Tragic Silence

Tragic Silence

Disclaimer: No, as with most of my other fics, Yuki, Shuichi and the rest of the Gravitation cast members do not belong to me. They belong to Murakami Maki. Being an absolute control freak I just like to do things to them that I could NEVER get away with in real life! Dance for me, my obedient little puppets… dance!


If suffering is over for those who pass on, what of those left behind? Sometimes, the pain can be too intense, the memories too haunting, the emotions too raw to manage. Frayed nerves were all he was made of now, all that kept him on this plane of existence. Thin threads he clung to with no actual expectation of saving himself. Not that he wanted to. No … he didn’t, not anymore. Without Shuichi, there was nothing left for him in this life. Everything Eiri was the violet-eyed, bright pink hurricane took with him when he died. Where there was once light and laughter, now there was nothing but a deafening silence. Shuichi had filled the void that was Eiri’s life like no other soul had ever been able to accomplish. And now Eiri stood in the gathering darkness, gazing down at Shuichi’s grave, thunder roaring through the night sky, rain pelting in sheets around him covering the tracks of his tears. The strain caused his legs to buckle and he fell to his knees beside the headstone, one hand grasping it desperately, as though it were all that kept him from plunging into oblivion. Muddy water pooled around him, but he took no notice as he leaned forward, resting his head upon the icy, damp surface of the stone. He ran his fingertips gently, reverently over the inscription “Shindo Shuichi”, closing his eyes as more tears forced themselves unbidden out from the corners, his grief overwhelming. All those times he could have been nicer to Shuichi, all of the cold receptions he’d given the young singer, all of the nasty comments he’d made. He’d been such an asshole. And now, it was too late; too late for regrets, too late to try to make it up, too late to take everything back. Too late for Eiri to tell Shuichi just how much the young man meant to him, just how important he really was. Too late to say, “I love you.”

Hiro’s furious words still haunted him. “It’s your fault!” They furled around him like a wreath of smoke from his cigarette, echoing, over and over, “Your fault … your fault … your fault.”

If only he’d kept his mouth shut, kept his hurtful comments to himself.

If only he’d …

A month prior you’d never have guessed at what tragedy was about to befall them. Shuichi had just returned from rehearsal, bounding around the apartment as he usually did, all radiance and racket, driving Eiri to distraction. “Shut up,” the gruff demand came from Eiri’s study. “I’m trying to work.”

“Aw, Yuki, you’ve been in there forever.” It was a common complaint from the singer, one Yuki Eiri had heard many times before. “It’s so nice outside. Come on, let’s go out. We’ll walk in the park. It’ll be fun. Besides, the exercise will do you good. Between the beer and the cigarettes, you’re going to give yourself a heart attack, you know. And I don’t want to lose you, damn it.”

Exhausted from working nearly three nights straight on a new draft for his agent, his temper on edge, Eiri snapped something incoherent, yet obviously derogatory at Shuichi, before slamming his door. The story wasn’t coming to him and he only had a few more days before the draft was due. Why couldn’t he think? Of course, it was next to impossible for him to concentrate when Shuichi was nearby. If it wasn’t the noise attracting his attention, it was the kid’s pure, unadulterated the sex appeal. He just wanted to touch Shuichi … all the time; to hold him, kiss him, and make love to him. Normally that would have been a good thing, but today Eiri was tired and irritable, and in no mood for the pink-haired hurricane that hurtled uncontrollably through his door as if his slamming it shut meant nothing.

“Oh, come on, Yuki, unplug yourself for once. Come walking with me.” Shuichi’s eyes suddenly took on that mischievous twinkle they got when he was thinking of something naughty. “Or we maybe could come up with of some other way to get you to exercise.”

Eiri stood up, perfectly intent on giving Shuichi a piece of his mind, but it just wasn’t meant to be.

Shuichi launched himself across the room, into Eiri’s arms before the writer had a chance to react. Wild pink hair filled his line of vision and warm lips clamped down upon his own, mouth open and tongue probing. This was his Shuichi; perpetually young, indefatigably vibrant; a whirlwind of pink and violet. Shuichi’s legs wrapped around his waist as Eiri stumbled them into the bedroom, banging walls and bouncing off the door frame in the process.

