On the Street of Dreams

Chapter summary: Shuichi strode with long strides down the back gloomy hall to the back door. Pushing it open, he stepped out into the garbage-strewn alley. Slipping his bag off his shoulder, he reached inside, riffling among all the crap in it until he found the bottle of pills. Popping off the lid, he shook several into his hand and swallowed them dry.

***

I Can Do This


Shuichi stood staring in the bathroom mirror at his pale reflection. His trembling hands gripped the sink, his knuckle’s white. Swallowing, he licked dry lips and took a deep shaky breath. His stomach was churning and he felt like he was being boiled alive. Saliva and bile flowed into his mouth like running water. He was so nervous. He did not think he could do it.

Leaning his head down, Shuichi breathed in deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly through his mouth. In and out. In and out. In and-

“Oh, God!”

Moaning, the teenager threw a hand over his mouth and raced into the nearest stall. Falling to his knees, he emptied his stomach of everything he ate that day. When he was left dry heaving, Shuichi spit into the toilet and flushed it. Shaking, he stood up and walked unsteadily to the sink. Turning on the faucet, he splashed water onto his face and rinsed his mouth out.

He was patting his face dry when the door to the bathroom opened.

“Hey, Shuichi. Almost done?”

Shuichi glanced over his shoulder at his best friend. Hiro was the same age as Shuichi, sixteen years old. He was a tall burgundy haired man who had been playing the guitar for only four or five years, but was already in the same league as Jimi Hendrix and Eddie Van Halen. He wailed and made his guitar sing like no other person Shuichi ever heard. Hiro could do things with his guitar that only professional rock stars could only dream of. Add to that his genius book smarts and his gorgeous good looks and Hiroshi Nakano was the most sought after man in Kyoto.

Hiro’s long hair was tied back at the nape of his neck. A black and white bandana was tied around his head. He chose to wear a pair of black leather pants, black boots and a tight black sleeveless shirt. A white leather belt with silver studs cinched his waist. A matching cuff was snapped around his wrist.

Sighing, Shuichi crumbled the paper towel and tossed it into the garbage can. “I’m fine.”

Hiro strode across the room. “Uh, huh.” He tilted his old friend’s head up and studied him closely. Shuichi could not tell a convincing lie to save his life. He was easier to read than a book. Most of the time, his emotions and thoughts played across his face like a stage play.

Shuichi Shindou was a tiny, lithe man who had a girlish, but firm and slightly muscular body but was anything but female. His tight leather short shorts saved little to the imagination and told anyone that wanted, or even did not want to know, that he was all male. His spiky pink hair was beginning to show its black roots. A pink and white bandana was tied around his forehead. He was wearing a black, half shirt under a sleeveless hot pink leather trail duster. A white belt cinched his waist. Knee-high black boots rose up his shapely legs. Behind him on the window sill was a cowboy hat his older half brother bought for him during his last trip to the US.

His half brother was also a singer. He was the lead singer of one of the country’s hottest JPOP/JROCK bands. Their fame has been rising outside Japan for the past couple of years, especially in the United States, the UK and Germany. Shu was happy for his brother. He loved him and wished him all the best. Hell, the guy was his hero, his God! He was everything he wanted to be, loved and worshiped by millions of people. He traveled all over the world, going to places Shuichi had only read about or watched on television. He was so talented it was sickening. The guy wrote songs not even Diane King or Michael Jackson could come up with. His musical arrangements rivaled that of Diasuke Asakura. Shuichi loved his brother and looked up to him. He was everything he wanted to be . . . except here.

Shuichi pushed Hiro’s hand away. “I’m fine,” he told him firmly. He walked to the ledge under the window and reached inside his backpack.

“Shuichi,” Hiro sighed as he watched his friend. He knew Shuichi better than he knew himself and could always tell when there was something bothering him. Right now, there was something weighing heavily on the young singer’s mind.

Shuichi ignored his friend and concentrated on reapplying his makeup. He knew Hiro was worried about him, but he did not have to be. He was fine; just . . . He missed Ryu that was all. Without him, his life seemed pointless, meaningless. Home was not home.

