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When Uesugi Eiri was sixteen, two very important people – at least to him – died. One, a man, was a beloved teacher, a kind friend. A man who was also a rapist and a vicious drunk. The other was a child, a boy on the verge of manhood, a child who was sold, betrayed and violated.
When he was sixteen, Uesugi Eiri was murdered, and from the ashes of shattered innocence and the bloodstains of guilt, rose a man who was neither man nor child, neither innocent nor guilty.
When he was sixteen, Uesugi Eiri thought he had experienced as much pain as any human being could possibly be expected to bear. Looking around him this night, in the hospital, in the greeny white glare of fluorescent lights, he wondered how he could have been so naïve as to think that.
Held in the crook of his good arm was Shuichi, half-naked, his hair caked with blood and his fair skin still marked by it where the necessary cleaning that had occurred before he was treated had failed to remove it. Shuichi was silent now, shivering with cold, deep shock and weariness. The only words he'd spoken, other than to try to answer the doctor's questions, were a weak 'Please, Yuki' when the woman, Manx had tried to make them both go home. Eiri understood. Behind the swing doors – who knew exactly where – someone lay injured, possibly dying. A good, kind man who had been injured trying to help keep Shuichi alive. It was the least they could do, to keep a vigil until they knew if he would live.
A couple of seats away was Omi, his normally cheerful face grim. Eiri remembered that he too had lost his innocence as a child, taken from his home to be sold like any other commodity. And yet, unless you knew that, you would never guess it from his demeanour.
Beside him sat Ken. Normal-looking, energetic, impatient Ken. Ken who had ripped a man's spine out with his hands a couple of hours previously. Ken who had carried Shuichi with infinite gentleness to the car and then into the emergency room, holding Shuichi as he was examined, helping him undress, explaining to the doctors what Shuichi was too shocked to manage, and Eiri too lacking in formation to convey. Ken, who looked like everyone's brother, and who was a ruthless killer.
And in the corner, clasping a watch between his hands, his expression stony and his eyes fathomless in their grief, was Aya. Eiri knew the expression well. It was the face of someone who had – or may be on the verge of – losing the person most dear to him in the world. Aya was deaf to everything going on around him, yet doubtless alert for the slightest hint of news about his lover. Aya had also killed that night.
But none of these young men looked like killers now. They just looked tired, and worried, and old beyond their years. He didn't want to think about how they would feel if Yohji died. He only had energy to worry about Shuichi, and himself.
Shuichi's silence bothered him. He'd become used to ignoring the wailing and the cloud of frantic noise that Shuichi carried around him, because that was the sign of an operational Shuichi. A quiet Shuichi, a withdrawn Shuichi, was a broken Shuichi, and Eiri had become adept at tuning out the static so he could hear the true signal of Shuichi's well-being. He'd become adept because Shuichi's happiness meant less pain for him. It was simply positive reinforcement.
At last the doctor came and pronounced and there was an immediate lessening of tension in the room. Aya stalked off with a purpose but the rest of them sagged with tiredness. Shuichi became slack in his hold, and when Manx urged them to leave once more, and Omi suggested returning to the safe house, he was relieved and grateful. He couldn't face Tohma's house or the hassle of a hotel right now, even if Shuichi would even be allowed to check into one.
Ken carried Shuichi to the car and drove them carefully back to the house where Omi was waiting for them. The two agents took Shuichi from him, Omi murmuring that Shuichi would be more comfortable if he were cleaned of the blood, and Eiri tried not to think why the young man said this as if he was very familiar with the sensation.
Shuichi let Omi strip him, his eyes dark and vacant, but he whimpered when Eiri thought to withdraw as Ken had, to give him the kid a little privacy. "Please, stay, Uesugi-san," Omi had said quietly, and even though he could do nothing to help, could hardly keep his eyes open, he never thought of not obeying.
With depressing efficiency, Omi washed the blood from Shuichi's hair and wiped his fair skin. He could do nothing, of course, about the red marks, the livid bruising, the pale bandages which hid broken bones. Nor could he fill the emptiness in Shuichi's expression. "We need pyjamas," Omi murmured, and Eiri stirred.
"I'll get them," he said, glad to do something concrete, but Shuichi moaned a little, and when Eiri looked, a tear spilled down Shuichi's cheek, as his thin body began to tremble. "Uesugi-san, please, you hold him, I'll find the clothes," Omi said firmly, and swapped places with him, handing a towel-wrapped Shuichi to him.
Eiri expected a flood of crying, but only a single tear emerged as Shuichi trembled like a newborn colt in his arms. He made no sound. "I'm sorry," Eiri murmured into his hair, and he was. For all of it, for getting Shuichi involved in something which despoiled what was left of his lovely innocence, for getting him hurt and for once again, not being there to protect him. And once again, Shuichi had been injured trying to protect him. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Ken returned and with Omi's help, they got Shuichi dressed and into Eiri's bed. Eiri would have climbed in as he was, but Omi gently reminded him that he also was covered in blood and smelled. Of death, he did not say out loud, but Eiri heard it any way.
It was intolerable that he should have to take his clothes off, struggle with his own injuries and somehow get clean, but he wouldn't ask the others for help, and would have refused it if they'd offered. He was so tired and he hurt all over. But he deserved it for his failure, so he would not complain.
