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Relatively Courtship	By : nevtari Category: Gravitation > General Views: 3325 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Pairing: Tohma x Suguru. Those bad boys.

Warning: Shounen-ai/yaoi, Incest, Shota... just keep nodding and I’ll talk nonsense at you.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I don’t own the food product used in this chapter.

A/N: Yes, this is out much sooner than ever before. The truth is, I actually got inspiration and
decided to write. I also can’t wait to do the final part of this chapter, (all the chapters are my
children, I just love some more than others) so I want to write quickly (but well, don’t worry!)
Thanks for the reviews!

Chapter Three -

- The Five Stages of Grief

Part Three - Bargaining

The door to the apartment shut quietly, the cause being that Tohma had rescued the wood
from its sure-to-happen abuse at the hands of its daily resident. The door thanked the keyboardist
for the gentle closing.

“You look cold, why don’t you shower, I’ll fix us something to eat for dinner. If you need
help stripping out of those wet clothes, don’t hesitate to ask,” Tohma’s voice was soft as he
commanded Suguru around his own apartment, the hinting phrase seeming as normal a thing to
say as asking about the weather or a local sports team any particular day. But, as all adolescents
happen to share the trait of an overactive, and rather gutter-dwelling, imagination, Suguru
included of course, the offer immediately dragged a blushing pink, kicking and screaming, to the
still pale skin of the boy’s face. Just as the blonde had known it would.

“Se-seguchi-san what-” unfortunately the stammered statement was interrupted by an
arrogant and quite loud sneeze, rendering the teen immobile for a full twelve and a half seconds.
Suguru found himself staring blearily at his cousin, and wiped childishly at his eyes to clear his
fuzzy vision. Then walked out of the room, while shaking his head as if to clear it, presumedly to
the warming care of his shower.

Tohma sighed as he looked at the wet trail of footprints across the wooded floor, the towels
resting dejectedly on one end of the tan couch, the pile of music, papers, and books scattered in a
haphazard landscape of mountains and hills spanning the majority of surfaces, and the floor, in
the rest of the living room... ‘Obsessive-compulsive’-san slipped out of his black shoes, leaving
them beside the content and thankful door, then took up one of the previously dejected towels
and used it to mop up the soaking trail. Then, setting the towel again on the couch with a cringe,
he walked away from the cleaning lady’s worst nightmare to the conjoined kitchen around the
corner.

“At least this room is clean,” he stated to the air.

Indeed, the space sparkled and shined, grey linoleum and beige wall tiles included. Tohma
had expected dishes in the sink, the table to be covered in clutter. No such luck, it appeared that
Suguru had also inherited the family genes for cleanliness, at least when it came to kitchens.

“I wonder what meal Suguru-kun would like?” Tohma pondered, once again to the air,
though he was sane enough not to expect an answer. He shrugged out of his black coat, draping
it gracefully over one of the two chairs residing at the rectangular table. His matching hat joined
the party of inanimate objects as well. The gloves, just in case, stayed to veil his hands.

With a mind full of culinary dreams and desires, the blonde walked to the refrigerator, gently
using his weight to pull the white door from its suctioned hold. The chilled air tickled his
naturally faded face; Tohma raised an eyebrow at his non-present cousin. The ice box was stark
as the Tibetan wilderness. So Tohma closed the door to the right and went see what was behind
door number two. Besides a few flakes of ice that landed on his foot, the freezer was bare as
well. The ice, free from its native, frozen home melted instantly into a dark dot on Tohma’s sock.
He shut door number two in disappointment, having found no prize.

One cabinet after the other, the blonde infiltrated Suguru’s kitchen, though his findings were
in the negatives below satisfactory. The first opening of doors revealed a multitude of glasses,
mugs, and other various cups. If a ‘multitude’ meant: two mugs bearing odd phrases and images,
three plastic children’s cups, the lids and bendy straws were down three drawers to the right with
one lid missing; and two clear juice glasses, one housing a large crack down it’s middle; it would
have been the right word to use.

The first down, three to go, Tohma opened the second pair. Three plates were stacked neatly
to one side with two bowls beside them. The dishes seemed vaguely familiar to the musician, he
thought of a memory of him teaching Suguru to eat spaghetti, a food he learned to love from
America, for the first time when the boy was seven. One shelf above the eating-ware was a silver
pot complete with matching, and surprisingly even fitting, lid. Keeping the pot company was a
glass measuring cup, the markings seeming to have been washed away and rewritten in black
marker.

With only a few shards of his previously shattered hopes, Tohma risked his sanity when he
spread the second to last set of cabinet doors open wide. There was one... entity on these shelves.
An asexually reproducing, immortal, and invincible creature: dust.

There was hardly any point to throwing open the last cabinet, but with the reckless eyes of a
composed maniac the innards of the final cupboard were brought to light. Contrary to previously
conceived notions, Suguru did keep edible substance in his apartment. The last shelves were
filled with something so rapid, so mercurial at the sustenance preparation process that it put all
restaurants with the label ‘fast food’ to nano-second-cooking shame. Packages of instant ramen,
neatly stacked in equal towers occupied the only fully filled cabinet.

Seguchi stared, then twitched as he glanced up and down at the beef-flavored assortment. All
the red packages glared back at him, mocking his rich lifestyle and personal chef.

“Kami-sama (God), if I promise to donate my previous months salary to the next temple I
see, will you give me something else to eat besides this... food?”

There was no answer.

“Akuma-sama (Devil), my soul is yours...”

To be continued... (Dun dun dun!)

Ending A/N: Heh... yes, Tohma does dealing with both god and devil so he refers to them
with equal reverence (-sama...). *shrugs* I’m tired, tomorrow I’ll wake up and blame this all on
the ton of sugar I had in my tea the night before, claiming to not remember a thing.
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