Written By: siriusly delusional

Disclaimer: If you think that I'm Maki Murikami, you need to ask yourself two very important questions; one, why would I be writing fanfiction about something that I already own, and two, why would I be disclaiming something I already own? I mean, come on! Put two and two together people!

Dedicated To: James, who twitches everytime I mention yaoi, gave me my first kiss, and who showed me that boys actually can be kind of nice.


Ca•thar•sis kuh-thahr-sis

n. pl. ca•thar•ses -seez

1. Medicine. Purgation, especially for the digestive system.

2. A purifying or figurative cleansing of the emotions, especially pity and fear, described by Aristotle as an effect of tragic drama on its audience.

3. A release of emotional tension, as after an overwhelming experience, that restores or refreshes the spirit.


The room was very dark, the only illumination coming from the twinkling lights of Tokyo seen from the sliding glass doors that went out to his balcony, reflecting off the brown glass of numerous beer bottles laying haphazardly on the coffeetable and the floor around it. Seven or eight bottles in total, he believed, but he couldn't remember very well. The alcohol had done it's job and made him hazy and stupid like it usually did, but all in all he felt worse than he had before he started his drinking binge in the first place. Often he wondered why he continued to do this to himself, for it never seemed to ease the pain that seared in his heart.

It always seemed to go this way; he'd think about things he'd rather not, he'd get drunk, and he'd think even more about the thing he'd been trying to forget in the first place. And so the cycle continued. Round and round and all that jazz.

Eiri Uesugi was a broody drunk.

He was draped across the leather, L-shaped sofa, uncomfortable but lacking the will to move, sitting in the dark, feeling that familiar throb begin in his temples. Yep, he was sobering up. Eiri groaned and flung his arm out, groping in the dark for his beer bottle, and took a few more swigs of beer. There, crisis averted. The almost-a-headache slowly faded and he felt a little more lazy and a lot more broody. He curled into a fetal position, his back to the dancing lights of the city he had grown to love and to hate, arms wrapped around himself in some semblance of comfort.

An alcoholic is someone who's afraid of a hangover. He had said that to him once, laughing loudly as if it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. But was that what Eiri was? Did he really drink that profusely? Sure, whenever he just got done with a deadline, he tended to go on a smoking and drinking binge, but did that make him an alcoholic? And, anyway, who was Shuichi to talk? Every time Eiri had been even a little bit mean to him, he would run off and get completely shitfaced and his guitarist friend would have to take care of him. Although, admittedly, it was Eiri's fault for upsetting him in the first place.

As if the alcohol in his system weren't enough, he'd been off of his medication for the past few days. He'd been too busy writing night and day and there was no Shuichi to force him to do such routine things as eat, sleep and take his meds. How long had the singer been on tour now? Three, maybe four weeks? Time seemed to be bleeding together for Eiri in the past few hours. Hadn't it been just yesterday that he and Shuichi met? No, no, that couldn't be right...he was living with Eiri now... had been for almost a full nine months. Eiri's eyes lost a little of their drunken glaze upon realizing this, but the moment soon passed. Dimly, he wondered if he should try to make his way to his bed, but he didn't have the energy. He rolled over again, sniffling as he curled tighter around himself.

"You need to stop doing this to yourself."

Eiri's eyes shot open and he clasped a hand tightly over his mouth. That hadn't been his voice...well, it hadn't been his voice in a very, very long time... In fact, he hadn't spoken with a voice that soft or that high since...seven years ago.

Sweet Sixteen. New York City. A gun. A grave. And enough guilt and pain to last a lifetime.

Slowly, he removed his hand from his mouth, looking around warily even though he knew he wouldn't see anyone. Softly, tentively, he replied. "...Doing what?"

There was a soft, almost feminine laugh and then there was a face in front of his, slipping out of the darkness, and a body, too, which knelt in front of him. He looked into the face's eyes and could have sworn that they were his own. Well, not in the present sense, but it could've been his in the past. Young, dewy-eyed innocence. His own sixteen-year-old facade.