Omi had waited with Shuichi, but his lover was asleep in a suspiciously deep way which spoke of medication. Omi smiled at him as he came back in the room. "Do you need any assistance, Uesugi-san?"
"No. Thank you." He hesitated. "If ... if there is any word about Yohji, please wake us. He'll want to know, whatever the time is."
"I will, but Yohji-kun will be fine. He always is."
Always? Eiri didn't want to think about that either. He crawled under the covers, realised there was literally no way to lie without pain that let him hold Shuichi, and decided that the comfort of being close to his lover outweighed the physical pain. Perhaps he would feel differently in the morning, but right now, he needed to be as close to Shuichi as Shuichi usually wanted to be with him. The irony was not lost on Eiri.
Someone had redecorated the old apartment, he realised. Strange that they seemed to have redone it the same as he remembered it, just one or two things different to remind him that it wasn't the same.
The floorboards still echoed the way he remembered, as if the apartment was devoid of life, but he knew there was someone there. He could see them, crouched in the shadows. "Shuichi?"
Wait, that was wrong. Why would Shuichi be here? He didn't belong here.
"Yuki?"
But Yuki was gone too, long gone and dead. "Why are you here, Shuichi?"
There was no answer. He drew closer. Strange – Shuichi had grown taller in the two years he'd known him, and was now only a couple of inches shorter than him, although he was as slight and child-like as ever. But looking at him now, Eiri wondered at how small he looked, as if he was a much younger person. Tiny. Innocent.
Holding a gun. "Shuichi, please give me that. You don't want to use a gun." His insides were like ice, as he looked at the huge dark metal weapon in Shuichi's small hands. "Give it to me, Shuichi."
Shuichi's head lifted. His hair seemed less pink somehow, more a golden brown. But his eyes were familiar. "I'm sorry, Yuki," he said miserably, lifting the gun and pointing it at Eiri. "I'm really sorry."
He had no time to dodge the bullet that was fired at him.
Eiri woke with a painful gasp, his body on fire with agony. Sunlight through the windows told him he'd been asleep for several hours, but since they hadn't got to bed until nearly six am, that didn't mean much. Beside him, Shuichi hadn't stirred.
He wanted to stay in case Shuichi woke confused, but at the same time, he couldn't bear to fall asleep again or even just to lie quietly with all the aches assailing him. Torn between conflicting desires, he almost moaned when Omi appeared in the doorway. "Help me," he whispered, knowing he sounded pathetic, but still, he needed the assistance.
"I heard you shouting, Uesugi-san. Are you all right?"
"I need someone to stay with him. I have to get up."
Omi frowned, but didn't argue. "Ken is making breakfast. I'll sit with Shindou-kun until he's awake."
"Thank you."
He climbed slowly out of the bed and looked about helplessly for his robe. He felt so weak and useless this morning and it angered him. Omi guessed what he was after, found the garment and silently handed it to him. "Uesugi-san, you can sleep in my room, if you want."
"No! No, it's okay. I just ... just stay with him, please," Eiri said in a rush and left the room before he could be questioned about his incoherent state.
The savoury smell of cooking food drew him to the kitchen, even though he could not identify hunger as such in himself. Ken looked cheerful even though he could have had even less sleep than Eiri had. "Good morning, Uesugi-san. I'm surprised to see you up."
"I ... I couldn't sleep."
Ken just grunted and went back to turning his eggs. "I'm making scrambled, that okay with you?"
"Coffee, please. Just coffee."
"Okay. If you want to smoke, I don't mind."
"I'm out." He really did want a cigarette, but it wasn't worth the hassle of arranging some at this hour. Coffee would help.
Ken managed to tempt him to a small helping of eggs and toast, which sat uneasily on his stomach but, he supposed, was better for his stomach than coffee on its own. His ulcer had finally healed, and Shuichi had got them both into a routine of eating breakfast, a routine Eiri nonetheless always broke when Shuichi was away on tour. He supposed that he'd end up with another ulcer one of these days. "Any word on Yohji?"
"None, but that's good. Aya would call if there was a problem."
Eiri found his fractured nerves settling a little with Ken's calm presence, the food and the warm drink in his hands. Watching the other man eat seemed astonishingly normal after the night they'd had. "Omi implied Yohji had been injured like this before?"
"Oh, yeah, we all have."
"How unpleasant."
Ken just grinned. "That too. We all heal pretty quickly, and we try to keep in shape. Well, I do, anyway. Yohji and his cigarettes...." He shook his head disgustedly.
"You're in a dangerous occupation. Odd for four such young men to carry so much responsibility."
Ken's guard went right up at Eiri's words. "I can't talk to you about our job, Uesugi-san, I'm sorry."
"My apologies." Eiri had only been making conversation, a skill at which he was only passing good on his best day. "A novelist is always looking for material."
To his relief, Ken grinned. "Hey, we'll be in one of your books? Cool!"
"Possibly." He forced a smile on his face to lighten the atmosphere.
A noise in the doorway made him turn, and he saw Shuichi there, rubbing his eyes and looking like a lost five year old. "Yuki? You weren't there when I woke up," Shuichi grumbled in a petulant, weary voice.
