Gravitation: KxHiro, RyuichixShuichi, NC-17 (overall)
Title: Gunpowder Hearts 1
Fandom: Gravitation
Pairing: KxHiro, RyuichixShuichi
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: AU, smut, drinking, some dark imagery
Summary: K is a bitter writer with a dark past. Hiro is the guitarist for one of Japan's most promising new bands. Sparks will fly when they meet.
Notes: This story follows a theme from the gun_and_guitar porn war challenge. Unfortunately I could not write for the challenge when it was run, but I got the ok to use the theme anyway. The challenge was Kiro Shuichi/Yuki style! K as the bitter gun-wielding writer, Hiro as the infatuated rockstar
Chapter 1
Silence filled every room, of the spacious apartment, save for one. Fingers tapped incessantly on a keyboard, creating an uneven rhythm in the room K used as a study. Letters appeared on the screen, forming words which merged into flowing lines of imagination brought to life Crimes had been committed, the victims’ demise described in all bloody horror, awesome descriptions thought up by a brilliant mind.
Enter the young, dashing detective, handsome, popular with the ladies and yet not perfect in the least. He was human, and nearly painfully so. This would not be a character fans would dream about inviting into their bed. K chuckled while he thought this. It was what made his books unique, creating characters that other authors might portray as faultless heroes. K would break them down into tiny scraps of human nature. Nonetheless, few reviews ever failed to mention the immense popularity his main characters enjoyed with the female fans.
K shook his head in exasperation brought on by his musings. The majority of people were all too impressionable, uninterested in critical engagement with the texts that granted them escape from the grey routines of their lives. Yet K continued writing, despite his disappointment in the readers of his works. Creating this world others wished to escape to, shaping it and knowing its strengths and weaknesses was power, a power which K had to admit he rather enjoyed having.
His concentration barely broken for a moment, despite his straying thoughts, K continued typing, the introduction of Tristan Parker playing out smoothly, the scene reflecting an innocence that would lure readers into a false sense of ease. But they would be awoken from it all too soon with the beginning of the next chapter.
One hand reached to the right to grasp the handle of a coffee mug while the other hovered above the keys, poised to strike them as soon as the next sentence flooded K’s mind. He grimaced as he took a sip of the coffee which had long since turned cold and stale. He’d have to brew some more later, he decided, setting the mug back onto an already drink-stained patch on the table. Coasters were for people who knew where they kept them. Really, K wasn’t sure he even had any.
K stretched his arms above his head to relieve the muscles in his shoulders before rifling through a stack of plot notes that lay next to the keyboard. Blue eyes perused the haphazard handwriting as previous ideas were discarded and new ones formed.
A scraping at the front door echoed through the silence just as K was about to resume typing. His eyes immediately flickered to the doorway as his hand blindly reached for the top desk drawer, removing the gun that he kept there with practiced ease. The gun was still secured, but K was ready to change that at barely a moments notice if he had to.
He moved towards the front door, gun ready, but there was hardly a need for it as a key turned in the lock and the door burst open.
“Good morning!” Ryuichi announced his presence loudly and with a cheery wave of one hand while he hoisted a white plastic carrier bag and several sheets of paper in the other. K’s expression transformed from one of brief surprise into a scowl.
“Ryuichi,” K growled, gun cocked and trained on the singer’s retreating back. Nittle Grasper’s vocalist was already bustling about the kitchen as if the flat was his. K sighed and crossed the living room, placing the gun carefully on the coffee table. In the kitchen Ryuichi was already busying himself with the coffee machine.
K’s scowl deepened. “I thought I’d told you the spare keys were for emergencies only,” he ground out, not really annoyed, but more out of principle. K was used to Ryuichi busting into his place every few days, spirits high and providing a welcome distraction. And K knew that if he didn’t really appreciate the singer’s sudden visits and bright personality he would have showed him the door ages ago, together with that infuriatingly cute pink bunny which was currently sitting on K’s kitchen counter.
