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Chapter Five: Dizzy


Yuki Eiri had been helping his sleazebag of a brother-in-law manage this place since his eighteenth birthday.

That meant...he counted lazily on his fingers...four years in this glorified strip club.

How special.

But never in his four years had he seen some moron hobble onto the stage in bare feet.

Upon further inspection, he realized that self-same moron was that Shindou kid, in a pink miniskirt and looking like someone had dunked his head in a bucket of glitter.

He was also looking a bit seasick. Definitely queasy.

Stage fright?

The kid had been rather timid. He fleetingly wondered where Seguchi had picked him up from.

Before remembering that, sometimes, it was better not to ask.

Seguchi had also said, if he remembered correctly, that this kid was 'exceptional'.

That was really not a word you heard from him everyday.

In fact, the only time Eiri had ever heard him use that word was in reference to...Eiri.


Casually taking another sip of beer, he turned back to the kid, petrified and sparkling, and looking anything but exceptional.

His guitarist sent him a reassuring grin, and before Eiri knew it, a smile had slithered its way onto Shindou's glossy lips.

And he looked less like he was going to puke his guts all over the stage.

Good start.

Seguchi would not have been pleased.

The voice started out soft, slow. Uncertain. Trembling.

But Eiri had to admit, it was...pretty.

Shindou lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the presumably harsh glow of the spotlight. It was all so shockingly amateur that Eiri briefly wondered if this was a joke.

None of the other customers, however, shared his suspicions. In fact, he could practically hear them salivating.

Lot of sick bastards.

Shindou tossed another look at his guitarist, who just smiled. Funny. That guy always looked fantastically sullen while bartending, and just plain bored when accompanying any other singer.

Shindou was definitely...something.

Eiri never claimed to know anything about music. In fact, he'd admit to knowing next to nothing at all. He didn't even like it. Most of it was loud, grating, and stupid, and the rest was snooty and monotonous.

So Eiri really had no musical expertise with which to critique Shindou's performance.

Instead, he just...listened.

Shindou's voice was getting stronger, more confident, it seemed, with every note he sang. It was so clear, so pure, like sparkling water being poured perfectly into a glass.

That sounded stupid.

Even his fucking romance novelist's brain couldn't think of a decent metaphor for this kid's voice.

It was definitely...something.

It may have been the alcohol, or Shindou's singing, or some gloriously intoxicating combination of the two...

But that punk was starting to look strangely attractive.

Fuck. No.

The kid was skinny and weird, with cheaply-dyed pink hair.

And Eiri didn't even like guys.

But the way he swung those hips, wiggled that oddly alluring (Fuck. No. Not alluring) ass of his, shining and shimmering and singing, his smile now as bright as his voice...

Oh, God.

If Yuki Eiri, womanizer of the century, was being reduced to this, just because of some brat...what were the regular customers thinking?

He grunted and pushed himself out of the booth, not bothering to leave a tip.

It was too early for this shit.


"Whoa. Man." Hiro shook his head. Long strands of hair flew. Shuichi wondered what color he'd say that hair was.

Then he realized it really didn't matter. And laughed to himself.

"I mean, to be hand-picked by Seguchi..." Hiro muttered. Not to anyone in particular, Shuichi thought. Was he talking to him? Should he be listening? "I knew you'd be good, but...man."

Shuichi's head spun. Glitter and stardust and explosions of technicolor. Dizzy. So dizzy.

"I did good, then?" Shuichi asked, falling onto the couch...sinking. Comfy.


A brief chuckle. "Yeah, you did good."

A water bottle was thrown, and miraculously, Shuichi caught it. Ah. So cold. He pressed the bottle to his forehead, and before he knew it, the world melted away.

Shuichi had never been drunk before. Or if he had, he couldn't remember. But this, he thought, would have to be what drunk felt like.

Dizzy and giddy and wonderful.

Everything sparkled and blurred and Shuichi could feel himself smile.

Hiro said something, something nice, because he had such a nice voice. And then he walked off, with his hair flying behind him.

Nothing was real, everything was wonderful, and Shuichi decided that he would definitely say Hiro's hair was auburn.


After a dizzy blur of conversations that Shuichi couldn't remember for the life of him, he figured if would be okay if he went home for the night.

Or, you know. To the alley.

He searched through the wardrobe for a jacket small enough to almost fit him.

No such luck.

But he found a rather large one that was cozy and warm, so he didn't mind.

Rolling the sleeves up, he made his way to the door.

When he saw that guy, with his jet black hair and evil eyes. He was with another man. Pudgy and sweaty and balding.

He looked...hungry.

They must be going out to dinner.

Shuichi flung the door open. The wind immediately chomped at his nose. It was still freezing outside.

And dark.

But this was the neon part of town. He could find his way. Surely.



His feet still ached a bit, even in the roomy sneakers Hiro had found for him. Every few steps it stung.

Suddenly his heart got the feeling that, even with a new job, with a new life and sparkles in his hair, things wouldn't change at all.

Tears pricked at his eyes, but the wind blew them away.

He bit his lip. Chewed. Buttoned up his jacket all the way.

And shuddered.

Maybe things never changed.

Everything...became...a little bit brighter.

He turned, shocked and blinking, to face the world's most gorgeous car.

Why would a car like that shine its lights on him?



He stumbled his way to the car's window, which quickly slid down.

And all he saw was golden.

"Get in," was all he said.


Shuichi's teeth let go of his lip.

And his jaw dropped.

"Get in,"Yuki-san repeated. He shook his cigarette out the window. The tiny twinkles of light fell, fell, till they collided with the concrete. Burned. And disappeared.

Shuichi shivered.

And got into the car.

They drove in silence, complete silence, through Neon City.

Shuichi had tons of questions, but he kept them to himself. Just like his laughter when he saw how much faster than the speed limit Yuki-san was going.

He watched the lights – red and pink and blue – flicker and spin and spin and swirl until his mind shut up and again he could feel dizzy and giddy and wonderful.


He was being carried again.

These arms, these arms were strong.

"Yuki-san," Shuichi sighed, into a shirt that must have definitely been silk. "Did I really sing on a stage today?"


They climbed some steps, it felt like.

"It wasn't..." Shuichi felt his lip quiver. How lame. "It wasn't a dream, was it?"

"No." One word. One voice. Low and slow and deep and gorgeous.


All of this was real, and all of it was wonderful.

He snuggled into the silk, and let himself be carried to wherever they were going.


A/N: Drr. I'm late again. I'm sorry! It was, in fact, laziness that kept me from posting, but...I really wanted to post on this day! Why? Because tomorrow is my birthday! (Tuesday, that is.)

So please, it would be like, the best present ever if I got lots of reviews! I wanna know everything; the good, the bad, and the downright ridiculous. So if you read, please review! Thank you!

To everyone who reads this at all, whether you review or not...thanks. ILU.

This chapter...what to say...it was really fun. Typing it out, I'm like "Whoa...this is some pretty crazy stuff." 'Cause I had the flu when I wrote it. So forgive me if it's a bit weird! I made a few arrangements, but I like how it came out.

It actually went not at all in the direction I thought it would but...I like it this way.

Comments? Complaints? Suggestions would be awesome. But, hey, just clicking on this dumb story means enough to me! Sorry for being so hyper...I'm going to sleep...goodnight everyone!