Eiri put his hand out and Shuichi came over obediently, sitting on the chair next to him. "You should go back to bed," Eiri said, but Shuichi shook his head.
"Would you like some breakfast, Shindou-kun?" Ken asked. Omi had come into the kitchen and was making some toast.
But Shuichi only shook his head again, which alarmed Eiri. Shuichi was the voice of Bad Luck, but he was also unquestionably its stomach, joyfully vacuuming up snack food as he worked, and never not finishing everything put before him. For him to not be hungry was nearly as extraordinary as him saying he wouldn't care to sing with Sakuma Ryuuichi.
"Shuichi, you need to eat, " Eiri said gruffly, his worry coming out as a bark. Shuichi flinched.
"Uesugi-san, perhaps...."
"I can look after him!" Eiri snapped at Omi. Ken frowned at him. "I'm sorry," he immediately said. "Shuichi, please...."
"Uesugi-san, he'll be all right," Ken said gently. "Sometimes after you get injured, it's hard to eat."
Shuichi didn't say anything to that, and Eiri doubted that was the problem, but he also realised he was being ridiculous. It wasn't like Shuichi would fade away and die from a missed meal.
Omi made tea, and Shuichi accepted that, at least, but the food didn't tempt him at all. Eiri watched him with a growing sense of helplessness, just the way he'd felt when that bastard, Aizawa Tachi, had attacked Shuichi two years ago. Shuichi had apparently come through that unscathed, but this – this was a much worse thing to deal with, being kidnapped and tortured and then seeing a man decapitated in front of you. It was almost certainly worse than doing the killing oneself.
Omi and Ken talked quietly to each other, but they seemed to recognise that their guests were not really in a mood to chat. Shuichi drank his tea and refused to look at Eiri, although he was more than happy to sit almost in Eiri's lap, something that Eiri found he also wanted.
A muttered question got Eiri the information that it was ten o'clock, and the unasked for additional information that Manx would be there shortly. Indeed, the woman came in only a few minutes later. She was immediately quizzed about Yohji – the news was excellent. He was awake, although not particularly coherent because of a severe concussion, and his condition had been upgraded further. Aya, apparently, could not be persuaded to leave his side. That got the first spark of reaction out of Shuichi since he'd woken up, a tiny, brief smile, before his eyes shuttered again.
Completely business-like, Manx seemed oblivious to his misery as she started the debriefing. She demanded Omi tell her what had occurred at the concert up to when he had separated from Yohji. Then it was Shuichi's turn. Eiri's knowledge of events consisted of receiving the phone call from Snow Leopard and his own precipitous departure from the safe house, so he also wanted to know how it was that things had gone so disastrously wrong. In a small voice, his head still hanging, Shuichi described how he had wanted to stop to buy cigarettes for Eiri, and how Yohji, sensibly, had refused.
"And then ... we were driving along and I realised we were passing the apartment ...." His voice trailed away to nothing.
Manx went very still, her lips thin. It was Omi who asked gently, "And then what did you do, Shindou-kun?"
Shuichi chewed his lip. "I ... I ...thought... Yuki had been so angry and I thought ... if I ran quickly and got the cigarettes...."
Eiri froze. "Shuichi, did you leave the car to get me cigarettes? You made Yohji chase you?"
"Yes," Shuichi said, not looking at him.
"That was incredibly stupid, you realise that?" Eiri could have killed himself for saying it but the words slipped out without any will on his part.
"Yes," Shuichi whispered. "Yuki...."
"Shindou-kun, we're not here to find blame," Manx said, somewhat unconvincingly. "I'm just trying to determine how our system broke down. Clearly Yohji lost control of the situation."
"No, it was my fault!" Shuichi yelled. "If I hadn't run away, Yohji wouldn't have been shot!" At last he looked at Eiri, but Eiri wished he hadn't, because he didn't want to see the horrible guilt in his lover's big eyes. "And I nearly got you killed too, Yuki. You should hate me!"
He hugged himself, and began to tremble, his eyes filling with tears. Eiri didn't know what to do. What Shuichi had said was nothing more than the truth – but at the same time, the kid really couldn't possibly be expected to realise the true evil of who they were dealing with. No one should.
He reached out a hand that shook as much as Shuichi, and put it on Shuichi's shoulder. Instantly, Shuichi flung himself at Eiri, and Eiri was hard pressed not to scream as the bullet wound was hit. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," Shuichi sobbed. Yuki could only pat his back and murmur, "it's all right," lying as he did so. It wasn't all right. But it also couldn't be helped, not now. Nor did Shuichi bear sole or even the major blame for the cock up. Eiri was uncomfortably aware that Manx's sharp attention would shortly turn on him.
She waited with barely disguised impatience, and finally Eiri had to shake Shuichi carefully and make him finish the story. He explained how they had been ambushed, and Yohji knocked out. Snow Leopard had beaten him and broken his hand in an attempt to make him reveal Eiri's location. Eiri was both proud and horrified at Shuichi's bravery. It only remained for Shuichi to explain how Yohji had been shot trying to stop the torture.
