theme #17, fade, Tohma/Shuichi
Title: Tsukiyo
Chapter One of Fifty
Fandom: Gravitation
Pairing: Tohma/Shuichi
Warnings: angst-galore! death. things like that always make me happy when I write. :)
Theme #17: Fade (17/50)
Summary: Tohma makes a decision that will have drastic consequences.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. I just thought you might like to know that.
One. Two. Three.
The seconds ticked by at a slow rate. Memories danced along the edges of his mind. It only felt like yesterday when he’d taken an innocent, sixteen-year-old boy to New York . . .
Four. Five. Six.
Blood now covered his hands. The warm, red substance had always covered his hands. This time, though, had been different.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
To the rest of the world, it would be an accident, the death of Yuki Eiri. His death would be called senseless, a probable result of too much alcohol. Tohma knew better. He knew the truth. He glanced at his bloody hands once more.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Eiri had never truly understood just how far Tohma would go to protect him. The novelist had ideas, of course, and had even confessed his beliefs to Mika. Tohma’s wife had told him that Eiri had said as much to her. Neither of them were truly aware, though. Yes, he would kill anyone who threatened or tried to hurt his Eiri . . . including the novelist himself.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
“Seguchi-san? You said you wanted us to inform you of when he woke up . . .”
“Has he?”
Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
“Yes . . . We’ve also told him that you’re here . . . and Shindou-san is asking for you.”
“I’m on my way.”
Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one.
He rose to his feet and began to walk to the tiny room where the vocalist was being kept, stopping in the men’s room to wash his hands. They were still covered in blood. Eiri’s blood.
Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.
No one would ever know the truth about that night, not even Shindou Shuichi. The young vocalist had been unconscious by the time Tohma had arrived. His slender form had lain prone on the ground as Tohma had picked up a jagged rock and stabbed Eiri. He hadn’t seen as the novelist had fallen backwards . . . into the river.
Tohma knew, though. He’d been the one and he’d never forget the look in his brother-in-law’s eyes before he’d had to kill the younger man. They were cold, uncaring . . . devoid of anything except a feral rage, hellbent on killing someone. Eiri had gone beyond his reach and there had been only one way to save the novelist, to keep him from harm.
Tohma glanced at his hands. They were clear once more but he’d always feel the warmth of Eiri’s blood on them. That feeling would never fade.
Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.
A soft sigh escaped the blond-haired man as he left the men’s room. In several more hours, it would be daylight and the police would be out there once more, searching for the body of famous romance novelist Yuki Eiri. They would hope for a miracle, hope to be the first one to find him alive. All of Japan would be as well, waiting with baited breath for the final outcome.
That miracle would be denied to them. Tohma had seen to it.
Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
“Seguchi-san?”
The voice that spoke was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He’d heard it so often that he knew who it was. However, it trembled slightly but Tohma couldn’t say from what. It could have been from anything. Pain. Fear. Maybe it was from both. The speaker had gone through a lot in the last three hours.
“Hai, Shindou-san. I’m right here.”
Pain-filled amethyst eyes met his, and Tohma had to refrain from cringing at the sight of Eiri’s handiwork. The author had outdone himself this time.
Bandages were wrapped around the vocalist’s arms, mostly in the places where he’d been stabbed. Stitches lined across his forehead and his right cheek while the rest of that innocent face was covered in bruises. Shindou could barely open his eyes. The singer had also been hooked up to an I.V., an oxygen machine, a heart monitor, and a blood drip. It would be a while before the dark-haired man would be up and moving about. Eiri had done a rather horrific job on his lover. The emotional scars from this would never fade. Perhaps, neither would some of the physical ones.
“Where’s Eiri?” he inquired weakly. “What happened to him?”
“He . . . fell, Shindou-san.” Tohma paused to swallow the lump that started to form in his throat. He needed to remain calm, though it was difficult news to bear. “Into the river . . . the police are looking for him.”
It was a lie, Tohma knew, but only for a little while. The less Shindou knew about what had happened, the better.
“Oh . . .”
That faint voice grew even softer and Tohma reached over to take one of the young man’s hands. He couldn’t start crying. Not now. Tohma wouldn’t allow it. He needed information. He had to know why had caused Eiri to snap like that. There was a reason for the novelist going over the edge. Tohma just had to find it.
“Shindou-san . . . what happened? You must tell me,” he murmured. “Why was Eiri behaving like that?”
The young vocalist shuddered as he drew a deep breath. Pain began to assault that lithe frame, setting off the heart monitor. Several nurses hurried immediately into the room and to the singer’s side. Before they kicked him out, Tohma caught one final thing from the youth and it made no sense to him.
“Page two hundred fifty-three.”
Then Shindou’s eyes fluttered closed and he fell unconscious once more.