Sometime between the door and the bed, Shuichi’s shirt had been tossed to the floor and nimble fingers were now working on the front of Eiri’s shirt. “Mmmph mmm mmmph,” mumbled Shuichi, his mouth still fastened over Eiri’s. Eiri smiled, sort of, through the kiss and dropped Shuichi unceremoniously onto the corner of the bed. “Yuki!” Out of patience, Shuichi gave the shirt a frustrated tug, sending the remaining three buttons flying. “Baka, you ruined my new shirt,” Eiri scolded, though not quite angrily enough to be convincing. The troublesome garment was finally discarded, dropped to the floor beside Shuichi’s as Shuichi reached up and drew Eiri back down to meet his lips. Shoving Shuichi further across the bed, Eiri settled next to him, one arm around Shuichi’s back holding him in the kiss. Shuichi’s tongue played in Eiri’s mouth, dancing across his teeth. When they finally broke apart, both men had to pause to catch their breath.

“I want you, Yuki,” Shuichi breathed, huskily, one of his hands already working its way down the front of Eiri’s pants. Eiri gasped as a cool palm surrounded him, squeezing lightly and making him even harder. Leaning forward, Eiri positioned them so that he was on all fours, straddling a prone Shuichi, while the young singer’s hand was still slowly teasing Eiri’s erection, the pad of his thumb gliding circles over the slick head and making Eiri squirm. “Off,” Eiri commanded, referring to Shuichi’s shorts, which magically disappeared. Reaching into the nightstand, he brought out the lube they always used. By now, it was nearly impossible for him to think rationally, much less coordinate his actions as Shuichi had managed to slide Eiri’s pants down just a bit further, giving him better access, thus allowing his hand to increase its stroking. Without warning, Eiri found himself on his back, Shuichi’s head in his lap; the warmth of a hand replaced by the fiery heat of a mouth. When Shuichi sucked him in, Eiri thought his entire body would go with it. Wrapping his arms around Eiri’s lower back, Shuichi drew him closer, the tip of Eiri’s erection virtually brushing up against Shuichi’s tonsils. This was more than Eiri could take. Stars supernova-ed in his head, his entire body became a giant nerve ending and he came, arching stiffly off the bed and shouting Shuichi’s name. Shuichi’s head came up, untamed pink hair surrounding an evil grin, a few left-over drops of cum dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wiped them away casually with a single wicked digit, which he licked clean with the tip of his tongue. Finally divesting Eiri of his pants, he pitched forward, landing across Eiri’s chest, arms wrapping around his neck, drawing him into another probing kiss. Eiri tasted himself on Shuichi’s lips, but controlled the urge push Shuichi away. This was what Shuichi did to him.

Remembering the tube of lubrication in his hand, he managed to get the cap off and, circling Shuichi’s back with his other arm, squeezed some of the lube into his palm, smearing it generously onto his fingers. Reaching down, he pulled Shuichi higher, allowing himself access to the singer’s delectable ass. He ran an admiring hand over the firm, rounded globes as he worked the lubricated middle finger of the other hand past Shuichi’s tight little ring. Shuichi moaned into Eiri’s mouth at the intrusion, melting against the blonde writer’s chest. Eiri wiggled his finger slightly as it slid further into Shuichi, eventually cresting at the knuckle. Drawing out slightly, Eiri gradually added a second, then a third finger, each time causing Shuichi to shudder and moan; eyes squeezed shut, arms tightening into a strangle-hold around Eiri’s neck. “Hurry Yuki,” he rasped. “I need you in me.”

