Gravitation Fan Fiction ❯ Splinters of a Song ❯ = track nine = ( Chapter 10 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

A.N.: Nothing has change from the last chapter to this one. Warnings and disclaimers are still the same. I must apologize to everyone that has been reading this story for the long delay between this chapter and the last one. I was trying for something a little less technical and the like but unfortunately, I still had to get into the aspects of song making a bit more. I have also found myself in possession of the manga and have been arguing with my muse about the situations in the manga and what I knew when I first start this fiction years ago. And yes, it has been three years when I first started uploading this one and to satisfy the curious, the fiction was started as a one-shot. It was suppose to be just a piece from the prospective of Ryuuichi as a personal thoughts sort of thing but it went far far beyond that idea. I do realize that the way I spell the names are a bit off from what is now considered the proper spelling as given by the offical translated version of the manga - however, I shall keep with the spelling that I have been using as both me being far too lazy to go through and change it all (as in, changing it on the fanfiction sites this is on). I am glad that a few people are still reading this and I hope no one gives up on me. I am looking to finish this in maybe another year - heh, cross your fingers - and maybe there will be a happy ending, right? We can only hope so.


= track nine =

I flopped into one of Touma’s fluffy studio chairs and sucked on my water bottle. Noriko sat more gracefully into the chair next to me, fanning herself with a handful of sheet music. Touma straddled the swivel chair, shaking his head at the two of us.

“You two can’t be giving up already?” he asked, folding his arms over the back of his chair and resting his chin on his arms. “It’s only been an all night idea session. Wait until we have to do live shows after a concert and interviews.”

“Jam session,” I replied, taking a moment from sucking water. I felt the need to correct him.

Touma gave me one of his lesser fluffy glares of death and I gave him a sweet innocent smile. Noriko took the opening I gave her to steal my water bottle and finishing off the water. I growled, bapped her on the head with Kumagorou, getting poked in the ribs in return.

“Are you two quite done fooling around?” Touma asked, his voice getting the polite bored tones of one reaching the end of his patience.

It has been a long couple of weeks filled with jam sessions, arguments and friendly banter. The three of us had changed a lot musically and mentally, and while we were able to startup from where we stopped, there were some major differences between us. I had changed the most, the rhythm and music of America still influencing me. Touma was more into classically inspired melodies and harmonies built up into impressive cathedrals of sounds. Noriko had been spending a lot of time with her two children and it reflected in her simple and childish harmonies. The three of use were having problems trying to find a middle ground that would work and not take away what we really love.

“Maybe we’re trying too hard,” Noriko said after a moment of fluffing her hair. “We should just let it all go and just play.”

“Maybe we are,” I replied, sticking Kumagorou on top of my head and taking out a pack of pocky. I stuck one in my mouth and looked up at the studio’s ceiling. It was some kind of soundproofed stuff painted a dark blue and I though about sneaking into the room one night and painting stars on it to make it look like the night sky. “Our styles just needs to be glued together better so maybe we should jam some more.”

“It would help the process a little if you would write your lyrics in Japanese,” Noriko said, snagging a piece of pocky from my box for herself. “English was never one of my best subjects in school and I have no idea what your scribbles are suppose to mean or say or anything really.”

I hid my box behind Kumagorou to keep anyone else from stealing my pocky and gave her a full-blown pout, complete with puppy eyes and wobbly lips. She ignored it as she waved several badly written lyric sheets in my face.

“You even smear some of these with mustard,” she said in her best mothering tone of voice.

“But. . .” I whined, grabbing my precious lyric sheets and hugging them close. “I worked so long and so hard on them. . .”

“Can we just get on with it?” Touma said, interrupting our bit of drama. He rubbed his forehead and flicked his hair back from his eyes. “I have a meeting in two hours.”

“You are so busy, Touma,” Noriko said, frowning. “Are you sure this is okay?”

He smiled that soft smile of his; the one that was not forced or controlling. “Oh yes. I want to do this. I miss this.”

I fiddled with my lyric sheets then jumped up from my chair and waved them over my head. “Let’s do this, na no da!”

Noriko and Touma exchanged glances while I charged the sound proof room and tackled a mic stand. After a few moments, they joined me and we started up again with the song that would be the first release from our new album if we ever get it done. Five seconds into it, I waved them to stop with the keyboards and was surprised that they actually did so.

“It still isn’t right,” I said, chewing on Kumagorou’s ear.

“Now what is wrong?” Noriko growled, her hands going to her hips.

I gulped and tried to look as cute and as innocent as a stuffed toy. She raised an eyebrow and tapped her foot. I gulped, looked at Touma – who looked suddenly interested in his notes – then looked back at Noriko. My smile felt all alone on my face as I tried to face down her scowl.

“A guitar introduction,” I stated. “Four-four time, something strong and distorted for a couple of bars, then bring in the cymbals and drums for a couple of bars then keyboard.” I thought about it for a moment and nodded. “That’s how it should sound. We don’t want to sound like a cover of ourselves. We want them to wake up and hear us.”

Touma looked at me strangely as Noriko tried a few guitar riffs. I ignored him as I listened to the music in my head, nodding when she found the right guitar. I tapped out the beat, and she played it – hard, abrupt for the first bar, sharp and short for the second bar - then cymbals over the guitars, then came the keyboards, her simple harmony layering over Touma’s melody that he built over the guitars. Twenty-two bars in, I started singing.

“Tooku de me o hikarasete mezameru monotachi matte iru. Yoru no jouheki sasowarete utsurisumu mure no nukegara ni.”

Then the whole thing fell apart again as the guitar went off onto a tangent and Touma decided to add an organ. I banged my head against the mic stand and sighed. There was a giggle and someone – I deduced it was Noriko – bounced an empty pocky box off my head. I let out a whine and tried a dramatic pose of a ‘Hero Slain On The Battlefield’ variety. After waiting for the award, I unposed and stuck my tongue out at them.

“Fine brat,” Touma said, cracking his knuckles and wiggling his fingers. “We’ll arrange this song your way but after this, leave the arrangements to Noriko and I, hm?”

“Fine,” I replied, bouncing on my feet. “Let’s get it done, na no da!”

Ten minutes later, it was done, sitting with its tiny unassuming data stuck inside a digital reel. In celebration, I bounced Kumagorou off a couple of heads and then went in search of more pocky and water. Luckily the last bit was easy to find: Touma’s cupboards held some pocky of the variety that I like and the fridge yielded some more bottled water. I hopped back to the studio full of vigor, only to be faced with a pen and my sketchbook. I blinked at them and looked over them at Touma.

“Na no?”

“No time to celebrate now,” the evil blonde number one said, shoving them into my hands. “You have to finish the lyrics for the next nine songs. Unless, you just want to come out with a greatest hits album with one bonus new track?” I squeaked, trying to balance pen, sketchbook, Kumagorou, pocky and bottled water all at the same time. He smiled, patted me on the head and retrieved his feathery coat with all the black feathers. “Don’t take too long, Ryuuichi; I have no idea how long I can keep this quiet.”

With that warning, he was gone, leaving me alone with Noriko and my sketchbook. I tried my best woobly eyed chibi stare on her but she completely ignored me in favour of calling her ancient husband the professor and food critic. Sniffling to myself, I went to sulk in a corner, covering my head with Kumagorou as I struggled with kanji or whatever it was called.

Finishing this album was going to take forever.