Manx hmmmed to herself. Omi and Ken weren't revealing anything in their expressions, but Eiri knew they had to be angry at the unnecessary injury to their team mate. Eiri didn't wait for Manx to ask him about his role. "Snow Leopard answered the phone when I called Shuichi, and told me to come alone to my apartment or he'd kill him. I didn't stop to think, and took Aya's car."
"He's probably going to be pissed with you about that," Ken joked.
"Yes, I know."
Shuichi lifted his head and looked at Eiri with limpid eyes. "Yuki, you shouldn't have come alone."
"I didn't want to deal with the hassle of arranging your estate, idiot." Omi gasped, but Ken grinned. Shuichi smiled uncertainly, obviously not sure Eiri was joking. "Stupid brat, I was worried."
"Oh," Shuichi said with eyes wide open. "Yuki!" He hugged Eiri, who grunted in pain.
"Shindou-kun, Uesugi-san is still injured," Omi pointed out, which made Shuichi jump back.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I can't do anything right."
Rather to his own surprise, Eiri pulled him back into the hug. "Don't be an idiot." Shuichi snuggled into his embrace, and Eiri felt how right it was that he did.
Manx made some notes, and stood. "That's all seems clear, and the rest of the information we have. Omi, Ken, I may want to speak to you later, but for now, please take care of taking down the house. Uesugi-san, you and Shindou-san will need to leave. I can have Ken drive you to Seguchi-san's house or wherever you wish. A hotel, perhaps?"
Eiri shuddered to think of the press pack he and Shuichi would face if they turned up at a hotel like this. "No, Tohma's place is fine. I need to pack my things ...."
"We'll take care of that," Omi said cheerfully. "Take it easy and I'll call Seguchi-san for you."
Eiri sat with Shuichi in his arms, letting the whirlwind of activity take place around him. Shuichi seemed to be falling asleep again, but kept shifting restlessly as if he was in pain – which he probably was. Eiri snagged Omi as he flew past and asked for Shuichi's medication, which was produced. After taking it, Shuichi was quiet and still, but without the tension that had been present before.
In less than an hour, the house was ready to be vacated, and Ken was driving Eiri's car to Seguchi's house. Shuichi roused himself during the journey, and wanted to know if they would ever see Ken and Omi again. "I doubt it, Shindou-kun," Ken said. "The case is finished."
Shuichi appealed to Eiri who could only shrug. "But ... Yohji ... please, let me know how we can contact you?"
Ken glanced at Eiri in the rear view mirror. "If you need to contact us, ask Seguchi-san. And I promise we'll let him know about Yohji. Is that good enough?"
"But...."
"Shuichi, enough. Let the man drive."
Shuichi pouted a little, which gladdened Eiri's heart. If he was back to himself enough to pout, surely he was feeling better.
Eiri could tell Tohma was really trying not to be over-solicitous, and Mika was killing herself doing the same, but even their restrained concern was more than he could easily bear. He realised that he would have to capitulate and take some pain medication very soon or he would collapse. Mika, to his relief, took Shuichi in hand and led him away. Tohma seemed disposed to talk, and Eiri gritted his teeth for the ordeal. He owed this man a lot and a little conversation wouldn't literally kill him, however much he wanted to just rest.
"You're very pale, Eiri-san," Tohma said, offering him whisky despite the ludicrous hour.
Eiri accepted the offer. Perhaps he wouldn't dream if he drank. "It's been a long night."
"They said your injuries were slightly aggravated."
"I'm fine. Shuichi is the one who really got hurt – him and Yohji of course."
"Yes, I understand. I hear Yohji-san is likely to recover."
"Yes. I hope so. I wouldn't want his death on my conscience."
Tohma gave him a sharp look, almost of rebuke. "And Shindou-kun?"
"He'll be fine. He's very shaken up. I don't know about the tour. His hand ... perhaps make up can deal with the bruising on his face?"
"We can postpone the first concert if we have to – it's the least important on our schedule. You still don't plan to come with him?"
"I'll think about it."
"If you don't want to return to your apartment, you can stay here or at one of our other homes, you know that. I know Mika is worried sick about you."
"Just Mika?"
Tohma's laser-like gaze met his eyes. "All of us, Eiri-san. I surely don't need to say that."
"No."
Tohma sipped his drink. "I... I imagine this has brought back some unpleasant memories for you. If you need any help...or you want to talk about it...."
"Shuichi is the one who's suffered, Tohma. Not me."
"Are you sure about that, Eiri-san?"
He was always deceived by his polite manner and apparently guileless expression into forgetting just how sharp Tohma was, . He sipped some of the unwatered scotch as a way of delaying. "I said...," he started to say, but then had to put the glass down or be forced to drop it as pain lanced through his head.
"Eiri-san?"
God dammit, it had been months since.... "Sorry...migraine," he gasped.
Fortunately, that was all he had to say. Tohma was used to these, now blessedly rare, attacks, and led him into a darkened bedroom and helped him lie down. "Tohma – there are some pills," Eiri gasped, admitting defeat and unable to be stoic any more.