Sighing tiredly, K released his long blond hair from the high pony tail he kept it in most times and ran his hands through the strands experimentally before tying them back again. Grimacing, he realised that he really did need a shower, considering that he’d just pulled an all-nighter on his new book without even noticing. Looking at the clock that hung on the wall, K only now realised that it was close to eight am.
“Coffee?” Ryuichi asked, although he’d already grabbed two mugs from a cupboard and was in the process of pouring some of the hot drink into each of them. He left some space in his to add milk while handing the other mug to K. The American took a sip of the hot, dark liquid immediately, relishing the temperature, the taste and the comfort it provided. He had to admit; Ryuichi did make the best coffee and always had in all the years they’d known each other, from the day K had begun to work as the singer’s manager in America.
K had long since left the music industry, concentrating on his writing once Ryuichi had rejoined Nittle Grasper, but their friendship had never wavered, something K was secretly very thankful for.
“You look very tired,” Ryuichi observed, having placed the milk back in the fridge. The singer was now leaning casually against the kitchen counter, tank top sliding higher above the waistband of torn and faded jeans, showing a sliver of skin. Ryuichi’s blue eyes showed concern as they appraised his friend’s appearance. K looked tired and dishevelled and seemed to be even moodier than he usually was which always made Ryuichi wonder if something was wrong.
“I’m fine,” K answered tonelessly, leading the way to the living room where he stopped to stand by the window, looking out across the street where white, modern buildings were bathed in early-morning sunlight. Ryuichi followed K to the other room, but opted to make himself comfortable on the couch. His eyes briefly flickered to the gun resting on the coffee table, before his gaze returned to K’s back. The vocalist took a careful sip of his coffee before speaking again.
“You did not sleep at all, did you,” Ryuichi stated, his hands fiddling with Kumagoro, the pink stuffed bunny that accompanied Nittle Grasper’s vocalist everywhere. K now turned around to meet his friend’s worried expression. Damn, he did hate seeing Ryuichi so concerned. The American tried to muster a small, reassuring smile.
“I forgot the time, that’s all,” he explained. “I just started working on a new book, so there is a lot of work to get into.”
Ryuichi met K’s gaze and a smile returned to his features as well. “I’m looking forward to reading it, K,” the singer exclaimed enthusiastically. K’s smile widened ever so slightly and he nodded. Trust Ryuichi to at least try all he could. K knew that crime thrillers were not something Ryuichi would read under any other circumstances, but the singer had read every single one of K’s books without fail, commenting on them with praise and interest.
“Nonetheless, you don’t sleep enough,” Ryuichi insisted. He was not convinced that the beginning of a new project was the only thing causing his friend’s sleepless nights. Grasping the small pink bunny in both hands and holding him aloft, Ryuichi assumed a voice slightly higher than usual. “Kumagoro says you must sleepy sleepy,” the singer voiced, his smile bright.
K raised an eyebrow and sighed in amused exasperation. There should be something entirely wrong with a fully grown man toting a stuffed animal all places, but somehow Ryuichi had managed to transform Kumagoro into an extension of his vibrant personality. Taking another sip of his now cooler coffee, K’s mind conceded. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, feeling the cranks in his neck that a night spent at his desk always caused.
“I am right,” Ryuichi answered, jumping up from the couch, Kumagoro in hand. “We order at least three hours of sleep before you continue writing. Right Kuma-chan?” Ryuichi was now animatedly talking to the stuffed animal while still upholding the conversation with K.
The doorbell rung, suddenly, cutting short whatever else either man might have wished to say. The elaborate antique clock placed on a sideboard read eight thirty and Ryuichi’s smile widened as K opened the door, wondering who might be calling at this hour.
“K-san, good morning!” Shuichi’s cheerful voice could be heard, coming from the hallway.
“Is Ryuichi here?” Bad Luck’s singer asked, but he did not give K the opportunity to answer as he spotted Ryuichi standing in the living room.
