

“No! This is Ryuichi!”

 

“I know that, you idiot. I'm asking you where Shuichi is.”

 

There's a short pause. “Do I know a Shuichi?” And another one. “Do I know you?”

 

“Yuki Eiri. Tohma's brother-in-law.” I can't believe I identified myself. This is going to be another dead end. I should have just hung up the phone. “I'm looking for Shindou Shuichi. My…” It comes out of my mouth before I even realize it. “…boyfriend.”

 

There's a rustling on the other end of the line. I don't hear anything for a while, and I figure that Sakuma probably dropped the phone and ran off to be an idiot somewhere else. But then this voice comes back, “He's lost? Your boyfriend? I lost Kumagoro once. It was awful. I looked everywhere for him. I thought he was gone forever.” There's a dip in Sakuma's voice, a hitch that makes my throat constrict. Something terrible wells up from inside of me. I can't believe that of all the people in the world who could possibly understand this moment in my life, it's turns out to be this idiot who knows how I feel. “I was so sad. Then K came over, and he had Kumagoro with him. Except, it wasn't my Kumagoro. It was a new one. At first I thought I'd probably hate this new Kumagoro, because it wasn't the same one that I'd loved for so long. I ignored him, and even put him under my bed because I didn't want to look at a fake Kumagoro. But, slowly, very slowly, I began to realize something…”

 

I can't believe I'm actually listening to this drivel. “What?”

 

“Having this new Kumagoro just meant that I had the chance to make a best friend all over again.”

 

“You're a complete….” Idiot. He's an idiot.

 

There's laughter on the other end of the line. “Okay! Thanks for calling, Yuki Eiri-san. I have to go have ice cream now. Good luck on finding your boyfriend. Don't forget to check all your pockets, I'm always losing stuff in my pockets. And sometimes in the car, and in the closet, in the fridge…”

 

I hang up before I'm sucked into the insanity. Tohma must have nerves of steel.

 

Tatsuha walks in the door five seconds later, laden with paper bags. “Fuck. Beer is heavy. Why can't they make this stuff in pill form? Speaking of which, you probably shouldn't be drinking while you're still on those painkillers, you know?”

 

“You sound like Mika.”

 

Tatsuha gives me a dirty look and shuffles into the kitchen. He comes back with two beers, one of which he hands to me. “So, any luck on the search?”

 

I pull the tab to open the beer. It makes such a refreshing noise, a pop that is as addictive as cracking your knuckles. “No.”

 

“Aniki, I hate to tell you this, but…” Tatsuha grabs the remote and switches back to the Hot Girls of Hokkaido. “Don't you think it is possible that this Shindou guy is just someone you dreamed up while you were in that coma?”

 

I'm about to tell him off, about to tell him that there is no possible way that I would ever dream up someone like Shuichi. I'm about to kick him out of my apartment, send him to Mika's, when I see it…

 

The television is showing a street scene. Some lecherous fuck is interviewing girls on the streets of Sapporo. This must have been taped last winter, during the Snow Festival, because they keep occasionally cutting away to some of the ice sculptures. But, then… Then…

 

Just then, for a split second, I see him. Shuichi. He's in the crowd behind the girl being interviewed, looking up at one of the ice sculptures. That's definitely him. His hair. His backpack. His stupid orange windbreaker that clashes with everything he wears.

 

I drop my beer.

 

“Aniki??? Aniki…fuck!” Tatsuha dives for the floor to pick the beer up before too much spills out onto my expensive carpeting. “What is it? What's wrong?”

 

I can only stare at the television. Almost as soon as I notice Shuichi, he's gone. The show cuts away to some other part of Sapporo.

 

Tatsuha looks at me, and then at the television, and then back at me. “Eiri?”

 

I take what remains of the beer out of Tatsuha's hand, and chug it. I knew it. I knew Shuichi was real. I knew I wasn't insane. He's out there, somewhere. Somehow, even though things are truly fucked up, even though no one else remembers him, I'm right about at least one thing. Shindou Shuichi exists.

 

“Tatsuha…”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You'll never believe who I just called.”

 

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In Our Next Chapter: Eiri bribes Tatsuha with Ryuichi's phone number in order to get his brother to help him find Shuichi. Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of Black Cat!

 

A/N: Thank you so much to all my reviewers on Gurabite: tangerine, thistle, ht, Caliel, Miaka, Akuma, and Ren. I really appreciate you taking your time to leave a word. Hope you are enjoying the story as much as I am enjoying writing it!