He didn't even have to describe where they were, Tohma knew his habits so well, and he returned in less than a minute with the dose and some water. He held Eiri up as he swallowed the painkillers, and laid a cool dry hand on his forehead as he lay back, exhausted and almost blind from the pain. "Sleep, Eiri-san," Tohma said in his gentle, quiet voice. "You're safe here."
Eiri could only obey without struggle, his body overcoming any will he had to fight the command.
His first thought on waking was that his head hurt far less than it had, and that his body was less obviously at war with himself. It was now dark, so Eiri guessed he had slept the day away, which would explain the improvement in his condition.
He moved and felt a warm presence in the bed against him – turning his head, he saw it was Shuichi, his pink hair just barely visible in the gentle light coming from the windows. He was puzzled at finding him there – he was sure Mika would have found Shuichi a room of his own – but at the same time, he was relieved. He'd felt guilty at letting his sister take him off like that, but Mika had always been curiously concerned about Shuichi, and Shuichi liked her and her baby, so Eiri thought not too much harm would come from it. All the same, an ache in his heart eased as he put his hand out and touched Shuichi's shoulder.
He drew closer to Shuichi and draped his good arm carefully over his lover, concerned both for his own comfort and not to wake Shuichi. To sleep so soundly was, Eiri thought, healthy and healing for the kid. The gods knew how that healing had been denied to him for so long. As soon as his body came in contact with Shuichi's, Shuichi wriggled slightly, as he often did, trying to get closer to Eiri in an unconscious instinct rather like a puppy's. It was endearing – not that all his puppy-like behaviours were, Eiri thought wryly. He had come to accept, even welcome, the annoying habits though. To feel irritation, to be bothered by another's actions, was to be alive. And that was something Shuichi had always done effortlessly – he made Eiri feel alive.
Shuichi was warm against his body. He always radiated an impossible amount of heat, intolerable in summer, but delicious in winter, and if Eiri had not had deeply ingrained reservations about sleeping with anyone, Shuichi would have been always welcome in his bed for that reason alone. But after the night before, those reservations had disappeared like snow on a brazier. The idea of sleeping anywhere other than with Shuichi beside him seemed a horrifying idea.
His grip tightened as his thoughts darkened, and Shuichi moved again, this time with a purpose. He turned his head and blinked slowly as his eyes met Eiri's. "Yuki," he said uncertainly. "Did I wake you up?"
"No, I woke you," Eiri said gently, touching the bruised face. "Go back to sleep."
Shuichi nodded, his eyes drifting shut, but he shuffled closer, the sweet curve of his butt fitting against Eiri's groin. To his horror, Eiri felt himself harden, and he began to back away, not wanting his inconvenient desire to be detected. But Shuichi followed him back, and when he persisted, so did Shuichi. "Yuki? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Go back to sleep."
Shuichi rolled over. "Do you want to have sex?" he asked innocently.
"Idiot, you can hardly keep your eyes open," he said gruffly, even as Shuichi's words hit him with a burst of warmth that spread from his groin like a flame.
"But ... I don't mind, Yuki. I want you."
Oh, gods. He couldn't, he really couldn't. He reached out and touched Shuichi's chest. Mika had found him some clean pyjamas – most likely Tohma's – silk, warm and slippery to his touch. It was all he could do to keep himself from clutching Shuichi, ripping the fine material from his perfect body and taking him, injuries be damned. It was rare for him to feel such overwhelming lust, and it frightened him a little.
Shuichi was staring at him in concern, and Eiri made himself smile. "Let me," he said, running his hand down the front of Shuichi's body, down to his blanket-hidden stomach, lower until he found the waist band of the expensive pyjama pants. Shuichi gasped out his name, and went to grab his hand, until he realised that he was using his injured fingers, and stopped, wincing. "Shhh, lie still," Eiri said.
"What are you doing, Yuki?"
"Making you feel good. Lie still."
Shuichi obeyed, but watched him with wide, worried eyes. It was almost a relief to hide himself from that open gaze as he lowered his head, shoving the waist band down over Shuichi's slim hips and releasing his half-hard cock. He put his hand on it and Shuichi arched, always so gratifyingly responsive in bed, not like some of the hard, ambitious women he'd liked to screw before Shuichi had crashed into his life, women who were all art and nail varnish, practiced cries and carefully crafted scents calculated to drive him to a peak of passion and leave him empty and self-disgusted in the morning. There was not a scrap of artifice or calculation in Shuichi, no skill that was not pure instinct, nor a response that he put the slightest intellect into. He lived on his emotions, and he fucked on them too.
His cock tasted clean and young and alive, not like the death which had threatened them, nor the blood which had tainted them. It felt warm and welcome on his tongue, in his mouth, pulsing with the energy of the man who owned it. And owned him.
Shuichi was on his back now, his good hand fisting in the sheet beside Eiri's head. Eiri placed his own good hand on Shuichi's hip, a restraint and a ward as he lapped and sucked, an act he did not perform as often as he thought he ought to, or even as often as he liked, because Shuichi was so eager to please that he didn't often lie still long enough to be seduced this way. But now he was letting Eiri give him this, his body stiff with arousal, but his voice uncharacteristically silent. Perversely, Eiri, who was always telling the boy to shut up, wanted to hear his voice now, and applied himself, using half-forgotten techniques and not a little gentle coercion to wring soft, begging cries from Shuichi, and to make his hips buck and jerk, until he went rigid. Eiri found his fingers were digging with what had to be painful force into Shuichi's hip, and made himself let go.