Eiri sat up drawing Shuichi with him, the singer straddling Eiri’s lap. Pausing briefly to coat his renewed erection with the lubrication, he lifted Shuichi by the hips and placed the singer directly over him, removing his hands at the last minute to allow the younger man to lower himself little by little, adjusting to the incursion at his own pace. The feeling of Shuichi, so tight and hot sheathing him was beyond words. Once Shuichi was comfortable with his position, he began to move, slowly at first, back and forth, moaning at the friction created on his own erection as it stood, sandwiched between their sweat-slick bodies, picking up the pace as the fireworks started going off in his head. Throwing himself backwards to allow Eiri greater access, Shuichi’s momentum flung them off the bed and onto the hardwood floor. Yelping at the cold, Shuichi had no time to adjust when Eiri grabbed one of his legs and flipped him over onto his stomach, pulling him to his hands and knees. One hand around Shuichi’s thigh and still thrusting in and out, Eiri wrapped his other hand around Shuichi’s erection as Shuichi sunk to his elbows. Shuichi came first, his shout echoing through the Spartan surroundings of the large apartment, his cum splattering across Eiri’s hand and the bedroom floor. The force of his orgasm made his muscles contract around Eiri’s erection, launching the blonde writer toward his own completion.

Exhausted, Eiri collapsed on Shuichi, crushing him to the floor. “Yuki, you’re heavy. I can’t breathe,” came the muffled complaint. Eiri rolled slightly to his right with a hushed, “Baka,” allowing Shuichi to crawl out from beneath his body; rolling back onto his stomach as soon as Shuichi had made it far enough away. Squirming back toward him, Shuichi snuggled into Eiri’s side, drifting into a contented sleep almost immediately. Eiri waited until the rise and fall of Shuichi’s breathing became a steady pattern before standing, picking up the little pink-haired singer and placing him on the bed. Then he gathered the sheets, tossed them in the laundry and went to take a shower. Shuichi, Eiri knew, would be asleep for a few hours, so he would finally have some quiet time to work on the story draft for his agent.

It was after dark when Shuichi finally awoke and Eiri had still not been able to come up with any suitable ideas; just loads of drivel, which he would type into his computer, read over, then automatically delete. His foul mood had returned with a vengeance and he was in no frame of mind to deal with anything, least of all Shuichi.

Eiri could hear Shuichi in the shower. He stood, abruptly, sending his chair into the wall with a crash. Pulling a cigarette out of his ever-present pack, he lit it, walked into the kitchen and reached into the refrigerator to grab a beer. Shuichi came dancing down the hall, spraying water everywhere even though he was wrapped in a thick pink towel. “You should eat something, Yuki,” he said.

“I’m not hungry,” Eiri growled.

“I could make you something.”

“What … are you deaf? I said I’m not hungry.”

“You can’t live on beer and cigarettes, you know,” Shuichi chided, softly.

“What are you … my mother, now? I don’t need you telling me how to take care of myself. I get that crap from everyone else; I don’t need it from you, too.”

“I’m just saying …”

“Just shut up!”

“But Yuki,” Shuichi insisted.

Flushed with anger and frustration, Eiri vented all of it upon his small violet-eyed lover. “Gods, why can’t you just shut up when I tell you to ‘Shut up’? Why do you have to keep pushing and pushing? Are you purposely trying to piss me off, because, I’ll tell you, you’re doing a great job? I’m tired, I’m NOT hungry and you’re giving me a headache. I have so much work to do and all YOU ever do is be in my way. The only time I ever seem to be able to get anything accomplished is when you’re not here.” Later that evening, as Eiri replayed the entire incident in his head, he still couldn’t figure out what made him say it, but in the heat of the moment he muttered under his breath, “I wish I’d never met you.”

The hurt in Shuichi’s huge violet eyes spoke volumes, even as he silently turned and walked away. The apartment was silent from then on, as Eiri went back to his computer to try to come up with some kind of tangible idea.

Oblivious to how much time had might have passed the next sound Eiri heard was the quiet click of the front door shutting. Minutes later there came a soft knock on the door to Hiro’s apartment. A teary-eyed Shuichi stood in his hallway with nothing but a small paper bag and the clothes on his back. Hiro drew the door back wide enough to allow his best friend entrance.

“What happened, Shuichi?”

