Confessions & Cigarettes

Ryuichi drove the way he sang – intense, fast and with a touch of aggression. Hiro pressed back into the passenger's side, glancing once and a while at Ryuichi's face and hands before looking ahead again and trying not to flinch as he made tight swerves and sharp corners. Unrolling his window, Ryuichi rested his elbow on the window's edge, his right hand completely in control of the wheel.

"One thing I like about America is that there's room to just go," the singer said, stopping at a red light and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "Outside of L.A. there are just miles and miles of desert. Sometimes other people are driving on it, other times no one is there but maybe a camera crew and then there at times when you've got it all to yourself."

"Do you like America better than Japan?"

Ryuichi laughed, flicking the fingers of his left hand before rapping them against the side of his door. "Different cultures. Different worlds. Japan is my home, but America is my dreams."

"Oh." Hiro looked away, watching every day people walk along the sidewalks, every once and a while a bright splash of color marking the warmer summer days – a floral sundress, bright red skinny jeans, powder blue hair, neon green shoes. He glanced back at Ryuichi and caught the singer looking at him. Ryuichi smiled, and took out a pack of cigarettes with his free hand. A gaggle of giggling school girls went past, drawing Hiro's attention away.

"So what exactly did Tohma tell you?"

Hiro looked back at Ryuichi, the singer blowing out a thin stream of smoke. The burnt scent of tobacco mingled with the sharp scent of the car, the haze of car exhaust and Ryuichi's sweat. Hiro swallowed and looked away.

"He said to make sure you got home safely."

"And he didn't tell you where my home was and didn't want you to deny his request, right?

"Not really," Hiro said, looking at the singer. "I'm worried."

"Is that right?"

Hiro ignored the hard edge in his voice, reading something in the tightness around his eyes. "I don't want to see you get hurt more today."

Ryuichi snorted and took a hard left, causing the car behind them to slam on the brakes to avoid rear-ending them. Hiro closed his eyes and vowed to not make fun of how K drove ever again. After a few minutes, Hiro opened his eyes, glancing over at Ryuichi. The singer looked like he was miles away, blue eyes distant and his cigarette held loosely in his left hand. Deciding not to disturb him, Hiro went back to watching the scenery pass by.

They went from the shopping areas, moving through sleepy residential buildings and family shops, weaving around with a randomness that might have been subconscious on Ryuichi's part. Despite some of his more aggressive actions, the singer was a good driver, and Hiro found himself dozing a little against the window, barely registering the gradual decline of the state of the buildings around them. Then the buildings became modern again, and the car came to a stop, the sudden lack of the motor jolting Hiro awake.

He blinked and looked over at Ryuichi. The singer was leaning back against his door, a stub of a cigarette glowing then hissing out as he jabbed it into the ashtray. Hiro clawed at the door handle, almost falling out of the car and getting a soft chuckle from the older man.

"There's really no need for you to hurry. The building's not going anywhere."

Hiro shook his head and looked up. They were parked in front of a better class apartment building on a quiet street lined with half-hidden houses and other well-appointed buildings. The afternoon light filtered through the branches of several trees, lining the street with dappled shadows. Realizing where he was, Hiro breathed out a sigh of relief. A few blocks away, Shuichi shared an apartment with Eiri.

"Awake now?"

Hiro laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I am. Sorry about that."

"It's okay."

He looked over at Ryuichi, seeing a manic edge to the look on his face, and then looked away, not wanting to show that he had noticed. He was started to see a different edge to the similarities between the legend and his best friend. Shuichi's manic moods often ended in tears and he did not wish to see that in Ryuichi.

"I should go home."

Ryuichi tilted his head to the side and blinked. "Why?"

"You're home safe, so my job's done, right?" Hiro grinned back at the singer, but all Ryuichi did was frown.

"I'm not at my apartment yet."

Biting his lower lip, Hiro looked over at the building. "I suppose. . . but what kind of trouble could you get into riding an elevator?"

Ryuichi laughed, opened his car door and stepped out. "Lots and lots!"

Hiro followed him out of the car and waited while Ryuichi grabbed his guitar case and shut the door with his hip. He probably could have protested more but a part of him was interested to see exactly how Ryuichi lived when he wasn't on tour. Like with all the pieces he had been shown, he was certain that the reality was far more human than the fantasy. And since his fantasy had been peppered with a lot of stuffed toys and cotton-candy colors, Hiro really wanted to replace the ideas with first hand knowledge.

