Author: Hawk Clowd
Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation, which includes all related characters therein. However, Kazumi-san and Dai-sensei belong to me, although I have no idea who they actually are and doubt I'll ever reference them again. But I guess we'll see.
Blood Type: Merlot. Forget what that one movie told you about merlot. It's delicious, and no one trusts movies anyway.
Warnings: Sap, and a few four-letter words. That's all.
Author's Notes: I now get all my writing done on the train on my way to work, and that's pretty great. It keeps me on a schedule, and it means I always have a good twenty to thirty minutes of uninterrupted writing time. I don't know what I'll do if I ever have to stop taking the train. Explode, probably.
"Do you think he loves her?" Shuichi asked, leaning close to Eiri's back and sliding his hands into the writer's coat pockets. Eiri never would have allowed it normally, but the night was freezing and neither of them had worn gloves, so he let it go. When he felt Shuichi's chilly fingers press into his wrists, he took hold of them and rubbed gently, easing warmth back in without ever moving from the deep, expansive pockets.
"What are you talking about?"
Shuichi nodded to the newsstand nearby, perched at the side of the road and empty but still displaying papers from the day before. "Kazumi-san and Dai-sensei. You know. The actors?" He prodded at the back of Eiri's knee with his own, and Eiri looked up, willing the pedestrian light to change. Shuichi always treated such interruptions in their walks as an excuse to manhandle him.
Shuichi caught Eiri's fingers in his own, curling them loosely against one another. "They've been front page news for weeks, and I was just thinking that it was nice but it's not, it's really hard, and I was wondering if they're really in love or not. What do you think?"
"I think it isn't any of your business." The light changed and Eiri crossed the street, guiding Shuichi along after him. The singer had to walk close behind the writer in order to keep his hands in Eiri's pockets, and Eiri tried not to mind. He was at the very least grateful for the late hour; at this time of night -- morning? -- there was little risk they would be seen -- or worse, photographed.
Shuichi tracked along and sighed. "They're front page, Yuki. That makes it everyone's business."
Eiri frowned. "That may be the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say."
Shuichi nearly tripped both of them in trying to stay pressed against the writer's back and he stumbled to keep his balance. Once he'd righted himself again, he shook his head. "Is not."
That was true; Eiri had a wide selection of stupid things from which to choose. This probably didn't even make the top ten.
"We've been front page before," he pointed out instead. "Does that make us everyone's business as well?"
Since Shuichi was behind him, Eiri couldn't see his expression, but he could guess: the singer had wrinkled his nose and was smiling a little, as though Eiri had been the one to ask the dumb question. "That's different. That's us."
Shuichi laughed and nuzzled Eiri's shoulder. "Yeah, I love you, too."
Eiri rolled his eyes, turning left so they could cut through the park. It was too cold to go the long way, and the sooner they were home the sooner he could get Shuichi's hands out of his pockets and busy them with other things. What had possessed them to go out at this time of year, anyway? Fuck. Shuichi really was infecting him with stupid.
"Anyway," Shuichi persisted, "I kind of hope they think they're in love but really it's just media pressure. Or indigestion or something."
"You think love feels like indigestion?" He'd never heard that one before, certainly. If that was the case, he'd fallen hard for take-out about half a dozen times in the past week.
Shuichi laughed and straightened his fingers against Eiri's again. "No, not really. But they might."
"Right. Why exactly do you just want them to think they're in love, as opposed to --"
"You mean instead of them actually being in love?" Shuichi shrugged and pressed close to Eiri's back -- for warmth, perhaps? -- when the writer paused to consider a pair of shaking bushes. One of those bushes seemed to have grown an arm, and the other had stolen a pair of shoes. Both had learned how to moan.
Shuichi didn't speak again until Eiri continued walking. "Anyway, I dunno. It makes for a better story that way, don't you think?"
There was clearly a reason Eiri was the writer, not Shuichi. He frowned. "I think you might be retarded."
"I was." He itched for a cigarette, but didn't want to pause in this cold, or take his hands out of his coat pockets. "They aren't characters in a story, idiot. They're people. Wishing for that kind of plot twist only makes people like you happy, not them."
He still couldn't see it, but somehow Eiri knew Shuichi was making a face at his back. "It'd still be a better story."
"Get your hands out of my pockets."
"What?" Shuichi forced his hands further in, pushing against the pocket lining and adding a considerable bit of weight to the coat. "Why?"
Eiri tried to pull Shuichi's hands out by the wrists. "It makes for a much better story if I betray you and leave you to freeze to death in the park. Don't you agree?"
"Stop trying to prove a point. It's cold out here."
"Then stop saying stupid shit."
Shuichi sighed, but let it go. Then, after a while, he pressed close to Eiri again. The writer heard him take a deep breath, and he steeled himself.
"So do you think he loves her?"
Eiri rolled his eyes. "Why does it matter?"
Shuichi shrugged. "I don't know. It's just that they're both pretty well known and it's hard to be in love like that when there's always people breathing down your neck, you know?"
This was ridiculous. Eiri shook his head. "If we can do it, anyone can."
He knew it was a mistake the moment he said it, and he didn't have to see it to know when the face-splitting grin appeared on the singer's face. In the coat pockets, Shuichi's fingers found Eiri's own and brushed gently against them.
"Yeah," Shuichi said. "I guess you're right."