Taking a small step forward, Shuichi collapsed on the floor, face hidden in his hands, sobbing. “He hates me.”

Seating himself next to his friend with an arm around Shuichi’s shoulders, Hiro shook his head. “He doesn’t hate you, Shuichi. He’s an asshole. You know that.”

“I made him really mad this time.”

“Shuichi, you’re always making him mad. I think he enjoys getting pissed off at you.”

“He’s always saying I’m annoying. But this time he got so mad.”

“I already told you he’s an asshole. He gets off on yelling at you. I just figured he was like that all the time. What makes this time so special?”

“I don’t know. He lives on beer and cigarettes. I just wanted him to eat something. I know he’s tired from working so hard on his new book, but I was worried. He’s gonna get sick. I guess I just nagged him too much and he said he wished he’d never met me.”

“He didn’t mean it, Shuichi, you should know that.”

“Yes … he did. He was so mad.”

“Shuichi … you’re imagining things. Yuki, as big of an idiot as I think he is, loves you. If that’s really what he said, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Just give him some time to cool down before you go home. I’m sure he’ll have forgotten everything by tomorrow.”

“He hates me,” Shuichi sobbed, curling into a tight little ball on Hiro’s floor.

Rolling his eyes, Hiro wrapped his arms around his best friend, hugging him tightly as his own heart ached. Shuichi meant the world to him and he couldn’t stand to see his best friend in such pain. He had half a mind to go out and kick Yuki’s ass ... if only that would settle the situation. But Hiro knew better. Yuki Eiri was the biggest, most stubborn jackass he’d ever known. However, he made Shuichi happy … most of the time, which was more important than anything else. Hiro was willing to overlook the man’s obvious flaws as long as he could see Shuichi smile. Today just wasn’t one of those days.

Several days passed with Shuichi staying at Hiro’s apartment and still there was no word from Yuki Eiri. At N-G, Hiro explained the situation to Suguru and K so they would know why Shuichi was noticeably absent from all meetings and practices. He wouldn’t talk to anyone but Hiro, wouldn’t leave the apartment; couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep; he pretty much lost all ability to function as a normal human being. Finally, one morning, as Hiro was getting ready to leave for rehearsal, Shuichi stopped him.

“I have to go,” he murmured, standing in Hiro’s doorway in a pose of resignation.

“What? What are you talking about Shuichi?”

“I have to get away from here, Hiro. Everything reminds me of Yuki.”

“But, where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet … just away.”

Hiro mulled it over for a few seconds then replied, “Okay. Wait ‘til we finish this next concert then you and I will go somewhere. We’ll take a vacation. Anywhere you want. That way our obligations are out of the way so Suguru and K won’t freak out. How’s that sound?”

Shuichi shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Hiro.”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

No sooner was Hiro out the door when Shuichi was on the phone, booking a flight to who-knows-where. A short taxi ride to the airport and he was in the air, bound for parts unknown.

There were no other people on the private charter, just Shuichi and the pilot. Crossing over Japan, Shuichi was awestruck by the splendor of it all. He’d been on tour with Bad Luck before, but he’d always been too busy thinking about the upcoming concert or the song he was writing, or Yuki, or a million other things to do with the group, to really appreciate the beauty of his own country.

Raptly staring down upon the landscape that spread out beneath them, Shuichi held his breath, “It’s so beautiful.”

They’d been in the air about twenty minutes when the aircraft rattled slightly, enough for the pilot to notice, but not enough to draw Shuichi’s attention. The pilot quickly began a diagnostic, trying to ascertain that everything was in proper condition with his aircraft. After a few breathless minutes, he figured it was just a fluke as everything seemed to be in order. He wrote it off as turbulence.

Just then the aircraft shuddered, more noticeably than it had done previously.

“Wha …” Shuichi looked wide-eyed at the pilot.

The pilot shook his head, “Just some turbulence, Mr. Shindo … nothing to worry about.” His words were meant to be reassuring, but his actions spoke otherwise, as he checked and rechecked the gauges, his brow furrowing as though something WAS wrong.

The small plane shuddered again, this time with a little more conviction.