“Ryu,” Schuichi exclaimed and launched himself at his lover. “I thought you might be here,” he explained after a brief hug and kiss. K observed the display discreetly, but with fondness. Ryuichi and Shuichi had now been together for nearly half a year and their love for each other was apparent, sometimes shockingly so. Knowing that during his musical career, Ryuichi had often felt lonely and detached from the world one would call normal, K was glad that his friend had finally found a loving partner. And really, the two of them deserved each other. They both had their very own brand of crazy which seemed to enhance the chemistry of their relationship. K did not make a point of watching his friend’s personal life closely, but he was a very observant person. It was part of what gave him the experience to be a good writer.
Ryuichi had an arm wrapped around Shuichi’s shoulders as they said their goodbyes. “Well, we have to go to work now,” Shuichi announced. “Bye, K-san.”
“Bye, K,” Ryuichi called, waving as he was already being dragged towards the door by Shuichi. They’d reached the front door when Nittle Grasper’s singer turned around once more. “Have some breakfast,” he advised before following his lover out of the door.
K sighed once the singers had left and ran a hand down his face tiredly. Ryuichi was right; he should at least try to sleep. It had been hard for K to get a decent night’s rest recently, many thoughts were running through his head and disturbing dreams were no strangers to him.
The silence that now reigned in his flat felt deafening to K and he wasted no time in switching on the TV on his way back to the kitchen. There was not much K could find in terms of breakfast. He would need to go shopping at some point, or live off takeaways for the rest of all time. A thought which to the American seemed far more inviting than fighting his way through a supermarket like a housewife. He might even have to write a list.
Listlessly, K poured some stale cereal into a bowl and emptied the remains of his milk over the toasted oat flakes. Grabbing a spoon from a drawer, K moved back to the living room, sitting down on the couch. He ate his breakfast staring at the TV, but not really taking in what he was watching. Tiredness had brought with it a kind of numbness and K was ready for sleep when he set his bowl down on the table and lay down on the couch, closing his eyes. Sleep came to him fast now, drowning out the sound of the TV and the silence of his flat.
A gunshot rang throughout the night and he found himself running, up a driveway and up steps, busting through the door. His hand was gripping the gun he carried tight enough to turn his knuckles white. The scenery was grey, reminiscent of a black and white movie, though he knew this was in no way fiction. This horror was real, becoming more real by the second, in fact, and climaxing in the sound of another gunshot and a high-pitched scream.
“Judy,” he called out frantically. “Michael!” A third gunshot shattered the night. Red began to seep through otherwise colourless walls, sliding downward silently and no more sound could be heard.
“Michael, Judy!”
K awoke with a start. He was disoriented for a long moment, his eyes darting around the room frantically before landing on the TV screen which was loudly broadcasting the theme tune of an anime. K ignored it as he willed his erratic breathing to return back to normal. He could feel sweat on his forehead, neck and back cooling and sliding downwards. The sensation made him shiver, the room seeming cold and surreal, despite the noon sunlight pouring in through large windows.
“Damn it,” K spat the curse and angrily wiped the sweat from his brow. He cursed again as he sprang up from the couch, pacing the room to the door that led to the hall, then backtracking his steps to the couch. His hands were shaking which he thought hey shouldn’t be.
It had been a dream, K berated himself. “Only a goddamn dream,” he grumbled as he paced towards the wall. The fact wasn’t a dream, hell no. The fact was harsh reality, but this… this had only been a dream. It should not have left him as shaken as it had, not anymore, at least. And yet his hands were trembling as he crossed through the door to the kitchen, slamming his fists down on the counter in anger over not being able to control his reactions to these games his mind had been playing with him for over a week now.
