Ice Dance

A/n: I hope you all enjoy this! I dunno what to say… so yeah…

I do not own Gravitation

Ice Dance
Winter

December 25, 2005 (12:00a.m.)
“Merry Christmas, my Yuki.” Were the words that flowed so easily from my cold lips. My tall lover never really gave much attention to me, unless I was obviously in distress, and even then he managed to over look my need for him. There was a reason for it, it wasn’t anxiety nor is it his past, not anymore at least, now it’s the devastation I call work. How could that override his love for me? Was it money, greed, and a need for a plush and fresh environment? Sometimes I would pin him for obsessive compulsive disorder, but then I see the towering mess of paper that has began to overrule his office.
It was about a year ago when we first moved here, New York City, and the moment we had entered our apartment I couldn’t do anything put gawk at the large scale, yet comfortable, home we acquired. I know being a pop star and having you lover be a famous romance novelist might give you the idea that having a home would be an easy thing, but most forget that a few thousand dollars and an assistant can only get you the most plush house ever seen, but is lacks everything that makes it a home. Home is place were people who love each other create a nest like structure for the future. Our previous houses never really gave me the feeling that I would be able to live in such peace, but America has seemed to never let me down. That’s the first thing that had entered my mind, but then something rather magical happened… Yuki graced me with a breath taking kiss, not the usual cliché “Stop talking I just want you” kind of lip lock that he usually gave me, but instead a, “I know, I love you too.” I haven’t received such a kiss since then…
I feel at ease as I lean on the wall outside of his office, and all I want to do is go inside and sit on his warm lap as if he had offered for once.
There was a deep and unsettling silence that over took the air as the soft taps of keys halted, feeling slightly startled I say, “Yuki? Are you done working already?”
His response was a deep and slightly annoyed, “No.” and that’s all I could get out of him these days. Each time he utters that word it’s like nails to chalkboard, simply enraging. So I say something that usually would be too cowardly to say, “So when do you intend to stop ignoring me? Or should I just leave for the night, you know like I’ve been contemplating for weeks now.”
I would never leave Yuki alone… never would I abandon him either, permanently at least, but ever since he started becoming even more popular and my music has been recognized in American culture we’ve been slowly and painfully splitting apart. Well, painful for me at least, he’s been, as always, stoic and void of all visual emotion.
My tall and handsome lover didn’t respond but mouth kept on saying things that I might regret later, but for now my irritation has reached it’s peak, “Since you don’t want to spend our few vacations together maybe I should go find someone who will spend more time with me. I know Ryuichi would love to pay atten –” I sighed as my words were cut off by a violent slam caused by my lover slamming the door on me.
Have you ever taken so much crap that at one point you just stop thinking about what could happen and start thinking about what you want to happen? Even better, have you ever actually done the insane ideas that you current unstable state had produced? Well, at this point all I want is to make my novelist of a lover as angry and upset as I am now. Leaping up from my spot with an angry expression on my face I storm into our room and barge into my closet as I fail to observe the obvious. Tearing through each outfit I think I’ve reached such a state that everything revolves around making him feel as miserable as I do.
Finally after twenty good minutes of searching I found it, something that even my lover has never seen me in, a pair of tight slightly faded jeans that made him seem masculine, a fitting black polo shirt, and a faded blue polo jacket. I know it doesn’t seem sexy or drool worthy, but it something I wouldn’t even wear for him. Slipping on my usual tennis shoes and turned around with my wallet and keys in hand and began to walk out of the closet, but to my surprise he stood looking at my unusual attire. “What?” I said with venom seeping from my words. He didn’t make any movement… he only looked at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “What?” I repeated as he looked to the floor, “You don’t even want to look at me anymore?”
His silence startled me, but the reaction didn’t stay long. Soon my anger only grew as he silence stood. My mind was overdrive, I couldn’t even relax on the few long vacations that I was given. My best friend went back to Japan for the winter with his girlfriend and my other band mate went to London with his cousin to have a good time. Where was I? Stuck with someone who has seemed to have lost all interest in me, why did I have to have such a terrible Christmas?
Taking a short breath of air I walked out of the closet and as gently as I could I pushed past his warm body. He didn’t even seem to notice my leave and as I reached the front door I think I heard him laugh. Without a second thought I left the apartment… maybe for a few hours…maybe for the night…week…month…forever…