“What’s going on?” asked Shuichi, really worried now.

“We’re losing power!” was the pilot’s panicky response as they began losing altitude.

The engine sputtered and coughed, the pilot fighting to keep the little plane under control, but losing the battle. He looked over at Shuichi, eyes wide with terror and realization as the forest rushed up to meet them. They would find pieces of wreckage scattered across nearly two miles of forest, sheared treetops and broken bits of aircraft, as the plane had careened and somersaulted its way through the trees to its final destination. The pilot’s body was still strapped into his seat in what was left of the cockpit. Somehow Shuichi had been thrown clear of the wreckage when the fuselage had exploded. His battered and broken body would be discovered in a clearing about thirty yards away, a shattered Bad Luck CD in his jacket pocket and a picture of himself with Yuki Eiri clutched in his right hand. Miraculously, he was still breathing, though just barely.

Yuki Eiri nearly collapsed when he received the phone call. Ignoring all traffic laws, he raced to the hospital in time to meet the helicopter Shuichi had been airlifted in. His eyes filled with tears at the sight of his Shuichi, always so bright and vibrant, strapped to a gurney looking as though death had already claimed him.

“Shuichi, you have to hold on,” he whispered to the still body, not certain that anyone actually heard him. Shuichi was rushed through Emergency and straight into Surgery. There was so much damage. The pall that hung over the hospital was so dense it was stifling. In the sterile confines of the hospital waiting room Eiri had to place a hand on the wall in an attempt to keep himself from falling over, resting his head upon it and closing his eyes. It was in this position that Tohma and Mika found him. “Oh, Eiri,” sobbed Mika, as she wrapped her arms around her younger brother’s shoulders, drawing him toward her. He accepted the comfort of her embrace, clutching at her like a drowning man, burrowing his face in her hair and sobbing silently. Tohma put a big-brotherly hand on Eiri’s back and asked if there was any new news. Eiri shook his head, not raising it from his sister’s shoulder. Hiro burst through the door at that moment, the rage seething from every pore of his body.

“This is your fault, damn it!” he screamed, pointing an accusing finger at Eiri.

“Nakano-san,” Suguru hissed, as he also entered the room, followed by Ryuichi, K and Sakano. Ryuichi was visibly shaken, strangling his ever-present pink bunny, Kumagoro.

“How is he?” Ryuichi asked, quietly, as though afraid of hearing the answer.

“I was just going to ask,” replied Tohma.

K made Hiro sit as far across the room as possible from Eiri, forcing him into compliance with the barrel of K’s gun pressed tightly to the side of Hiro’s temple. “Cool off,” was all he would say.

And there they all remained, sometimes pacing, sometimes talking, but for the most part just sitting silently, praying for another miracle. Hours passed but no one seemed to take any notice. Time had become irrelevant.

But the waiting was becoming unbearable.

“That’s it … I can’t take this anymore. I have to know what’s going on.” Tohma had just started walking toward the nurse’s station when a doctor strode silently through the swinging doors that led out from the Operating Rooms. “Yuki Eiri?” he inquired.

Eiri turned and walked slowly toward the man. Whispered words were exchanged between the two with the end result being the doctor squeezing Eiri’s shoulder gently and Eiri turning back to the expectant group with a mist of tears in his eyes.

It took a few moments for him to compose himself enough to share the doctor’s prognosis.

“What’s going on, Eiri? How is Shuichi?”

A hand over his mouth, Eiri shook his head as the sobs threatened to break free once again. “They did everything they could, but the damage was so extensive.”

“He’s not …”

Eiri shook his head again. “They have him on morphine right now. It’s all they can do for the pain. The doctor said that he’s in a lot of pain.”

“No!” Hiro wailed as Eiri broke down.

“The doctor said it might be a good thing for Shuichi to see us when he wakes up … if he wakes up.” A nurse walked up to them at that moment, gently ushering the group up a long hallway to a small room at the end. There, in the middle of needles and tubes and machines that flashed, blinked and made every conceivable sound, lay Shuichi, a tiny pink-haired doll in the middle of a Giger nightmare.