Ryuichi opened the door and let Hiro go inside in front of him and then led him to the elevator. Hitting the top button, Ryuichi leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. If he didn't know better, Hiro would have thought Ryuichi had gone to sleep on his feet. As it was, Ryuichi's energy seemed to have flagged from the time the elevator's doors had closed to the time they opened again. He stumbled his way out into the short hall and fumbled with a set of keys, Hiro standing half in and half out of the elevator. Ryuichi got the door open, toed off his shoes and stumbled over to the security box hanging on the wall. While he punched in numbers and swore in English, Hiro took his own shoes off and had a quick look around.

First thing he noticed was that Ryuichi's apartment had that not-lived-in feel of a place that was used mostly for sleeping. The entrance was bare, the walls off-white, the wooden floors stained brown, and a few blank doors leading off on three sides. Ryuichi opened the door to their left and stepped inside barefoot, leaning the guitar against the wall. This room was large with open doors to a balcony and another set of doors leading into a kitchen and family room. The furniture was sparse - the main piece being a very American sofa and chair set, with a scattering of huge pillows and bean bags. The off-white walls were decorated by records, album covers and a floor-to-ceiling wall hanging of Grasper signed by the three members of the band. There was a baby grand piano in the corner where others would have had their dining table, its surface covered in music sheets, open sketch books and a laptop.

The family room showed a lot more personality. The walls went from the soft off-white to a deep blue with one whole wall taken up by a flat screen TV, various game systems, and stacks of movies. There were no chairs, only bean bags and giant pillows in bright colors, and pictures of the band and family covered every surface. Ryuichi paused in the room and waved a hand at the kitchen.

"Help yourself to whatever. I need to take a shower."

Ryuichi stepped through another door and Hiro took a quick peek down the hall, but only saw more doors. One was half open, showing a guest bathroom, but the other three were closed shut. Ryuichi disappeared into one of the rooms and Hiro chewed on his lower lip before deciding to go back to the kitchen and get something to drink.

The fridge held only a container of water, some orange juice, beer with a foreign label, and a box of fruit. Hiro checked the freezer and found containers of frozen food neatly labeled in Tohma's precise kanji, and ice cream. Hiro sighed and picked out a can of beer and dug through the cupboards for food. They were depressingly empty save for some ramen and a bag of chips gone moldy. Hiro tossed that and went to sit on a bean bag.

He didn't stay seated long. All the pictures on the wall had him curious and the longer he waited, the more he wanted to see what Ryuichi thought were important enough to stick on the wall. Hiro started near the kitchen first, finding pictures of K and Judy and Michael, articles written in English, a couple photos of a large house in L.A., and one of Ryuichi surrounded by a group of people and all of them in their finest evening wear. There was a few more in the same theme, then concert shots, Ryuichi the solo artist posed with a mic stand, draping himself over a guitar player, sharing a mic with a female singer – that photograph signed with an imprint of bright red lips and sealed inside of glass. There were other shots also in America, from the Grasper's time touring the States to small things, like a recording studio and a bunch of techs, a group of fans holding up CDs, pictures of water works and hotels and strange road side attractions, meals and restaurants and children playing and newspaper prints. Hiro was not even halfway down the wall before he looked away, resting his eyes on the matte black face of the TV screen.

"Yeah, it's a bit much, isn't it?"

Maybe he was getting used to Ryuichi's entrances, but Hiro didn't even jump at the singer's voice coming from behind him. "It's like you decided to start collecting your memories."

"Got it in one."

Hiro took a sip of his beer and turned around, watching Ryuichi as he opened a new pack and lit up. The singer arched an eyebrow and tossed the used match into a container that Hiro didn't notice before since it blended into the wood of the TV stand it sat on.

"Memories change pretty easily, especially if the mind wants to change them," Ryuichi said, shoving his hands into his checkered pants' pockets. "I've learnt that when traveling it's always a good idea to take pictures."

"Is that why we had a camera crew follow us around during the tour?"

Ryuichi laughed, shaking his head. "That's a money making idea. No, the trick is to catch it yourself, not hire someone to catch it for you."

"I don't see any of Hikari," Hiro said, looking at the pictures again.

"I don't keep them on the wall."

With that pronouncement, Ryuichi went into the kitchen. Hiro finished his beer and set the can down on the floor, taking out his cigarettes and lighting up himself. He picked up the can and went into the kitchen, and Ryuichi took it and tossed it into a container hidden in a cupboard under the sink. He poured some orange juice into a glass and added sake, stirring the mixture and taking a sip.