Movements still unsteady, breathing only just calming down, K felt drained and in a daze. He moved to the counter at the far end of the kitchen where a half-empty bottle of whiskey stood. Taking a tumbler from the cupboard above, K poured himself a generous amount of the liquor and downed it in one. The drink burned down the back of his throat right down to his belly, the warm tingling promising to stay for a few moments longer, at least. It seemed to awaken K’s senses, driving away the unreal numbness that had followed his nightmare.
Chuckling wryly, K placed the bottle back into its place and set the empty glass into the sink. It was pathetic, really, he knew. It being barely past noon, he really should not be drinking already. But in situations such as these his friend Jack often was the most reliable when it came to providing comfort.
Having calmed down enough to form a coherent thought, K felt a lot less rested than he should have, but he realised he was finally ready to have that shower he should have had hours ago. Removing the elastic from his hair on the way out of the kitchen, K brushed by the table, dislocating the sheets of paper that had been left there. They fluttered to the ground making obnoxious noises K should not have been as annoyed by as he was. Grumbling, he bent down to pick up the papers, wondering what they were and where they’d come from anyway.
K leafed through the pages and realised they were covered in song lyrics, containing annotations, little scribblings and even some doodles of cute bunnies and monkeys. Ryuichi must have left them behind when he had come to visit, K mused. He carefully set the pages back on the table and continued his way to the bathroom. He would drop the lyrics by NG Records later. Surely it would do him some good to get out of his flat for an hour at least and he might be able to do his much needed shopping. Or maybe he would just get some beers and a takeaway.
It was a while later that K emerged from his bedroom, showered and dressed in a clean set of clothes. His hair was still drying in places, but it was back up in its usual pony tail, keeping the otherwise unruly mass of blond neat and out of the way.
Now would be as good a time as any to bring Ryuichi the lyrics he had forgotten. K found his trainers on the way to the kitchen and grabbed the sheets of paper from the table there before spending a few moments searching for his keys. He eventually found them in the pocket of his leather jacket. Ready to leave, K locked the door once, then locked the deadlock and slid the bolt on his front door into place before turning the lock that was attached to it. Then he was on his way, down the stairs and to the underground garage of the apartment complex.
It did not take long to hand the forgotten lyrics to Ryuichi. Nittle Grasper were in the middle of rehearsal and while the band’s singer had insisted that K stay and listen, K had declined politely, claiming that he had other business to attend to. Well, business was the wrong word, really, but K did not feel up to sitting through band rehearsals. Although he had calmed down sufficiently after his violent awakening a few hours before, the whole incident had left him restless and on edge. He would take himself up on the offer of getting some beers, definitely.
Leaving the studio, K took the lift down to NG’s underground garage where he had parked his old Land Rover. It was a huge car, not very elegant, but trusty and fast. K was rather attached to it, even though Ryuichi kept reminding him that he could easily afford something better. K did not want anything better. After all, why change a winning team?
It was when K was taking the turn out of the car park and onto the road that a motorbike suddenly came out of nowhere at breakneck speed. K had to slam the breaks immediately in order to avoid collision with the bike, making the tyres of his car screech horribly.
The bike had to swerve widely to avoid K’s Rover and was coming to an unsteady halt near the pavement. There had thankfully not been much other traffic or this near accident could have ended a lot worse.
Once again, K was willing his heart to slow down, adrenaline still pumping through his veins, following the close call. And he was livid to have been put in such a situation, considering he had already been on edge that afternoon.
Taking his spare gun out of the glove compartment, K left the engine of his car running where it stood haphazardly in the road.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” K yelled, his gun trained at the motorbike driver who was just dismounting and was unbuckling his helmet.
“Seriously, where did you learn to drive that thing?” K continued ranting, waving his gun at the driver and his bike. “You know, if you can’t drive properly, I have an idea. Don’t drive!”
K should have known who he was yelling at the moment the helmet came of the motor cyclist’s head. Auburn hair fanned out, slightly mussed by the helmet and the wind and grey eyes were darting from the gun K was holding to K’s face and back again in a slightly worried daze. Still, K did not realise that he was yelling at Hiroshi Nakano, Bad Luck’s guitarist and Shuichi’s best friend.
