Gravitation Fan Fiction ❯ Sorry ❯ Chapter 4 ( Chapter 4 )

“Sorry”

Written by: Chocho

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation.

Story summary: AU. Ryuichi? Or Eiri? That is the question. Who will Shuichi chose? (Shuichi/Ryuichi, Ryuichi/Tatsuha, Shuichi/Eiri)

Chapter summary: Provocative photos are plastered all over Japan and in Pittsburgh, Shuichi is beginning to question his feelings for Ryuichi.

Warning: Language, OOC (Duh! Do I look like the creator?)

Sources: Based on the song “Sorry” by Madonna

 

***

 

Chapter 4

 

(Sunday Morning-Tokyo)

 

The apartment was shrouded in shadows. The shades were closed and the curtains drawn over the windows. The balcony doors were open a crack and a slight breeze crawled into the apartment, rustling the vertical blinds musically.

 

A quiet hush enveloped the apartment.

 

Ryuichi huddled under the heavy layer of blankets, hugging his overstuffed pink bunny to his chest and blankly staring through tear-blurred eyes at the vacant spot on the bed next to him. A ghostly image of Shuichi materialized before him. A stray tear rolled down his face as the mirage turned over and smiled that sweet, contagious grin, his hair sleep tousled and his face softened with that just awakened expression.

 

Ryuichi choked back a sob as tears ran down his face.

 

He had betrayed Shuichi and lost his trust. And yet, Shuichi had forgiven him and gave him a second chance. He did not deserve Shuichi, his love or his trust. He was a liar. He had stared into those large, gorgeous violet eyes and lied to the love of his life.

 

Why?

 

Why would he willingly betray Shuichi by making the same mistakes that nearly cost him everything once before? Shuichi had forgiven him for his indiscretion and given him a chance to prove how sorry he was for messing up. Shuichi had allowed him to try and prove himself and earn back his trust and yet here he was blowing his second chance.

 

Why?

 

Why was he so drawn to Uesugi Tatsuha? What was it about this sixteen-year-old perverted playboy monk? Why would he throw away everything he had worked so hard for on one boy?

 

Why?

 

An image of his forbidden lover flashed through his mind, mingling with that of Shuichi before shoving the image of his husband out of his mind altogether.

 

Did he truly have feelings for Tatsuha? Was what he felt for him actually love or was he so drawn to him because he was forbidden territory? Was it the thrill of doing something he knew he should not be doing, the close calls and the sneaking around? He was not sure what hurt more. Knowing that he was betraying Shuichi and everything they had together or the uncertainty over his true intentions concerning his relationship with Tatsuha.

 

Ryuichi curled into a tight ball as a fresh wave of tears gushed down his cheeks and a swell of sorrow and guilt rose within him. His kumagoro was crushed between his chest and legs.

 

Just last night the two of them had been together right here in this bed, in Shuichi and his bed. He felt so dirty and was so disgusted with himself, but at the same time he yearned to see his forbidden lover again.

 

Why?

 

Why did he continue doing this? Nothing made any sense anymore.

 

When he was with Tatsuha, he was all Ryuichi could think about, but after Tatsuha left, the guilt would overwhelm him and he would ask himself what the hell he thought he was doing.

 

With a sob, Ryuichi held Kumagoro tightly. The pink bunny was the only solid thing right now. He wept silent, bitter tears as his soul cried out and his heart broke.

 

He loved Shuichi and wanted to be with him and yet…

 

The curtains fluttered in the breeze that whispered through the open window above the bed. A shaft of light shone through the heavy blackout curtains, illuminating a bold headline on the floor at the foot of the bed that screamed through the silence and darkness, “Sakuma Ryuichi Caught with Lover”.

 

The sudden ringing of the phone shattered the silence of the apartment. The jingle echoed continuously through the silent, twilight-hidden halls. It had only been a matter of time. Ryuichi huddled even tighter under the sheets and buried his drenched face in the damp pink fur of his kumagoro. Go away, he thought with a sob as the phone continued to ring insistently. Then a long, drawn out buzz rang through the apartment followed by a short, sharp rap on the front door. Ryuichi squeezed his eyes shut tight and wished he could just disappear. “I'm so sorry, Shuichi,” he cried silently.