"Are you going to get drunk?"

That question got a chuckle from the older man as he put the juice away and re-corked the sake. Shaking his head, he went into the family room but didn't stop there. Puzzled, Hiro followed him through the family room and down the dimly lit hall to a large bedroom. It was lit by dozens of tiny Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling and over the heavy drapes hanging off of one wall. Kumagoro had a pet carrier here as well, this one a bright blue with glittery kanji on the sides. Ryuichi sat the glass on a chest and crawled onto the bed, his low pants riding lower. Hiro looked away, hoping to find a chair or something but saw nothing besides the American-styled bed, a couple chests, a dresser and the lights.

"Some people accuse me of always being drunk."

"But are you going to get drunk tonight?"

The end of Ryuichi's cigarette glowed as the singer replied, "No. There's no point for it any more."

Hiro gave up on finding somewhere else to sit and sat on the edge of the bed, turning so he can see Ryuichi's face better. "At least you know your limits."

"Are you sure?"

Snorting, Hiro leaned over and jabbed Ryuichi in the ribs, making the singer yelp. "Not always."

The older man made a face and jabbed Hiro back. "Be nice to your old man!"

"I don't see him here!" Hiro jabbed back, and Ryuichi definitely squirmed, pulling his legs in. Slowly, he ground out his cigarette in the ashtray next to Ryuichi's drink, keeping his eyes on the singer. Ryuichi's toes curled in the sheets, keeping his eyes locked on his, cigarette dangling from his mouth. Hiro reached up and took that from him, getting a small whine for his infraction. He ground it out, breaking eye contact, and Ryuichi jumped him in that moment, going for his sides.

But unlike Shuichi, Hiro wasn't that ticklish. Ryuichi was, as he found out by accident. Going shirtless like he usually did didn't help at all as Hiro ran calloused fingers down his sides or poked his back when he tried defending his sides. Even the soles of his feet – tough as they were – were sensitive. Hiro had Ryuichi laughing and giggling, trying to cover himself and sometimes managing to smack him in the sides or on the head with his flailing limbs. It was nice hearing him laugh after everything today, and Hiro found himself laughing with the singer, feeling a cloud of unease disperse.

He didn't know what they were doing to him. He wasn't sure why Tohma of all people trusted him with Ryuichi's safe keeping, but he was sure that the singer just needed a friend right now. His two closest friends had families of their own now, and that meant less time for Ryuichi. Maybe that was why he left after that contest and went to America. Maybe he was trying to find a new place to call home.

The tickling grew serious as his thoughts, Hiro's fingers feather-light against Ryuichi's sides. The singer sucked in his breath, the action outlining the sculpted chest and abs, the narrow sweep of his collar bones, the sharp angle of his hips. Hiro blinked and gave his head a shake, putting a little distance between them before he did something stupid.

Ryuichi sat up, resting an elbow on his knee, his pants ridden down to were Hiro can see the tattoo and realize that it was not one kanji but several, a delicate phrase that did not look like it came from any Japanese story he knew.

"'Art in the blood?'"

"'Is liable to take the strangest forms'," Ryuichi added and picked up his drink. "Why did you stop?"

"Um, because?"

Ryuichi licked his lips, blue eyes glittering as he looked Hiro straight in the eye. Gulping, Hiro looked away, his cheeks burning. He heard the click of glass against wood and felt calloused fingers slide down the bare skin of his arm.

"It wouldn't be right," Hiro said, his voice hoarse. "You're upset and it wouldn't be right if I acted selfish."

"Maybe you should act a little selfish."

"Is that what happened to Hikari's mother?"

As soon as he said it, Hiro felt like bashing his head in. Did he have no tact? What was it about Ryuichi that just made him blurt out everything in his mind without even thinking first? Covering his face with his hands, Hiro groaned and waited for Ryuichi to hit him or kick him out. What was he thinking?

"No." Ryuichi tugged on his right arm, dragging it down so he could see the singer's face. There was a pinched look to his eyes. "She's dead."

With that, Ryuichi leaned up and kissed him.


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Author's Notes: One of the reasons why I am transferring this story to my AFFnet account is because the main Gravitation site I usually post is having some difficulties. I also wanted to see if there are a few people who might be interested in this unusual pairing. And while the chapters have been lean on actual sex, it's not going to last much longer. All the build up will have to explode to something brilliant, right?
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