-runs around squealing-
Already, I like the set up. Isn't it great?
Chapter One of Fifty
Fandom: Gravitation
Pairing: Tohma/Shuichi
Warnings: angst-galore! death. things like that always make me happy when I write. :)
Theme #17: Fade (17/50)
Summary: Tohma makes a decision that will have drastic consequences.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. I just thought you might like to know that.
One. Two. Three.
The seconds ticked by at a slow rate. Memories danced along the edges of his mind. It only felt like yesterday when he’d taken an innocent, sixteen-year-old boy to New York . . .
Four. Five. Six.
Blood now covered his hands. The warm, red substance had always covered his hands. This time, though, had been different.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
To the rest of the world, it would be an accident, the death of Yuki Eiri. His death would be called senseless, a probable result of too much alcohol. Tohma knew better. He knew the truth. He glanced at his bloody hands once more.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Eiri had never truly understood just how far Tohma would go to protect him. The novelist had ideas, of course, and had even confessed his beliefs to Mika. Tohma’s wife had told him that Eiri had said as much to her. Neither of them were truly aware, though. Yes, he would kill anyone who threatened or tried to hurt his Eiri . . . including the novelist himself.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
“Seguchi-san? You said you wanted us to inform you of when he woke up . . .”
“Has he?”
Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.
“Yes . . . We’ve also told him that you’re here . . . and Shindou-san is asking for you.”
“I’m on my way.”
Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one.
He rose to his feet and began to walk to the tiny room where the vocalist was being kept, stopping in the men’s room to wash his hands. They were still covered in blood. Eiri’s blood.
Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.
No one would ever know the truth about that night, not even Shindou Shuichi. The young vocalist had been unconscious by the time Tohma had arrived. His slender form had lain prone on the ground as Tohma had picked up a jagged rock and stabbed Eiri. He hadn’t seen as the novelist had fallen backwards . . . into the river.
Tohma knew, though. He’d been the one and he’d never forget the look in his brother-in-law’s eyes before he’d had to kill the younger man. They were cold, uncaring . . . devoid of anything except a feral rage, hellbent on killing someone. Eiri had gone beyond his reach and there had been only one way to save the novelist, to keep him from harm.
Tohma glanced at his hands. They were clear once more but he’d always feel the warmth of Eiri’s blood on them. That feeling would never fade.
Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.
A soft sigh escaped the blond-haired man as he left the men’s room. In several more hours, it would be daylight and the police would be out there once more, searching for the body of famous romance novelist Yuki Eiri. They would hope for a miracle, hope to be the first one to find him alive. All of Japan would be as well, waiting with baited breath for the final outcome.
That miracle would be denied to them. Tohma had seen to it.
Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
“Seguchi-san?”
The voice that spoke was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He’d heard it so often that he knew who it was. However, it trembled slightly but Tohma couldn’t say from what. It could have been from anything. Pain. Fear. Maybe it was from both. The speaker had gone through a lot in the last three hours.
“Hai, Shindou-san. I’m right here.”
Pain-filled amethyst eyes met his, and Tohma had to refrain from cringing at the sight of Eiri’s handiwork. The author had outdone himself this time.
Bandages were wrapped around the vocalist’s arms, mostly in the places where he’d been stabbed. Stitches lined across his forehead and his right cheek while the rest of that innocent face was covered in bruises. Shindou could barely open his eyes. The singer had also been hooked up to an I.V., an oxygen machine, a heart monitor, and a blood drip. It would be a while before the dark-haired man would be up and moving about. Eiri had done a rather horrific job on his lover. The emotional scars from this would never fade. Perhaps, neither would some of the physical ones.
“Where’s Eiri?” he inquired weakly. “What happened to him?”
“He . . . fell, Shindou-san.” Tohma paused to swallow the lump that started to form in his throat. He needed to remain calm, though it was difficult news to bear. “Into the river . . . the police are looking for him.”
It was a lie, Tohma knew, but only for a little while. The less Shindou knew about what had happened, the better.
“Oh . . .”
That faint voice grew even softer and Tohma reached over to take one of the young man’s hands. He couldn’t start crying. Not now. Tohma wouldn’t allow it. He needed information. He had to know why had caused Eiri to snap like that. There was a reason for the novelist going over the edge. Tohma just had to find it.
“Shindou-san . . . what happened? You must tell me,” he murmured. “Why was Eiri behaving like that?”
The young vocalist shuddered as he drew a deep breath. Pain began to assault that lithe frame, setting off the heart monitor. Several nurses hurried immediately into the room and to the singer’s side. Before they kicked him out, Tohma caught one final thing from the youth and it made no sense to him.
“Page two hundred fifty-three.”
Then Shindou’s eyes fluttered closed and he fell unconscious once more.
-runs around squealing-
Already, I like the set up. Isn't it great?