 

*

 

With a sigh, Tohma pulled the phone from his ear and pressed the talk button, ending the call mid-ring. Spinning around, he set the phone back in its cradle on the small table behind the couch. Turning back around, he sighed heavily and dropped his head against the top of the couch. He stared blankly at the ceiling, noticing a crack racing across the ceiling from one end of the room to the other.

 

“I wonder how that happened?” he asked himself.

 

A noise drew Tohma's attention. Lifting his head, he blinked, bringing his mind back into focus and watched as Mika stepped into the living room.

 

Mika had brushed her long brown hair and tied it back into a neat ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her flawless face was made up and looked perfect even though it was only a little past seven in the morning. Over her deep red silk nightgown was a white under kimono tied securely around her waist.

 

She caught sight of her husband on the couch and frowned deeply as she took in his pale complexion and the dark circles under his eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. “You never came to bed last night,” she accused.

 

Tohma smirked apologetically. “No. I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep,” he confessed. He had been up all night thinking about Ryuichi, Mr. Shindou and Tatsuha.

 

Mika sighed and dropped her arms. Rounding the coffee table, she sat down on the edge of the sofa and folded her legs besides her and clasped her hands in her lap. Her face lined with worry and her voice laced with concern, she said, “You can't keep doing this, Tohma. You'll only make yourself sick.”

 

With a smile at his wife's concern, Tohma shook his head and reached over to pat her hand. “There's no need to worry, Mika. I'll be fine.”

 

Mika was not convinced. Not only was he the producer and keyboardist for Nittle Grasper, the hottest band in the country, but he also had a company to run. He just could not afford to worry about that sordid love triangle between Sakuma, Shindou and Tatsuha.

 

She, on the other hand, was furious with her brother and Sakuma. What the hell were those two thinking? The next time she saw her brother, she was going to kill him. “Tohma-“

 

Tohma leaned over and grabbed a magazine off the coffee table.

 

“What's that?”

 

In answer, Tohma tossed the magazine to her.

 

Mike caught it in midair and glanced at her husband in confusion. He only stared blankly back at her. Sighing, she flipped the magazine over and around and realized it was a tabloid magazine. She sighed in disgust. “Get the shit out of here,” she demanded angrily, holding it away from her.

 

Tohma pushed the magazine back in her hands. “Read it.” His tone left no room for argument.

 

Resigning herself, Mika glanced over the cover. There was something about some actress getting secretly engaged to her boyfriend. A blown up section of the photograph showed the supposed diamond engagement ring that was bigger than her massive breasts. Then there was a headshot of a well-known anchorman who had recently undergone gastric bypass surgery and lost over one hundred pounds, but according to the tabloid, the reporter lost that weight in another manner, something about “the Devil”. What was it with this shit? Tabloids should be against the law.

 

“Tohma-!”

 

Tohma reached over and pointed to another photograph on the cover with a manicured nail.

 

Mika followed his finger and blinked. At first, she did not understand what it was she was looking at. Then she realized it was a grainy photograph of two men kissing passionately in a well-lit parking lot outside a building that looked oddly familiar. The third pass over the picture, she recognized the smaller man with the shoulder length brown hair facing the camera. It was Sakuma Ryuichi. Then she realized that the taller man who had his tongue down Sakuma's throat was not Shindou Shuichi, but was none other than Uesugi Tatsuha, her baby brother. She knew that wax teased mop of jet-black hair and leather jacket anywhere.

 

Sighing in revulsion, Mika tossed the tabloid magazine on the table carelessly and watched it slide across the slick surface to hang precariously on the lip of the table. She had been hoping Tohma had been mistaken about what he saw last night when he went over to check on Sakuma for Shindou, but the photograph was irrefutable proof that he had not been. “Dammit! What in the world are those two thinking!”

 

Tohma wished he had an answer to that question himself.

 

Mika sighed. “Now what?”

 

“Now?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Now, nothing.”