I had been out of the house for at least an hour, and I really didn’t want to return there. So I kept on walking in the nearly empty streets, sure there were still the people that surrounded me, but there was something about the air around me that made it seem like I was walking down this long open stretch without anyone by my side. I liked it, and I wanted more… To think that one year ago I would have never left the house in a huff just because he refused my company.
I’ve changed drastically since my life in Japan. I remember when I use to cry when the novelist refused me, and how I would do absolutely anything for him. Right when I got here I knew that everything was going to change, down to the last strand of my hair, the ironic part was that my hair was the first thing that changed. It was a month after I had gotten here and the usual antics where still here, him working and I was still too pathetic to write my own lyrics. I was sad that he wouldn’t say that he loved me, so I thought maybe I should do something about it… each time be became more angry with my same question, “Yuki… Do you love me?” So by the fifty millionth time I stopped asking and persisting and made something with my time. My appearance had been the same since I had first began singing for Bad Luck, with the exception of once dying my hair black to pink, to pink and then to blonde and then back to pink, it was time that I changed just like everyone else does. I was looking through a salon window and saw the women and men who diligently worked to make everyone’s hair to their greatest potential. I neglected to tell my manager of my sudden need for change, he had the pleasure of being as surprised as everyone else. I was late for a recording that day and he look furious until he turned to me as I stood at the doorway running my hand through my new deep red hair that seemed to leave my band in shock. Mr. Claude K. Winchester, my manager who was notorious for carrying a magnum, was not pleased. When they asked me why I had took such a drastic change all I could say was, “What? Can I not change like everyone else?” When my lover had seen it he was drinking hot coffee and managed to spill it all over his new expensive long sleeve button up shirt. He blamed it on me…
My changes didn’t stop there. I had taken liberty of making myself to my liking. I was looking for a perfect shirt to replace my lover’s coffee stained one a week later after the incident and during my search I managed to see something that caught my eye. Something that shone in the light like a diamond, but a more common name for it is ear piercing. Now when I walked into the tattoo and piercing parlor I saw the most interesting characters, from rich girls looking for someone to pierce the navels of the flat washboard stomachs that their wealthy fathers bought them to the burly bikers that took pride in all of their tattoos. I felt completely and utterly out of place as I walked up what seemed to be a pierceaholic and stuttered out nervously, “I-I would like a piercing..?” She looked down at me as she raised her triple pierced eyebrow and said in an odd accent, “That’s why most people are here, but we all can’t read minds so could you elaborate more?” Some people looked at me as if I were an idiot as others just chuckled at me, but lowering my voice I said, “What kind of piercings are there?” Her chuckle made my face flush as I heard everyone around me follow her laugh. “Alright, for a boy like you I would suggest a normal piercing in the earlobe.” Now this offended me for some reason, as if saying that I could not take the rest of the piercings. So I looked up at a large wall of what sort of piercings there are, each looked more painful then the last, but then my mouth went without my mind as I saw a name that overtook me, “Industrial, and could we make it quick I have some plans to keep up with.” She looked at me slightly confused and said, “You sure about that?” I nodded with false confidence as she gestured for me to follow her. Now as I sat in chair with her less then a second away from giving me something that I had only glanced at I realized what I was doing, but before I could react… well, let’s just say it was another surprise for dear Mr. K and my novelist…. It didn’t go well. Later I found that I liked the piercing, but sadly enough I was promised by my manager that if there was another surprise like that then it would be ripped out.
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk as I slap myself on the head for walking down memory lane instead of paying attention to where exactly I was going. Looking to my wrist I mentally slap myself for not remembering to bring my watch. “Shit.” Was my intelligent response as I turn to ask for the time only to have someone up there admitting their love to me. The store I was in front of was a shop for clocks, and as I turned to the time I saw that I was walking towards god knows what for well over three hours.
When I had first headed out I was in a pretty wealthy little place where everyone had a nice slice of comfort in their pockets, but now I didn’t feel quite as alone as I had when I first started walking. Everyone around was in ratty clothing and the air smelt of ash and death. I was trying to keep myself as unnoticeable as possible, but my expensive clothing and well-kept appearance caused a good handful of eyes to set on me. I turn to the clock shop to see that every clock inside was ancient and ratty, so really I didn’t know if that was the time. Just perfect, in the slums without the proper time and the sun wasn’t rising as quickly as I wanted it to. Frowning I look up and say softly, “So none of you really love me that much do you?”
I look around to feel my heart stop, every street sign and each name was spray painted black. Sort of like if you never lived here then you wouldn’t know how to get around and if you value your life then the moment you see it you better turn back where ever you came from.
My novelist once told me about this place, he had warned me about the brutal gangs that huddled in this low lives land and how when the gangs fought that whoever died had their clothing and valuables robbed by their own kind. He warned me never to come into this place, I promised him that and I always thought that I could at least give him that, but it seems that an unfortunate circumstance has caused me to break the very few promises that I intended on keeping.
Have you ever been touched by icy cold fingers, not just the usual kind that comes from being out too long in the winter, but the kind that seems to make your heart fall right through you? His icy cold digits wrapping themselves into my shoulder, and when my turned I felt the heart that had fallen through me stop. His eyes were large and yet his pupils were small and seemed to shift from side to side. His mouth was twisted into a mad grin as he said, “Ask the mountains.” My first thought was that I was being held by a madman, but as he went on I felt as if he entranced me, “If you ask the mountains it will grace you with a kiss from the wind and then you will understand why they fall instead of fly.” His voice wasn’t ragged as I had first expected to be, although heavy with whiskey, it seemed to have a storytellers touch. I felt myself being pulled into the dark only to have myself pulled into a light pole. The light had clicked off right as he began to explore my face with his dirty and grubby fingers, it felt as if velvet was rubbing all over me. I could vaguely notice that he had been missing both of his middle fingers, but then something rough and slightly moist had brushed against my cheek. His lips, cracked and slightly bloody grazed me as he began to explore my lips with them. I can’t stop him, but I feel myself sinking lower… he did not follow. I hear a sound of unzipping and in front of me I see something that makes me jolt back and knock my head into the light pole, my voice is caught in my throat as I see it in all of its glory right in front of my face. He looked at me with eyes full of need as he hissed out, “I am your angel.”
BANG! That noise managed to snap me out of entrancement and as soon as I realized that a very dead man had landed on me then I finally blacked out.