Fandom: Gravitation
Pairing: KxHiro, RyuichixShuichi
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: AU, smut, drinking, some dark imagery
Summary: K is a bitter writer with a dark past. Hiro is the guitarist for one of Japan's most promising new bands. Sparks will fly when they meet.
Notes: This story follows a theme from the gun_and_guitar porn war challenge. Unfortunately I could not write for the challenge when it was run, but I got the ok to use the theme anyway. The challenge was Kiro Shuichi/Yuki style! K as the bitter gun-wielding writer, Hiro as the infatuated rockstar
Chapter 1
Silence filled every room, of the spacious apartment, save for one. Fingers tapped incessantly on a keyboard, creating an uneven rhythm in the room K used as a study. Letters appeared on the screen, forming words which merged into flowing lines of imagination brought to life Crimes had been committed, the victims’ demise described in all bloody horror, awesome descriptions thought up by a brilliant mind.
Enter the young, dashing detective, handsome, popular with the ladies and yet not perfect in the least. He was human, and nearly painfully so. This would not be a character fans would dream about inviting into their bed. K chuckled while he thought this. It was what made his books unique, creating characters that other authors might portray as faultless heroes. K would break them down into tiny scraps of human nature. Nonetheless, few reviews ever failed to mention the immense popularity his main characters enjoyed with the female fans.
K shook his head in exasperation brought on by his musings. The majority of people were all too impressionable, uninterested in critical engagement with the texts that granted them escape from the grey routines of their lives. Yet K continued writing, despite his disappointment in the readers of his works. Creating this world others wished to escape to, shaping it and knowing its strengths and weaknesses was power, a power which K had to admit he rather enjoyed having.
His concentration barely broken for a moment, despite his straying thoughts, K continued typing, the introduction of Tristan Parker playing out smoothly, the scene reflecting an innocence that would lure readers into a false sense of ease. But they would be awoken from it all too soon with the beginning of the next chapter.
One hand reached to the right to grasp the handle of a coffee mug while the other hovered above the keys, poised to strike them as soon as the next sentence flooded K’s mind. He grimaced as he took a sip of the coffee which had long since turned cold and stale. He’d have to brew some more later, he decided, setting the mug back onto an already drink-stained patch on the table. Coasters were for people who knew where they kept them. Really, K wasn’t sure he even had any.
K stretched his arms above his head to relieve the muscles in his shoulders before rifling through a stack of plot notes that lay next to the keyboard. Blue eyes perused the haphazard handwriting as previous ideas were discarded and new ones formed.
A scraping at the front door echoed through the silence just as K was about to resume typing. His eyes immediately flickered to the doorway as his hand blindly reached for the top desk drawer, removing the gun that he kept there with practiced ease. The gun was still secured, but K was ready to change that at barely a moments notice if he had to.
He moved towards the front door, gun ready, but there was hardly a need for it as a key turned in the lock and the door burst open.
“Good morning!” Ryuichi announced his presence loudly and with a cheery wave of one hand while he hoisted a white plastic carrier bag and several sheets of paper in the other. K’s expression transformed from one of brief surprise into a scowl.
“Ryuichi,” K growled, gun cocked and trained on the singer’s retreating back. Nittle Grasper’s vocalist was already bustling about the kitchen as if the flat was his. K sighed and crossed the living room, placing the gun carefully on the coffee table. In the kitchen Ryuichi was already busying himself with the coffee machine.
K’s scowl deepened. “I thought I’d told you the spare keys were for emergencies only,” he ground out, not really annoyed, but more out of principle. K was used to Ryuichi busting into his place every few days, spirits high and providing a welcome distraction. And K knew that if he didn’t really appreciate the singer’s sudden visits and bright personality he would have showed him the door ages ago, together with that infuriatingly cute pink bunny which was currently sitting on K’s kitchen counter.