 

Mika's eyes widened in shock and surprise. “Nothing? Tohma, is that-?”

 

Tohma shook his head. “I did what I could. The rest is up to him.”

 

Mika nodded sadly. It was for the best, but she could not help but feel sorry for Shindou.

 

“I hope Ryuichi took my advice.” Other wise things are going to get a little messy.

 

“Do you think he did?”

 

Tohma shrugged. “I'm not sure, but knowing Ryu, I doubt it.”

 

She hated to say this, but, “He gets what he deserves.”

 

Tohma could not help but agree. He loved his friend, but there came a point when he had to step back and let things be, as much as it pained him to do so.

 

*

 

Irate, Eiri chucked the offending piece of filth across the room. The magazine jetted over the desk and hit the opposite wall with a solid thunk before falling to the floor with a muffled slap.

 

He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands.

 

Damn Sakuma and his brother to hell! Shuichi was the best thing that ever happened to Sakuma and that brainless idiot had to throw it all away for a sixteen-year-old pervert! And Tatsuha! His idiotic brother did not care that he was having an affair with a married man.

 

Sakuma and Tatsuha better hope and pray he does not see them anytime in the near future because Eiri vowed to rip their heads and balls off and shove them up their asses the next time he saw them!

 

Turning towards his desk, Eiri reached across the desktop for his laptop and pulled it towards him. Spinning it around, he lifted the screen with so much force; he nearly tore it off and booted the system.

 

Gritting his teeth, Eiri waited impatiently, his anger raging within him. Gripping the edge of the desk, he stared at the computer screen, quietly seething.

 

Enough was enough. This ended now!

 

Once his desktop screen popped up, the blond writer met large, smiling amethyst eyes and a wide toothy grin. Suddenly his anger evaporated. His face softening instantly, he reached out and traced his secret pink haired love's lush lips.

 

With a sudden look of determination, Eiri hardened his expression and logged into the internet. This was something he should have done a long time ago.

 

*

 

(Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania)

 

The auditorium was vibrating with the loud cheers and excitement of the tens of thousands of fans packed into the arena to hear the bands scheduled to play at this the conclusion to the anime convention. The heavy thrumming beat from ASK, the current band on stage, shook the building despite the thick walls muffling the sound.

 

ASK only had one hit off their debut album, which had been featured in an anime popular in Japan last fall and now here in North America. After the convention tour ended, they planned on heading back into the studio to start work on their follow up album. ASK had the talent and the potential to be big, but Aizawa Taki was not the easiest person to get along with. In fact, he tended to get under just about everyone's skin and that tended to hinder the band's “creative juices”.

 

While it was chaos in the arena, backstage was a madhouse. The members of the various bands and their managers, producers, techies, roadies and various other crew and posse members crowded the backstage area. Everybody seemed to be heading in all directions at once and trying to do a million things at once.

 

But Shuichi was not part of that catastrophe. Bad Luck was going on last and he was in their dressing room getting ready. Or was supposed to be. At the moment, all he was doing was staring at his reflection in the mirror.

 

His dark burgundy-pink hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck. Under a tan trench coat, wardrobe had dressed him in a white button down dress shirt with a wide, black tie. He was wearing black dress slacks and was going bare foot for tonight's performance. The other night he had worn heeled boots and they had given him blisters. Wardrobe had also produced elbow length fingerless leather gloves with straps along their entire length for him to wear. On top of his head, held securely by bobby pins was a black fedora. There had been a feather in it, but Fujisaki had not liked it so it had been taken out.

 

The makeup artist had done a magnificent job with his makeup as usual. His usually tan complexion had been bronzed to sun kissed perfection without the harmful side effects. The eye makeup made his eyes pop and gave him a mysterious, exotic ambience, as if his purple eyes did not do that on their own. The lip-gloss and liner made his this lips appear fuller and lush. Even the blusher gave him the appearance of high model cheekbones.

 

All in all, he looked nothing like the nineteen year old who arrived here this afternoon.