Dreaming, isn’t it amazing, like flying. You forget everything that you should remember and see things that you never planned on remembering. You can only dream during deep sleep and the deeper you dive the more you can see. I can see things, and they can’t hurt me. I once had a dream that everything was as it seemed, there was never any mystery. I love sleeping, it’s something that no one can take from me… knowing that no one can see what you dream of, no matter what it is. No can laugh at me for dreaming that every one treated each other as they wished to be treated. I love it, and I always have that dream where I question my homosexuality over and over and over again, and each time someone always wakes me… I never get to think whether it’s what I like. Homosexuality, in that dream it doesn’t just mean a sexual orientation, it means why do I live and do everything that I do? Why do I get out bed in the morning and what coaxes me back in it at night? I plan on sleeping, so I say the same thing to everyone.
Don’t wake me…

December 26, 2005 (7:00a.m.)

“Shindou!” I feel as if I’ve been hit with a truck. “Shindou!” and someone out there is tempting me to run them over too. “Shin –” “Hush, Ayaka, we don’t need you to get all hysterical on us!” Yep, they’re getting the truck and I have a name for the list now. “Don’t tell me to hush Fujisaki! Unlike you I’m worried.” Make that two.
I try to make a noise, but all that manages to come out a rather frightening groan. There is silence and I hate it so I try to say something again, but this time it only sounds like a gurgle.
“Is he alive?” No, I’m pretty dead. I hear a more masculine voice say, “He is once I get my hands on him!” Yep, like I said before, I’m dead, but I’m taking the two loud mouths that with me.
Slowly I peal open my eyes to be blinded by a bright light. Groaning I try to tell them to turn off the light. This time I get words “light” and “off” out, and someone out there managed to get the gist and turned out the blinding white lights.
Everyone I knew was gathered around me, everyone except the person I wanted to see. My lover was no where to be seen. I tried to swallow down the sandpaper feeling that filled my mouth, but to no avail. Clearing my throat and said in a hoarse and raspy voice “Water.” Like magic someone brought a glass of ice cold water to my lips and I drank greedily almost to the point that I was choking. My savior was Mr. Claude K. Winchester. My heart stopped as he gave me the famous ‘ I’m going to blow a hole through your head’ look, but the searing pain of a bullet through the head never came.
No one seemed to be speaking anymore, so I situate myself in a sitting position and look to everyone expecting answers, but still no one provides any. It might be because I didn’t ask for them, but my friends would have told me even if I was begging them no to. So finally I croaked out, “What happened.” I looked again for someone to speak, but no one wanted to tell me. So I looked from person to person. Suguru, Hiro, Ayaka, Michael, Judy, and then my eyes finally land on K. “You shot him.” I stated as if it were a fact more than a question. He nodded and I looked down at my sheets and said, “So what happened?”
Claude K. Winchester is man, from America, who is compulsive, loud, and in some sense crazy. This is the gun wielding American manager that at one point worked for the Secret Service, and he was never afraid to say anything he thought, which most of the time is a threat. Well this man looked at me with his usually sparkling blue eyes and said in a such a serious tone that you’d think he’s telling someone their about to die from cancer, “You tell me, Shuichi.”
For the second time in this lifetime I think I heart attack as I searched from something to say, but the only thing that came out was, “We were talking…” Now the look they gave me would be priceless in any other situation, but in this particular one it seemed to frighten me more than the previous silence.
K sat down next to my bed and looked at me with his crystal blue eyes in silence. Those eyes that could tear right through you, and he always managed to land on me with that harsh look. The same look he gave me when ASK reformed and got a record deal in New York the week after my lover and I moved here. Apparently they adored the music, the style, and especially the lead singer Taki Aizawa. Aizawa had made a recovery from the hospital and from there had been working again with his band to become better then Bad Luck. When they became popular those intense eyes looked at me and asked whether he should do something about it I had the courage to say no, but when he said his wife was representing them I felt that stare in my direction. But there has never been a worse time then when K asked me whether his wife had been cheating on him. “Shuichi, that man didn’t have a tongue.”