Shuichi was trembling, and his arms flew around Eiri's neck as he moved up the bed. Shuichi buried his face in Eiri's chest, mumbling incoherent words of thanks which seemed almost as if he were weeping. "Don't make a fuss, Shuichi, it's all right," Eiri murmured, stroking his hair. "Come on, don't cry."
Shuichi sniffed. " 'm not crying," he said with obvious untruthfulness. "Yuki, do you want ...? I mean, would you like to...?"
"No, don't be an idiot, you're injured."
"But Yuki, I want to make you feel good too." Shuichi pulled back. "Please?" He shifted, and it became clear he was trying to get out of bed.
"Where the hell are you going?" Eiri asked, irritated. What did it take to slow this kid down?
"To find some ... you know, slick."
"Lie down," Eiri growled. No way was he going to let Shuichi wander around Tohma's house looking for lube.
"But...."
"I said, lie down."
Shuichi pouted a little, and for some reason Eiri found this unspeakably cute, which he rarely did, and as always happened when Shuichi seemed cute to him, he felt an overwhelming need to kiss those shapely lips. Shuichi was a good kisser, and the little that he lacked in skill, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. More than that, he always tasted sweet – literally, since he was always eating something sticky and sugary. Eiri, who otherwise did not have a sweet tooth, never minded the sweetness when it was on Shuichi's lips.
And as always when they kissed, his desire was rapidly fanned. He was already hard as hell from getting Shuichi off, and the way Shuichi was squirming in his arms, rubbing himself against Eiri, Eiri knew he had to do something or embarrass himself. With the resilience of youth, Shuichi was already hard again, and obviously eager. Eiri reached down between them and undid his slacks, pushing them and his underpants down. He could then hold their twin erections, making Shuichi moan into his mouth, a delicious sound/feel/taste that made him even more hungry for release.
Eiri had long fingers for which he was now grateful, that allowed him to enclose them both completely and rack up the sensation. Shuichi arched and groaned, the deadly silence now broken completely and Eiri exulted with the tiny part of his mind that was still able to think. This had not been stolen from them.
Sore as he was, he was still not able to last long but Shuichi came just a second after him, his youthful lack of staying power compensated for by the speed and strength of his recovery.
They lay holding each other, lax and sated, their lips close but not touching, Shuichi's breath whuffing onto his cheek. It was an almost unbearably peaceful moment, a rare one for them, and for once Shuichi wasn't talking about how wonderful it was. Which Eiri actually didn't mind, but he liked the quiet times in their relationship. He hoped, as Shuichi got older, matured, that those quiet times might become more frequent. If he could only prevent them becoming the frigid silences that had marred his parents' marriage – and his sister's, all too often.
He shifted so Shuichi was lying on him a little, but not enough to hurt him. He liked the way Shuichi's head fit so perfectly in the crook of his neck. "I wish we could lie like this forever," he murmured into Shuichi's hair, indulging a rare impulse to sentiment.
"Mmmm," Shuichi agreed peacefully. "Hey, Yuki?"
Eiri almost sighed. He knew that tone of voice. "What?"
"The tour ... I wish you were coming with me."
Eiri waited for the pleading that would normally follow, but Shuichi didn't say another word, which, oddly, decided the thing. "Maybe I will."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Really, really?"
"Shuichi," Eiri warned. He knew this game and he was too tired for it. "I said I'll come with you. Tohma says he can postpone the first concert if he needs to, to let you recover a bit more."
"Oh."
Eiri heard the doubt. "Now what?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Shuichi."
"I ... I keep thinking about Yohji. It was the stupidest thing I've ever done. "
It was rare for Shuichi to be so honest with himself, and Eiri knew false comfort was worthless. He ran his fingers gently through Shuichi's fine hair. "It was very foolish of you, and you nearly got yourself killed, never mind anyone else." Even in the dark, he could feel Shuichi wilting under the criticism. He cupped his chin and made Shuichi turn towards him. "But no more foolish than me. I shouldn't have gone out on my own, no matter what that man threatened. I was wrong."
"Yuki! You said you were wrong? You're never wrong!"
Eiri shook the chin he was holding in rebuke. "And now you really are being stupid. I'm not infallible, no one is. Only an insane man would think that he was."
He braced himself for the angry retort, which never came. Shuichi lay quiescent, and utterly silent under the reproach, which wasn't like him at all. Eiri realised that perhaps he had gone too far, and that Shuichi's apparent boundless resilience had been stretched to breaking point. He gathered him close again and made him rest his head on Eiri's shoulder. "My little idiot," he said fondly, stroking his hair. "It's all right that you made a mistake. I don't expect perfection. No one does."
"But you get so mad at me," Shuichi said meekly in a small voice.
"Not over this. I don't even think Yohji would be angry with you."
"Yohji!" Shuichi surged up, but Eiri held him. "Do you think he's all right?"
"I'm sure he is. We'd have heard." Eiri was almost certain Tohma would have woken them with such news if there was any, and that Ken would have kept his promise to tell them.