His younger sister, Maiko, was a brain and tended to spend most of her free time at her zillion and one after school activities. Lately, she has been spending a lot of time with some guy she met on her last school trip. Mom was trying desperately to keep her family together. “Trying”, being the key word. She tried her best. For years, she acted as if nothing was wrong. Having his sister a few years after he was born did not change her need to have her family whole and healthy. If anything, it only added fuel to the fire, but slowly over the years, her marriage has suffered. Her relationship with her husband was strained. She continually woke up in a cold sweat, fearing that her husband would make her choose between him and her son, like so many other parents in her situation were forced to do. The thought terrified Shuichi as well, because he knew exactly who she would choose.

Then there was Dad. Mr. Shindou was still and always would be Mr. Shindou.

Shuichi told everyone it did not bother him that his father hated the ground he walked on and for the most part that was true because he had Ryu. His brother took care of him. He did the things that his father did not. Ryuichi was the one who took him to games, played catch with him, and took him to the temple to pray. Ryuichi was the one who answered all his questions and told him what he was. Ryuichi was the only stable thing in Shuichi’s life. He never lied to him. He told him the god’s honest truth, even if it hurt. When his brother was around all was right with the world. But when he was gone . . . the silence came crashing down and it killed bits of Shuichi every time.

He hated his father. Hate was a strong word but it was the only thing that came close to the feelings that old fart conjured up whenever Shuichi thought about him. When Maiko was born, their father was so happily overjoyed. He had a child! A perfectly, healthy, normal baby girl. He glowed and smiled and laughed. Mr. Shindou was so glad to finally be blessed with a child! He showed Maiko off to everyone, everyone coddled her and praised Mr. and Mrs. Shindou. It was if Shuichi did not even exist. He was nothing but a freak, a mutation of nature that just happened to live in the Shindou household. Ryuichi was not even his son, but the old man thought of him as one, even though he did not approve of his step-son’s career choice. When Ryuichi was around, Mr. Shindou showed even less affection to Shuichi, if that was even possible.

The pressure and stress of his very existence was starting to get to Shuichi. He had to find a way to make things better, find a way to escape from reality and the suicidal thoughts that continually plagued him. That was where music came in.

At a very young age, Shuichi taught himself how to play the piano from watching Tohma when he, his brother and Noriko practiced. Then when he met Hiro, the two of them started jamming together, nothing serious, just a way to pass the time, but it helped. Shuichi could lose himself in the music the two of them made together. Then when they were introduced to Suguru one day when he came with Tohma to practice, the three of them jammed and the rest was history. What was done at first in fun became serious and Shuichi could lose himself even more into it. Bad Luck was his life. Writing songs, helping Suguru with the music arrangements, helping Hiro find knew gigs, new bars and clubs to play at, new contests they could enter to get their names out there.

But recently, it has not been enough. The crowds, the lights, the music . . . it was not the same. It became like medicine that did not work anymore because the body had built up a tolerance against it. He needed to find something else to help him escape reality.

And he did. In the form of Kizou.

The guy walked into the bathroom after one of Bad Luck’s shows at some bar with his shadow, Yutoshi. Both wore baggy, torn jeans, tight T-shirts and thickly heeled boots. Their hair was greasy and they smelled of smoke and urine. Their breath stank like spoiled milk and egg salad left in the sun too long.

“You look like you could use some cheering up,” Kizou told the fifteen-year-old Shuichi. He reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out a bottle of pills. “This one’s on the house.”

Shuichi blinked at the man and stared at the white plastic bottle. “What’re these?” he asked suspiciously.

“Something to turn your frown upside down,” Yutoshi chuckled.

“Here,” Kizou said handing over the pills and a stained white card. “If ya need anything, give me a call.” He tapped the top of the card. “That’s me. Remember, anything,” he whispered huskily.

Yutoshi chuckled and smiled. He blinked at the boy and followed Kizou out of the bathroom.

At first, Shuichi had been reluctant to take the pills. He had no idea what they were or what they would do. And he had no idea who that guy was that had given them to him. His first impulse had been to throw them into the nearest trash can, but for some reason they ended up in his backpack instead where he forgot about them. That was until his father refused to once again come to one of his shows.