“Talk to him,” urged the nurse. “He can hear you and it might make him feel better.”

Eiri crouched next to the bed, his lips to Shuichi’s ear. He curled a strand of pink hair around his fingers and whispered Shuichi’s name. When he received no response, he repeated the name, louder, more urgently, “Shuichi.”

This time he was rewarded with a small moan.

Hiro knelt on the opposite side of the bed, wanting desperately to touch his best friend, but not knowing how to without hurting him. Shuichi looked so bad; cuts, scratches, stitches and bruises everywhere. “What were you thinking, baka?” he asked, quietly, and received a louder moan in response. “Damn it, Shuichi, I told you to wait.”

As the hushed group watched, eyelids slowly drew up revealing glazed violet eyes. They fluttered drowsily, unable to focus on anything, before shutting again. It would be two more hours before they got another response out of Shuichi. And this time it was a whopper.

Two hours after first opening his eyes Shuichi shot bolt upright in bed and screamed, startling the hell out of everyone present. K rushed to get the doctor while a frantic Eiri and Hiro tried to figure out how to calm Shuichi down. Tubes and needles flew about the room as Shuichi struggled against the very things that were keeping him alive. The doctor and nurses rushed in, herding the anxious group outside before setting to their work. Two nurses held Shuichi down while the doctor administered another morphine drip. After a minute or two Shuichi calmed enough for the nurses to replace everything he’d torn out.

“What was that?” gasped a terrified Ryuichi.

“We think he may be reliving the crash,” a sympathetic nurse replied, a hint of sorrow in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

The group filed somberly back into Shuichi’s room. The doctor was still checking machines when he turned to Eiri. “The morphine will dull the pain, but he seems to be building up a tolerance to it already.”

“Isn’t there anything else …?” Hiro began asking, only to be silenced with a shake of the doctor’s head. “Can we touch him?” was his second and final question.

“Once the morphine starts wearing off it won’t matter much, though it might make it easier for him knowing that you are all here, supporting him.”

Falling to his knees beside Shuichi’s bed Hiro dropped his head onto one of Shuichi’s hands, tears streaming down his face, his fingers twined with those of his best friend, trying frantically to think of a way to outsmart death when it came.

Where Hiro’s grief was highly visible and all-encompassing, Eiri’s threatened fill him up until it made him explode. “Let it out, Eiri-san,” Tohma told him, softly. “Let Shuichi know how you feel.” Eiri looked at his brother-in-law, a pleading look in his eyes and Tohma gently nudged him toward the bed.

K slid a chair behind him and Eiri sat, staring down at the face of the man he loved so very much. Picking up Shuichi’s other hand he marveled at how small the fingers were against his own. No wanting to intrude on their grief, the rest of the group backed away from the bed slightly, though not going too far for fear they would not be there when the dreaded moment finally came.

Hiro clung to Shuichi, sobbing, while Eiri ran his long fingers through the bright pink mass of Shuichi’s hair. When they got snagged he stopped, confused. Shuichi was always so meticulous about his hair. Then he withdrew his fingers and realized that he had just come upon a clot of dried blood. The tears came then, great fountains of them, threatening to be never-ending.

“Yuki.”

The sound was so small no one was certain that they’d actually heard it; until it came again, “Yuki.”

Eiri looked at Shuichi’s face and found the violet eyes open, though clouded with pain.

“Shuichi!” he whispered, urgently.

“You’re crying, Yuki. Why?”

Yuki Eiri, the brilliant writer of countless best selling novels, couldn’t find the words to answer that one simple question.

“What happened, Yuki? Where are we?” The violet eyes searched the room, unfocused but anxious.

“You were in an accident, Shuichi,” Ryuichi volunteered, when it appeared as though no one else would be able to.

“Sakuma-san. You’re here?”

“We’re all here, Shuichi,” Hiro responded, gently caressing his best friend’s cheek as he gestured to the rest of the people clustered within the small room.

It took a little while for Shuichi to assess his situation. “What happened? I can’t remember.”