Many things came to mind, but then I asked, “What else was he missing..?”
K looked down for a moment but then back at me with that expression I hated so much, hesitation… reluctance… maybe he was contemplating whether he should lie and say that he didn’t know. I really didn’t know that he was planning to say, but I know that I was going to stop him, “K, just tell me exactly what he was missing. I need to know…”
K’s eyes softened as he said to me, “That man’s name was Carbry, at least that’s what the local bums called him, something about some Irish heritage.” K stopped for a moment and at that point I wished he hadn’t. K wore the same exact expression that he had when I had told him if his wife had been cheating on him. Each change of expression resembled when I told him how I had always thought that she had an odd liking for Aizawa, how she favored him over me… how I found her writhing under Aizawa’s touch in K’s living room when he had asked me to take his son home because Michael wasn’t feeling well. I had tried to cover the little boy’s eyes but he had informed that he knew about his mothers “special friend”. I can still recall the words I told him, I had said that she wasn’t worth his time… but I didn’t really say that… that’s just what I should have said. Really I told him that I didn’t know.
“He was one of the local bums. Several years ago he was a wealthy man with two daughters and one beautiful modeling wife. Something went wrong, he became an abuser of shooting up heroin and snorting cocaine. His began to abuse his wife. Around this time, a few years go, in public he at first started with giving her rude hand gestures and as much as she begged his behavior just escalated. His began to scream inappropriate things to his wife and in front of a large crowd of people forced his nine year old daughter to give him head. He was arrested only to escape and murder his wife and eldest daughter, later he was found and thrown into jail. Yet again he managed to pay someone to let him our just to rape his other daughter’s fiancé, which was a man, and force him to shoot her. He was locked up again, until recently where he attacked you Shuichi…” K looked towards me as if he had answered the question.
“No.” I said through gritted teeth, “What was he missing? His tongue and both of his middle fingers! What else?”
K ignored my outburst and went on, “When I had found him on you I shot him… He had landed on you so I had gotten him off. Yuki called and asked if I had seen you, apparently you were gone for well over five hours so I went out to investigate. I had gotten word from a restaurant owner that you headed down and it seemed that quite a few people noticed you, thinking that you were some Shuichi Shindou look alike, and they saw you going down the way… So that’s how I found you… When I picked him his coat slid right off and he was missing a big chunk where the inside of his elbow should be… I called the ambulance and when I got to the mortician she said that he was missing his tongue, both middle fingers, both of his ears, the insides of his elbows, both pinky toes, and his… penis. His penis had been missing for only about twenty minutes, so he was bleeding all over you…”
I think for a moment I went temporarily insane because I began to laugh and laugh and laugh. I felt happy for a brief moment as I looked to K, then I looked to Judy and back to K, “Aizawa, it was with Aizawa...” He looked confused for a second, but then I saw as it finally clicked and he turned sharply to his wife and said, “You bitch.” K stormed out of the room as I laughed and laughed at her confused and then heartbroken expression. She ran out of her seat, no before giving me a dirty look, and chased after her husband. She didn’t even notice that her son was still sitting in the seat on the right side of the wall.
Suguru was looking at me in an odd manner, and Hiro along with Ayaka were doing the same. Finally the silence was broken, “How do you feel Mr. Shindou?” It was Michael who had made the first move to communicate with me. I looked at him and said, “Have you seen an old blind dog that had only three legs?”

A/n: Tada! Right on time to be an hour after Christmas! Ha! I hope you all don’t mind all the errors! I didn’t have the patience nor did I have the energy to re-read this! I have to get up early to beat the rush for after Christmas sales! Goodnight! And before I forget, PLEASE REVIEW!