"He... all the blood, Yuki ... and he ... I thought he was going to die and I kept babbling about you ... how selfish was that?"
Eiri could hear the always ready tears in Shuichi's voice, but these weren't the trivial ones he could and did easily ignore. "People react very differently to stress, Shuichi, and it was a difficult situation. You've been through something which means you are no longer a child. You can no longer cling to the innocence of childhood. It's painful to be forced to face your adult life and know that the world is a harsher, meaner place."
He meant to be comforting. Therefore he was amazed to find Shuichi going rigid in his arms, his chest puffed up and suddenly shouting in his face. "Now who's the damn idiot, calling me an innocent?"
"Shuichi...."
"Is that what you think, Yuki? I'm still some stupid kid who needs protecting? You know what Aizawa did to me! I survived, i didn't crumble like a child!"
"Shu...."
"Innocent? The world is harsh? Yuki, do you know how much hate mail I get because of you? I get letters from America because of you, threatening me and telling me what they'd do if they ever met me. Do you think I've lived such a sheltered life?"
"I ... you have such a happy family, Shuichi." Not like mine.
"I don't ask them to protect me, Yuki. I never have. I know about violence and cruelty. Just because I'd rather write about love and beauty in my music doesn't mean I'm blind. And I'm not a kid any more."
"You sure act it some times," Eiri couldn't resist saying.
"And you're such a grandpa, all of twenty three. You can be silly when you want to, you just don't want to. Well, I do, because it makes people happy when I smile."
Eiri kissed him then, because this was true. When Shuichi smiled, it truly was like the sun coming out after a hailstorm. He had an instant effect on everyone from his sister to his manager. The reverse was true, of course. A tearful Shuichi, no matter how trivial the cause, brought a room right down. Whereas Eiri could sit in the middle of a room and commit seppuku, he often thought, and the only thing people would worry about would be that he didn't make a mess on the carpet. "I'm sorry, Shuichi. I was just worried about the effect of last night on you."
"Because I saw someone killed?"
"No... because... because you were in the position of nearly having to kill... like I did... I didn't want you to be like me...not...not...."
Shuichi kissed him. "It's all right, Yuki. Don't cry. It's all right."
"It's not!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "When I saw... you were holding that gun and I know you were going to ... to kill ... and all I could think was that you would be tainted ... you would be like me, Shuichi. Like me," he said brokenly, burying his face in Shuichi's hair, clinging to him like a damn girl. If it were anyone else but Shuichi, he'd have died of shame.
"Yuki...Eiri. Look at me."
Eiri lifted his face and stared in shock. Shuichi had never used his real name before, nor used that serious tone with him.
Shuichi took his hand and brought it between them. "This is not the hand of a killer."
"I am a killer."
"No. This hand...this hand I love so much, it belonged to a young boy...just a little kid who was really hurt and who had to try and save himself the best way he could." He laid his cheek on their joined hands. "I know why you were worried, Yuki. It really was horrible. But it wasn't like he was an innocent man." Shuichi's entirely reasonable words hit Eiri like a knife in the chest, and he began to shake uncontrollably. "Yuki?"
"I...I...."
"Yuki, it's okay, shhh."
"Shu...Shu... I...."
What was wrong with him? Snow Leopard hadn't been innocent, and Kitazawa Yuki hadn't been ... he hadn't been innocent ... and Eiri had been ... so very young, so innocent. So trusting. And like Shuichi, Eiri had really had no choice. He was protecting someone important, even if it was only himself.
Shuichi was murmuring to him, words of comfort which he only barely understood. But gradually Eiri began to listen as Shuichi explained how he supposed he'd get nightmares for a while, just like he did after the attack by Aizawa, but that because he wouldn't be alone, he would be all right, and if Eiri would like, Shuichi would help him with his nightmares too. "You know about them?" Eiri said in a hoarse voice.
"You call out, Yuki," Shuichi said sorrowfully. "I always want to come in to you but you said not to...." Shuichi kissed him again. "I want to help you. That's what you do when you love someone."
What was this strange power Shuichi had over him tonight that made him cry at everything he said? But equally strange was that Shuichi was being so mature about this, and lending him a strength that Eiri had only barely suspected before. It lent truth to his claim to no longer be a child, and if it were real, then maybe Eiri could have faith in that strength and in his lover's incredible resilience. Maybe he could even, in time, come to lean on and depend upon it. What a strange and wonderful idea that was.
When Uesugi Eiri was sixteen, he died, and someone he didn't like much, and knew even less, was born. That person was Yuki Eiri, half him, half a dead man, but for a long time, he felt as if he was all dead.
Then a young kid came into his life – battered his way in, took him by storm, and claimed 'Yuki Eiri' for his own. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't always pleasant. Being born seldom was. But it seemed, for better or for worse, that this Yuki Eiri person was here to stay, because he was needed, and he was loved, and people were prepared to risk their lives and their love to save him.
Maybe it was time he just got on with letting Yuki Eiri grow up.
Epilogue
It took a week but Shuichi did begin the tour, thanks to the magic of the makeup artist, and his own young, healthy body. Eiri really felt old next to him, and although he came with the tour, he insisted on booking himself (and Shuichi) into a far better standard of hotel than even NG had arranged. Eiri did not believe in stinting himself when he was travelling, and with his injuries, he had no intention of slumming it in the slightest.