Sighing tiredly, K released his long blond hair from the high pony tail he kept it in most times and ran his hands through the strands experimentally before tying them back again. Grimacing, he realised that he really did need a shower, considering that he’d just pulled an all-nighter on his new book without even noticing. Looking at the clock that hung on the wall, K only now realised that it was close to eight am.
“Coffee?” Ryuichi asked, although he’d already grabbed two mugs from a cupboard and was in the process of pouring some of the hot drink into each of them. He left some space in his to add milk while handing the other mug to K. The American took a sip of the hot, dark liquid immediately, relishing the temperature, the taste and the comfort it provided. He had to admit; Ryuichi did make the best coffee and always had in all the years they’d known each other, from the day K had begun to work as the singer’s manager in America.
K had long since left the music industry, concentrating on his writing once Ryuichi had rejoined Nittle Grasper, but their friendship had never wavered, something K was secretly very thankful for.
“You look very tired,” Ryuichi observed, having placed the milk back in the fridge. The singer was now leaning casually against the kitchen counter, tank top sliding higher above the waistband of torn and faded jeans, showing a sliver of skin. Ryuichi’s blue eyes showed concern as they appraised his friend’s appearance. K looked tired and dishevelled and seemed to be even moodier than he usually was which always made Ryuichi wonder if something was wrong.
“I’m fine,” K answered tonelessly, leading the way to the living room where he stopped to stand by the window, looking out across the street where white, modern buildings were bathed in early-morning sunlight. Ryuichi followed K to the other room, but opted to make himself comfortable on the couch. His eyes briefly flickered to the gun resting on the coffee table, before his gaze returned to K’s back. The vocalist took a careful sip of his coffee before speaking again.
“You did not sleep at all, did you,” Ryuichi stated, his hands fiddling with Kumagoro, the pink stuffed bunny that accompanied Nittle Grasper’s vocalist everywhere. K now turned around to meet his friend’s worried expression. Damn, he did hate seeing Ryuichi so concerned. The American tried to muster a small, reassuring smile.
“I forgot the time, that’s all,” he explained. “I just started working on a new book, so there is a lot of work to get into.”
Ryuichi met K’s gaze and a smile returned to his features as well. “I’m looking forward to reading it, K,” the singer exclaimed enthusiastically. K’s smile widened ever so slightly and he nodded. Trust Ryuichi to at least try all he could. K knew that crime thrillers were not something Ryuichi would read under any other circumstances, but the singer had read every single one of K’s books without fail, commenting on them with praise and interest.
“Nonetheless, you don’t sleep enough,” Ryuichi insisted. He was not convinced that the beginning of a new project was the only thing causing his friend’s sleepless nights. Grasping the small pink bunny in both hands and holding him aloft, Ryuichi assumed a voice slightly higher than usual. “Kumagoro says you must sleepy sleepy,” the singer voiced, his smile bright.
K raised an eyebrow and sighed in amused exasperation. There should be something entirely wrong with a fully grown man toting a stuffed animal all places, but somehow Ryuichi had managed to transform Kumagoro into an extension of his vibrant personality. Taking another sip of his now cooler coffee, K’s mind conceded. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, feeling the cranks in his neck that a night spent at his desk always caused.
“I am right,” Ryuichi answered, jumping up from the couch, Kumagoro in hand. “We order at least three hours of sleep before you continue writing. Right Kuma-chan?” Ryuichi was now animatedly talking to the stuffed animal while still upholding the conversation with K.
The doorbell rung, suddenly, cutting short whatever else either man might have wished to say. The elaborate antique clock placed on a sideboard read eight thirty and Ryuichi’s smile widened as K opened the door, wondering who might be calling at this hour.
“K-san, good morning!” Shuichi’s cheerful voice could be heard, coming from the hallway.
“Is Ryuichi here?” Bad Luck’s singer asked, but he did not give K the opportunity to answer as he spotted Ryuichi standing in the living room.