“Singing is not a job. It is not a career. You cannot pay the bills by singing and prancing around on stage like a whore. You cannot support a wife and children.”

Shuichi had been tempted to tell the staunch ass wipe he did not tend to ever have a wife and that he would rather “prance around on stage like a whore” than dress in a five-piece suit and work nine hour days in some office building where the AC was on so high it felt like it was twenty below year long, for nothing but pocket change. But he kept his tongue. Instead, he tried begging the man. “If you’d just come and-“

“No.”

“But-“

“I said no!”

“-we’re really good,” Shuichi finished as if his father had not cut him off. “And-“

Mr. Shindou slammed a fist onto the table top. “If you keep this up, you’ll be on the streets so fast, your head’ll spin!”

With tears running down his face, Shuichi raced through the house to his room. He began tossing things into his bag blindly when something white fell out of his bag and rolled under his bed. Crawling under his bed, he grabbed the small cylindrical container. He crawled back out, dust covered, and stared at the bottle in misery. Then, without thinking, he popped the cap and swallowed a handful of the small, round white pills. Instantly, it did not matter what the hell his father thought.

“Hey, guys, the Mad Doggs are on their last song,” said a young voice from behind them, snapping Shu back to reality. “Ready?”

“Hey, Suguru,” Hiro greeted his friend distracted.

Shuichi glanced at his young keyboard player’s reflection in the mirror as he finished applying his eyeliner. Capping the stick, he tossed it into his makeup bag and put that in his backpack. Shouldering his bag, he reached besides him and popped his hat on his head. Turning around, he studied Suguru. “Looking good, Su.”

“Ya think so?” Suguru turned around, his hands out from his body. He was wearing a pair of Shuichi’s white leather pants and his own white cotton turtleneck under a black leather vest that used to belong to his cousin.

“Sexy,” Shuichi confirmed. “If ya were a few years older, I’d do ya,” he said with a sly blink

Suguru blushed.

Chuckling, Shuichi patted the kid on the shoulder as he passed him. “You’re bound to break a few hearts, Suguru.”

The fourteen-year-old blushed deeper.

Hiro watched his best friend silently. Shuichi was putting on a brave front, acting as if nothing was wrong, but Hiro was not stupid or easily distracted. “Shuichi,” he called.

“I’m going to go warm up,” the singer said as he felt the bathroom.

Hiro sighed heavily.

Suguru stared at the vanishing singer than at a dejected Hiro. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, Hiro said truthfully, “I wish I knew.”

*

Shuichi strode with long strides down the back gloomy hall to the back door. Pushing it open, he stepped out into the garbage-strewn alley. Slipping his bag off his shoulder, he reached inside, riffling among all the crap in it until he found the bottle of pills. Popping off the lid, he shook several into his hand and swallowed them dry.

Closing his eyes, Shuichi leaned his head against the side of the building. Immediately, he felt the tension he had not realized was there slide away. The fine trembling along his body stilled. Opening his eyes, he stared at the graffiti strewn building inches from his face with a growing smile.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed away from the wall, shouldered his bag and went back inside the bar. A chuckle was bubbling to life in his throat and he had a skip in his step. He suddenly felt as if he could do anything.

“Bad Luck! You’re on,” came the call from near the stage.

Shuichi met his bandmates at the door to the bathroom, grinning and giggling. “Let’s do this, guys!”

“Yeah,” Suguru echoed. “Let’s win this battle.”

Hiro smiled halfheartedly and followed his friends onto the stage. He studied his friend as the man walked up the microphone. Hiro picked up his guitar, waiting for his cue, wondering what had happened to change his friend in such a short period.

Shuichi smiled out at the cheering crowd. “Good evening! We’re Bad Luck and we’re going to rock you!”

The crowd cheered, clapped and whistled in response.

Grinning at his friends, Shuichi then turned back to the crowd. This was what it was all about. This was what he loved. Yes, he could do this. He would show them all. He would win.

***