They left Tokyo with a sense of a little decent meddling well done. As soon as Shuichi was recovered slightly, and they could climb out of bed without passing out, he began to agitate to see Yohji. That had to wait until the injured man was actually able to receive visitors, but when they finally did, it was an obvious relief to Shuichi. And to Eiri as well, he had to admit. But with that relief came Shuichi's determination to do something 'nice' for Yohji, and being an incurable romantic, it seemed natural that he should try to do something to encourage the strange, almost hostile relationship the amiable blond had with the silent and apparently stony Aya. Eiri could have been irritated, except that it was more than obvious both men were quietly eating their hearts out hiding their feelings for each other, and Eiri, when it came right down to it, loved a good love story as much as the next man, provided he didn't actually have to write it.
They took Aya to dinner and Shuichi did his best to kick-start things, but then he was caught up in preparing for the tour. Every night, he came back to Tohma's house exhausted and wanting nothing more than to scarf some food and crawl into bed. Eiri had not made any attempt to move back to his apartment, deciding he would sell it rather than do so. He didn't want Shuichi to have any more unpleasant reminders than he needed. At night, they held each other, and it seemed to Eiri that the dreams were less horrific than they could have been. It felt good not to be alone.
The first concert left Shuichi shattered, almost weeping with exhaustion, and Eiri spoke to K on the quiet about whether it was wise for them to continue. K told him that if the two day interval didn't revive him, he would cancel the next concert – but Shuichi came through, astonishing Eiri yet again. He supposed Bad Luck's public never suspected there was the slightest thing amiss with their pink-haired idol.
It helped Shuichi that his two new friends, Ken and Omi, were there for part of the tour, and when Eiri reported the unexpected request from Aya, passed circuitously through Tohma, for the possible use of a holiday apartment if one were available, Shuichi crowed with victory as his plans had clearly succeeded. It made Eiri unfeasibly happy to see him so cheerful.
Unfortunately, Ken and Omi were called back to Tokyo just two weeks into the tour. A sudden mission, they said regretfully, but Shuichi extracted promises of continued contact from them before bidding them a slightly tearful farewell.
Hiro took Shuichi off to rehearse as a way of distracting him. Eiri thought he would go back to the hotel and get some sleep before the concert – his own injuries were being tiresomely slow to heal compared with Shuichi's. He collected his notes together – he was desultorily researching serial killers for his English language novel – when Bad Luck' s manager came and stood in front of him. "Yuki-san, can I have a word?"
"Sure," he said in English. It had become something of a game. K would talk to him in bad Japanese, and Eiri would exercise his somewhat superior American in response.
"I heard Shuichi saying good bye to Ken and Omi. Saying he wanted to keep in touch?"
"Yeah. What's the harm in that?"
K sat down next to him, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He passed a rumpled piece of paper to Eiri. "I think you should warn him that it's not very likely that they will contact him. Not because they don't want to. I doubt they'll be allowed to."
Confused, Eiri looked at the sheet he'd been handed. He was looking at a flyer asking for information on four terrorists belonging to a group called Weiss. The terrorists were called Fujimiya Aya, Kudoh Yohji, Tsukiyono Omi and Hidaka Ken. "What the hell? What is this?"
"Do you remember that state of emergency a year ago? When the president elect was killed?"
"Yeah ... but surely ... K, what's going on? Is Shuichi in danger? You knew Yohji before, you said...."
K made a 'settle down' motion with his hand. "I don't think Shuichi is at any risk, or I'd have told you. I also don't believe those guys are terrorists. There was something really weird about that incident – the whole security community was buzzing about it."
"But.... What do I make of this?"
"You make of it that our four new friends are part of something really big and really secret." He took his ever-present sunglasses off. "I ran a little check on Yohji. It seems he's dead. Has been for over a year."
Eiri boggled. "What?"
"Yeah. I'm guessing that if I check the others out, the same would be the case."
"Are they criminals? Like Snow Leopard?"
"Well now. Criminals, no. But I think they might be the kind of people our governments need, but never acknowledge." K pinned him with his bright blue gaze. "I'm sure an intelligent man like yourself understands what I mean."
Covert operatives. Assassins, even. Gods. "But ... they seem so normal...."
K grinned. "Well, they are." But then his expression darkened. "I just don't think it would be a good idea for Shuichi to push to see Ken and Omi again. Do you understand?"
"Yes. Thank you, K. Let me handle it."
K nodded. "Okay," he said in English. "I need to find the band and make sure they're working hard." He winked as he strode off.
Eiri stared at the pictures on the paper. They were hideously unflattering photos but unmistakeably the men who had made such an impact on their lives in so short a time. It seemed incredible, but at the same time, he knew in his heart K was right. Such young men would not be so skilled at what they did if they had not been ruthlessly and meticulously trained in a manner no police force would offer.
He stood up. He probably wouldn't sleep after all. But as he walked off to find Shuichi, he sent a silent thought toward Aya, Yohji, Ken and Omi, and wished them luck. For one thing was for sure.
They would need it.
The End