“Ryu,” Schuichi exclaimed and launched himself at his lover. “I thought you might be here,” he explained after a brief hug and kiss. K observed the display discreetly, but with fondness. Ryuichi and Shuichi had now been together for nearly half a year and their love for each other was apparent, sometimes shockingly so. Knowing that during his musical career, Ryuichi had often felt lonely and detached from the world one would call normal, K was glad that his friend had finally found a loving partner. And really, the two of them deserved each other. They both had their very own brand of crazy which seemed to enhance the chemistry of their relationship. K did not make a point of watching his friend’s personal life closely, but he was a very observant person. It was part of what gave him the experience to be a good writer.
Ryuichi had an arm wrapped around Shuichi’s shoulders as they said their goodbyes. “Well, we have to go to work now,” Shuichi announced. “Bye, K-san.”
“Bye, K,” Ryuichi called, waving as he was already being dragged towards the door by Shuichi. They’d reached the front door when Nittle Grasper’s singer turned around once more. “Have some breakfast,” he advised before following his lover out of the door.
K sighed once the singers had left and ran a hand down his face tiredly. Ryuichi was right; he should at least try to sleep. It had been hard for K to get a decent night’s rest recently, many thoughts were running through his head and disturbing dreams were no strangers to him.
The silence that now reigned in his flat felt deafening to K and he wasted no time in switching on the TV on his way back to the kitchen. There was not much K could find in terms of breakfast. He would need to go shopping at some point, or live off takeaways for the rest of all time. A thought which to the American seemed far more inviting than fighting his way through a supermarket like a housewife. He might even have to write a list.
Listlessly, K poured some stale cereal into a bowl and emptied the remains of his milk over the toasted oat flakes. Grabbing a spoon from a drawer, K moved back to the living room, sitting down on the couch. He ate his breakfast staring at the TV, but not really taking in what he was watching. Tiredness had brought with it a kind of numbness and K was ready for sleep when he set his bowl down on the table and lay down on the couch, closing his eyes. Sleep came to him fast now, drowning out the sound of the TV and the silence of his flat.
A gunshot rang throughout the night and he found himself running, up a driveway and up steps, busting through the door. His hand was gripping the gun he carried tight enough to turn his knuckles white. The scenery was grey, reminiscent of a black and white movie, though he knew this was in no way fiction. This horror was real, becoming more real by the second, in fact, and climaxing in the sound of another gunshot and a high-pitched scream.
“Judy,” he called out frantically. “Michael!” A third gunshot shattered the night. Red began to seep through otherwise colourless walls, sliding downward silently and no more sound could be heard.
“Michael, Judy!”
K awoke with a start. He was disoriented for a long moment, his eyes darting around the room frantically before landing on the TV screen which was loudly broadcasting the theme tune of an anime. K ignored it as he willed his erratic breathing to return back to normal. He could feel sweat on his forehead, neck and back cooling and sliding downwards. The sensation made him shiver, the room seeming cold and surreal, despite the noon sunlight pouring in through large windows.
“Damn it,” K spat the curse and angrily wiped the sweat from his brow. He cursed again as he sprang up from the couch, pacing the room to the door that led to the hall, then backtracking his steps to the couch. His hands were shaking which he thought hey shouldn’t be.
It had been a dream, K berated himself. “Only a goddamn dream,” he grumbled as he paced towards the wall. The fact wasn’t a dream, hell no. The fact was harsh reality, but this… this had only been a dream. It should not have left him as shaken as it had, not anymore, at least. And yet his hands were trembling as he crossed through the door to the kitchen, slamming his fists down on the counter in anger over not being able to control his reactions to these games his mind had been playing with him for over a week now.
Movements still unsteady, breathing only just calming down, K felt drained and in a daze. He moved to the counter at the far end of the kitchen where a half-empty bottle of whiskey stood. Taking a tumbler from the cupboard above, K poured himself a generous amount of the liquor and downed it in one. The drink burned down the back of his throat right down to his belly, the warm tingling promising to stay for a few moments longer, at least. It seemed to awaken K’s senses, driving away the unreal numbness that had followed his nightmare.