The face smiled indulgently at him and a hand reached out and stroked his hair. "This. You need to stop getting drunk, going off of your meds and barely eating. It's not healthy." Eiri sighed and closed his eyes as his hair was pushed back with such affection, leaning into the contact. It felt so welcoming to him in this stage and for a moment, he forgot that it didn't make sense for his delusion to be able to touch him.

But the moment passed and his eyes shot open again and he jerked away with the grace of a druken man and he stared at the confused personification of his sixteen-year-old self with pure, unadultrated emotion. "You...you're not real," he said brokenly, his words slurred and running together, "you can't be here, talking to me... It's impossible."

The confused expression slowly transformed into that of amusement and the body kneeling on the floor slowly stood up and sat next to Eiri on the couch, close, but not touching. "Silly Yuki... Don't you know who I am?" The writer shook his head, confused as to why he was calling himself 'Yuki' and he watched as his boy-self reached over to the coffee table for something, arms wrapped steadfastedly around himself.

When the boy caught him staring, there was another short burst of laughter and then the cool glass ridge of a cup was gently pressed to his lips. Eiri did not drink, looking cautiously at the aparitian in front of him, who sighed deeply. "Come on, Yuki... you've got to drink this so you can take your meds." Meds...yes, his medication would make this hallucination go away. Gingerly, Eiri swallowed the water, the throb beginning once again in his temples. He groaned in displeasure, his head feeling like it was about to split open.

He felt the kind, gentle hands run through his hair again and his whimpers of pain stopped as he leaned into the contact, eyes half-lidded in lazy contentment. "Shh," the voice said, sounding less like his own but just as familiar, "I know it hurts, but you've got to sober up before you can have your medicine and some aspirin, okay?" Eiri nodded slowly, leaning against the smaller form next to him. His weight was accomadated without a word, and Eiri found himself gathered into the other Eiri's warm arms. He felt a wave of relief rush over him, flooding his senses, baptizing him. Finally, finally he felt, for the first time, that he'd been forgiven. Of his sins, his vices, and all of his wrongs. Forgiven by Buddha, by himself...and by his Sensei. Freedom. Finally he'd gotten his first taste.

He felt his face being lifted, his eyes opening in response, but where was once his sixteen-year-old self, there was only a man. The blonde hair had darkened to inky black, as had the pale yellow cat's eyes, and the skin to a light tan. Eiri was face-to-face with the one person who could make all of his troubles, all of his fears and inadequecies, all of the great, terrible things he'd ever done, disappear without a word.

"Shuichi..." The name left the writer's lips like a prayer, something sacred and holy that put whoever uttered it in complete awe. Evidently, the singer was home from touring. He still smelled slightly of perspiration and stage makeup, although he had clearly showered and changed his clothes before he arrived.

A soft hand stroked his cheek tenderly before the younger man leaned in, kissing his lover gently on the corner of his mouth. Shuichi pulled away slowly, a patient grin on his lips, and he spoke as to not aggravate Eiri's headache. "Stay here, okay? I'm going to go get you some aspirin and your medications, alright?" Dimly, Eiri nodded, leaning back against the couch heavily as the singer stood and exited the room. He waited in silence for a few moments, head trobbing even more violently, before Shuichi returned with a few pill bottles and a warm, wet towel in hand.

Shuichi softly goaded Eiri's body to sit, back propped up against the armrest, and uncapped the first of the pill bottles, taking out the proper amount without even glancing at the directions. Had he really been taking care of Eiri for this long? The singer tilted his lover's head back before easing his mouth open and placing the pills inside. He lifted the glass once again to novelist's lips, instructing him to keep drinking until he swallowed the pills as well. Eiri choked a few times, but he managed.

Suddenly, Eiri felt himself being lifted, his weight supported with some difficultly by Shuichi's smaller frame, and led slowly towards the bedroom. He groaned in protest, pulling away from the singer, before tumbling gracelessly to the floor, unable to get up.

The younger man sighed. "Yuki, we have to get you to bed, okay? You'll rest a lot better there, I promise." When no reply came, the vocalist lifted his lover off of the floor with a grunt, and continued on his path. "Gosh, Yuki, you've lost all this weight since I've been gone, and you're still too heavy for me to carry. And K got me that personal trainer and everything!" He chuckled, a little breathlessly from exertion, and Eiri thought he'd never heard a more beautiful sound in his entire life.