 

When a hand clamped down on his shoulder unexpectedly, Shuichi stifled a yelp and jumped out of his chair. His heart racing, he lifted his head and met a smirking Hiro. “Jeeze, Hiro,” Shuichi breathed. “Don't do that!”

 

“Sorry,” Hiro chuckled.

 

Shuichi took in his appearance. Hiro was decked out in black leather pants, a sleeveless black zip-up tank lying open over a white stretch Tee. Several rows of black beads encircled his neck and hung loosely down his chest. His long reddish hair had been swept to the side and hair sprayed in place. Only enough makeup to make him not appear deathly under the lights had been applied.

 

“You look good, Hiro.”

 

Hiro bowed. “Thank you. You, on the other hand, look amazing!”

 

Shuichi grinned widely at the compliment, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

 

Hiro crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the makeup counter that looked like the makeup aisle at the drugstore had exploded. “Okay, what's wrong?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Don't give me that,” Hiro scolded. “I've known you your entire life and I can tell when something's bothering you.” He paused, waiting. “So? What is it?”

 

Shuichi sighed heavily and tore his gaze away from his best friends penetrating stare. He stared into the mirror at a reflection he could not recognize and felt nothing. He felt empty inside.

 

When he had heard nothing from Ryuichi or Tohma, his worry had turned into anxiety and he had had a full blown out panic attack. Then after he had been able to calm down, his fear turned into anger and in his rant, he had destroyed his hotel suite. He was glad K was not on tour with them. He would have had his head! Their tour manager, Daisuke, on the other hand had taken it in stride and handled the situation calmly and smoothly. As Daisuke was speaking with the hotel manager and trying to straighten things out with him, Shuichi's anger had melted and vanished until he felt nothing at all. And now, he just did not care anymore.

 

Shuichi glanced down at the bulge under his glove where his ring was and felt a pain of guilt that he did not feel anything. It was killing him to realize that he could care less if Ryuichi was alive or dead. It did not matter if his husband was as sick as a dog or lying dead or broken in a gutter somewhere. It just did not matter.

 

Was that bad?

 

“Shu?”

 

Shuichi's heart leapt out of his chest at his friend's sudden voice. He blinked in confusion as he tried to remember what Hiro had asked him. Before he could even think of a reply, the dressing room door opened and Daisuke walked in with Fujisaki behind him. Thunderous applause and loud, deafening cheers could be heard clearly.

 

“ASK just finished their set,” Daisuke informed them unnecessarily. “You're on.”

 

“Thanks,” Hiro said.

 

Shuichi checked out his keyboardist. Fujisaki was dressed similar to Hiro. Only his sleeveless over-shirt was white and his tank black. Unlike Hiro, Fujisaki's shirt was zipped up and instead of leather pants, the Seguchi Tohma protégé had on a pair of dark blue jeans. This was the first time anyone had seen the boy in jeans and they all admitted he looked pretty good in them. They made him look like the teenager he was and not some old fart he pretended to be. Like Hiro, Fujisaki had on a necklace, but instead of beads, the keyboardist was wearing a large black onyx teardrop that hung down his chest to his belly. His green hair had been gelled into spikes and like Hiro, he had on just enough makeup to appear lively under the stages lights.

 

“Looking good, Fujisaki.”

 

The seventeen year old blushed. “Well, I hate it.”

 

“Oh, come one, Fujisaki. You look great! What's not to like about it?” Hiro asked the uptight keyboardist.

 

“Everything! For one I look like, like-!”

 

“A rock star?” Hiro supplied.

 

Fujisaki blushed.

 

The others laughed.

 

Daisuke clapped his hands, gaining everyone's attention. “Alright guys! Whether you like your outfits or not, you guys get out there and show these people how it's done!”

 

Bad Luck cheered loudly.

 

Grinning like a mad man, Shuichi felt a twiddle of butterflies in his stomach like he always did before a performance, but over that was a surge of energy and excitement. He forgot about Ryuichi and his concern over his lack of concern for the man. He forgot everything but what an awesome show he was about to put on.

 

***

A/N: The idea for Shu, Hiro and Fujisaki's outfits I got from the “Albiero” live from Tokyo International Forum (TM Revolution).