It was K who related the actual story to Shuichi, being very careful to leave out anything about the doctor’s final diagnosis, though he figured Shuichi was a smart kid. It was his body. He probably already knew.

“Pilot?” Shuichi asked, the pain of his injuries returning.

“He didn’t make it,” K answered.

“Oh,” Shuichi groaned, as the pain began to intensify. His grip on Hiro’s and Eiri’s hands tightened. K ran to get the doctor, again, while the rest of the group crowded around the bed.

Eiri leaned over, nuzzling the bright pink hair as the singer cried. “I’m so sorry, Shuichi.”

“It hurts,” Shuichi whimpered, softly.

“I know,” Eiri sobbed.

Suddenly, the small frame was wracked with convulsions, and then it stilled.

“Shuichi!” Hiro cried, afraid that his friend had already left them.

When he opened his eyes this time they were clear, the same beautiful violet eyes that Yuki Eiri had fallen in love with.

“I’m sorry, Shuichi,” Eiri whispered. “I was so mean to you.”

The small hand squeezed his lightly. “It’s okay, Yuki. I ignore when you’re mean because I love you.” His gaze took in all of the friends crowded into his hospital room. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

The last comment took everyone by surprise. “Don’t talk like that, Shuichi,” chided Hiro, choking back the tears in his throat. “You’re going to get well and we’ll be sharing strawberry Pocky in no time.”

Shuichi smiled slightly, “Naa, Hiro. We both know better, but it’s not so bad.”

K returned with the doctor, who checked the morphine levels then pulled K aside and told him that there was no way they could give Shuichi any more or he would just overdose. He’d all but stopped responding to it, so it wouldn’t help alleviate the pain anyway.

Shuichi blinked several times, then said, “It’s okay.”

The violet eyes fixed on Yuki Eiri as the grip of the small hand tightened on his again.

“It’s not so bad. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Shuichi …” Eiri whispered, as he bent his head to lightly brush his lips across Shuichi’s. “Don’t leave me.”

“I love you, Yuki,” Shuichi murmured through the kiss.

With that Shindo Shuichi, lead singer of Bad Luck, Japan’s premier rock band gave his lover, Yuki Eiri, Japan’s best selling romance novelist one final, sad little smile … then, like a candle at the end of its wick, the light in those big violet eyes slowly went out.

“No!” wailed Hiro as the irregular beeping of Shuichi’s monitors became a monotonous whine. “Shuichi!”

Doctors and nurses rushed into the room with more medical machines on carts, but what was done, was done. Shindo Shuichi was gone.

K tugged a grieving Hiro into the hall, as Tohma and Mika tried to steer Eiri away from Shuichi’s bedside. Stubbornly, Eiri refused to budge. Ryuichi found K in the crowd and latched onto him and Hiro, both to console and be consoled. Everyone clung to each other for support as the gravity of the situation began to sink in.

“You should stay with us,” Tohma suggested, his arms around Eiri protectively. Eiri turned to look at him and began to cry. Wrapping his arms around Tohma’s waist, Eiri cried like he hadn’t since that dreadful day in New York. And Tohma held him, tightly, wishing for all world that he could have protected Eiri from this. “Don’t go home, Eiri-san. Not yet. Stay with us until everything is done.”

Eiri shook his head. “I have to go home.”

“Why? Let us take care of you, just for a little while. Eiri-san …”

“No.”

He waited until the medical staff was through removing all of the tubes and needles from Shuichi’s body. Then he placed a final kiss on the now cool lips, turned and walked out.

He didn’t get far before a nurse came running up to him, “Yuki Eiri-san! Yuki Eiri-san! This is for you.” She handed him a small manila envelope.

“What is it?” he asked, gruffly.

“It was everything Shindo-san had with him when they brought him in. It’s not much.” She looked at her shoes and added, “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Eiri mumbled, before opening the envelope and dumping its contents into the palm of his hand. There were many little pieces, but aside from a few coins and a partially melted I.D. it appeared like there were only two other items. One was a shattered CD of Bad Luck’s first recording. The other was a tattered and bloody picture of the two of them together, Shuichi’s arms wrapped around Eiri’s waist, his smile so radiant it seemed to make the entire picture glow.