Chuckling wryly, K placed the bottle back into its place and set the empty glass into the sink. It was pathetic, really, he knew. It being barely past noon, he really should not be drinking already. But in situations such as these his friend Jack often was the most reliable when it came to providing comfort.
Having calmed down enough to form a coherent thought, K felt a lot less rested than he should have, but he realised he was finally ready to have that shower he should have had hours ago. Removing the elastic from his hair on the way out of the kitchen, K brushed by the table, dislocating the sheets of paper that had been left there. They fluttered to the ground making obnoxious noises K should not have been as annoyed by as he was. Grumbling, he bent down to pick up the papers, wondering what they were and where they’d come from anyway.
K leafed through the pages and realised they were covered in song lyrics, containing annotations, little scribblings and even some doodles of cute bunnies and monkeys. Ryuichi must have left them behind when he had come to visit, K mused. He carefully set the pages back on the table and continued his way to the bathroom. He would drop the lyrics by NG Records later. Surely it would do him some good to get out of his flat for an hour at least and he might be able to do his much needed shopping. Or maybe he would just get some beers and a takeaway.
It was a while later that K emerged from his bedroom, showered and dressed in a clean set of clothes. His hair was still drying in places, but it was back up in its usual pony tail, keeping the otherwise unruly mass of blond neat and out of the way.
Now would be as good a time as any to bring Ryuichi the lyrics he had forgotten. K found his trainers on the way to the kitchen and grabbed the sheets of paper from the table there before spending a few moments searching for his keys. He eventually found them in the pocket of his leather jacket. Ready to leave, K locked the door once, then locked the deadlock and slid the bolt on his front door into place before turning the lock that was attached to it. Then he was on his way, down the stairs and to the underground garage of the apartment complex.
It did not take long to hand the forgotten lyrics to Ryuichi. Nittle Grasper were in the middle of rehearsal and while the band’s singer had insisted that K stay and listen, K had declined politely, claiming that he had other business to attend to. Well, business was the wrong word, really, but K did not feel up to sitting through band rehearsals. Although he had calmed down sufficiently after his violent awakening a few hours before, the whole incident had left him restless and on edge. He would take himself up on the offer of getting some beers, definitely.
Leaving the studio, K took the lift down to NG’s underground garage where he had parked his old Land Rover. It was a huge car, not very elegant, but trusty and fast. K was rather attached to it, even though Ryuichi kept reminding him that he could easily afford something better. K did not want anything better. After all, why change a winning team?
It was when K was taking the turn out of the car park and onto the road that a motorbike suddenly came out of nowhere at breakneck speed. K had to slam the breaks immediately in order to avoid collision with the bike, making the tyres of his car screech horribly.
The bike had to swerve widely to avoid K’s Rover and was coming to an unsteady halt near the pavement. There had thankfully not been much other traffic or this near accident could have ended a lot worse.
Once again, K was willing his heart to slow down, adrenaline still pumping through his veins, following the close call. And he was livid to have been put in such a situation, considering he had already been on edge that afternoon.
Taking his spare gun out of the glove compartment, K left the engine of his car running where it stood haphazardly in the road.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” K yelled, his gun trained at the motorbike driver who was just dismounting and was unbuckling his helmet.
“Seriously, where did you learn to drive that thing?” K continued ranting, waving his gun at the driver and his bike. “You know, if you can’t drive properly, I have an idea. Don’t drive!”
K should have known who he was yelling at the moment the helmet came of the motor cyclist’s head. Auburn hair fanned out, slightly mussed by the helmet and the wind and grey eyes were darting from the gun K was holding to K’s face and back again in a slightly worried daze. Still, K did not realise that he was yelling at Hiroshi Nakano, Bad Luck’s guitarist and Shuichi’s best friend.