Soft, welcoming red and black satin and caressed his skin as he fell back against the king-sized bed, lethargic and grim, and he moaned low in his throat at the pleasent contact. He felt his argyle socks being pulled off, followed by his Armani dress pants and button-down shirt, which were soon replaced with mis-matched nightclothes. Eiri felt his body being shifted on the bed and then tucked underneath a warm comforter. The bed bounced a little with Shuichi's weight as he climbed onto the bed, sitting next to the writer as he gently stroked his hair.

Sleep was slowly claiming the older man as his lover's fingers sifted through his blonde tresses and by the time those fingers stopped, and he felt a soft kiss being pressed to his temple, he was only a few seconds away from succumbing to sleep. It was when he felt the warm, comfortable weight next to him leave and heard his lover whisper softly, "I'm going to let you sleep now. Good night, Yuki," that he was shocked awake. He reached out and grasped the slim, shapely wrist of Shuichi Shindou, who spun around and looked at him, confusion sparkling in his black eyes.


It was a quiet, gruff whisper, but Shuichi heard it all the same. A small smile graced his lips and he nodded, pulling his wrist away from his lover's grasp before he changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed next to Eiri.

"Alright," the singer said, wrapping his arms around the writer's waist, "I'll stay if that's what you want." Eiri fell slack in his lover's arms, fitting perfectly into the embrace, nuzzling into the nape of the singer's neck.

"That is what I want," he replied quietly, the vibration humming pleasantly against his lover's skin. The writer felt his head being tilted upwards and warm lips meet his own in a moment of pure perfection. It was that moment that Eiri relized how much he'd missed this. Not just the sex and the kissing the the physical aspects of their relationship, but the closeness the two of them shared so rarely. He returned the kiss sloppily, slow from alcohol and sleepiness, but he had no desire for it to be any different. As the kissing became more heated, Eiri found that he could no longer keep up with the singer, whose tongue had found its way into his mouth, and he found himself giving up that power he always held so dear, letting someone else be the dominent if only for once. Lazily, he worked his fingers into Shuichi's hair, never wanting him to stop kissing him.

Eventually, their mouths seperated, breath coming up in short pants, but their arms stayed wrapped tightly around each other, hearts racing in time. "I love you, Eiri," Shuichi whispered into the novelist's hair, pulling him closer. "I love you so much..." It didn't dawn on him right away, but after a few moments of processing, Eiri realized the magnitude of what had just been said to him. His lover had said he loved him, not 'Yuki', but 'Eiri', the true, vulnerable part of him that he thought up until that moment he'd done such a good job of burying, of hiding him from Shuichi.

Who needed forgiveness from a ghost or Buddha, when all he ever really cared about in life was right here, in his arms, telling him that he was loved? All this time, he had been so wrapped up in own guilt that he made a martyr out of a man who had allowed unspeakable, vile acts to be done upon him. For the first time in his life, Eiri Uesugi relized that Yuki Kitazawa had never truly loved him. If he had, he would have never sold his body at the age of sixteen and let those men rape him. If he had, Eiri would have never had to have turned that gun on him. If he had loved Eiri, there wouldn't be blood on his hands now. Not too long ago, this revelation would've been met with severe depression and withdrawl from everyone around him, but now...it just was. Neither good, nor bad, but true all the same. The sky could be falling outside and he wouldn't care, as long as he could remain in those arms.

As he listened to the quiet, even breathing of his lover, Eiri still didn't know if what he felt for the singer was love. He wasn't sure if such a thing existed. Or, if it did, if he was capable of feeling such an emotion. But as his eyelids became heavier and sleep slowly began to overcome him, he couldn't help thinking how wonderful it felt figuring it out...


Author's Notes: Wow...It's so sappy...I think I'm gonna puke! But I'm good at writing fluff, so, hey, what the hell! I'm happy and if I want to write things that are so sweet it could give you cavaties just from reading it, then, hey, you're just going to have to deal with it. Anyways, Happy Thanksgiving and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday! And I also hope you give me lots of reviews! Thanks very much!

3 siriusly delusional