“We had a hard time getting that out of his hand,” the nurse admitted. “He had a really tight grip on it. It seemed like he was afraid of losing it.”

Tears welled again, as Tohma gently took Eiri’s elbow and guided him down the hall, into the elevator and out one of the side doors. A crowd of reporters and fans filled the front entrance to the hospital, blocking the drive and spilling into the street, making a discreet departure through the front impossible for them. The rest of their disheveled group was outside, waiting, but before they could decide what their next move would be, all of the loss and anger building within Hiro finally hit the boiling point. “It’s your fault, damn it! All of this is your fault!” he raged, looking every inch battered and worn. “You’re the reason he left. You’re the reason he was on that damned plane. He should still be here. He WOULD still be here if it weren’t for you. You and your damn temper tantrums.” He grabbed Eiri by the front of his shirt, murderous thoughts reflecting in his eyes. Too weak and exhausted to retaliate, Eiri just allowed himself be shaken like a rag doll until K and Sakano grabbed Hiro and dragged him off of the older man. “It’s your fault, Yuki,” Hiro sobbed, falling against Bad Luck’s manager, “He’s dead and it’s all your fault.”

Shuichi’s funeral procession two days later was immense, broadcast on every station, a national day of mourning. Fans turned out by the thousands, lining roadways and packing the entrance to the cemetery though the actual ceremony was much smaller, more intimate. Just Yuki Eiri, flanked by Tohma, Mika and Tatsuha, Hiro, physically propped up between K and Sakano, Suguru and Ryuichi who was frantically clutching Kumagoro, looking every bit the man-child they all knew him to be. Yuki and Hiro, the two men who loved Shuichi best in the world, were, as usual, stark contrasts of one another. Hiro was inconsolable. No matter what the others did to try to comfort him, nothing helped. Yuki, on the other hand, remained stoic and unemotional, as frozen as a statue. No one knew of the conflict raging in his mind, as with everything else, he never shared his thoughts or feelings with any of them. Tohma knew him well, but Shuichi was the only one who understood him implicitly. And now Shuichi was gone.

And it was all Eiri’s fault.

Despite Tohma’s best attempts to convince him otherwise, Eiri kept hearing Hiro’s furious words, “It’s your fault!” They came to him while he was trying to write, they came to him in the shower, and they came to him when he was alone in bed knowing sleep would elude him for yet another long night.

Words of remembrance were recited.

“It’s my fault,” thought Eiri.

Flowers were presented.

“It’s my fault.”

Condolences were offered.

“It’s my fault.”

Eiri stood there silently at Shuichi’s graveside until the very last mourner was gone. Then he stood there alone. “It’s my fault.”

Days turned to weeks and eventually a month passed, oh so slowly. Four weeks of life continuing on around Yuki Eiri, but with absolutely no motivation for him to take part in it. Tohma would bring him food so he wouldn’t starve; he’d conduct any business he might have had by phone or through his computer, all other facets of life had become irrelevant to him. The only time he’d venture from the apartment they’d shared was to visit Shuichi’s grave and even this he did under cover of darkness.

This particular visit was different from the others, though. “Shuichi...” he whispered, lightly touching his fingers to the name inscribed on the new stone marker. “I can’t do this without you.” Thunder roared in the distance. His clothes were soaked with rain and tears, mingling together with splatters of mud. “It’s so hard. How did you make it look so easy?” Lightning flashed around him, but he took no notice. “I need you.” He withdrew the small handgun from his pocket, staring at it, knowing that Shuichi would have freaked knowing that he hadn’t gotten rid of it when he returned from New York.

Turning the gun over in his hand, he closed his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Shuichi ... forgive me.”

Another clap of thunder cut through the evening sky, this time echoing through the cemetery like an explosion. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm clouds rolled away and the stars appeared, followed by an eerie calm and absolute silence.