The air was thick and cold, causing the neon lights of the city to cast the surrounding fog odd hues of green and pink. In the recesses of the city, where nightlights were only recognized by the fluorescent signs advertising bars and clubs Shuichi walked, hunched over. His hair was ruffled and matted, looking styled in its own way. He walked in wobbling lines, occasionally ramming into shoulders that would jar him from his thoughts.
Nothing could distract his mind from drowning in it's own depressive puddle, that was currently filling all the space in his skull, only to finally leak out of his eyes and onto his red, raw cheeks. He'd sluggishly dig his hands into his pants pockets, only to feel the unwelcome wrinkles of worn paper scraping at his hands. It was as if the address and number on that paper weren't written, but brail, it stood out so much. Once he traced the numbers with his long fingers, his hand would whip out of the pockets, and the cycle would continue.
He had been walking in circles, finding himself in doorways that he had been to plenty of times over again. Hiro's... Yuki's. But once he stood there, staring hard into the wood, he would lose his nerve and walk away.
He brushed shoulders with a passing couple, the female of the group turning back and casting him a sympathetic, obviously not recognizing the singer at his lowest moment. He seemed almost unreal. His skin was suddenly a haunting white in the lighting, and his clothing looked rumpled, stolen and dirty.
At least, Shuichi thought as he stopped in his tracks and stared up into the starless night, this could make for great lyrics.
Maybe that flickering light in the hallway should've been a sign to leave and come back another day. The fact that it was late at night, nearing eleven o'clock, was another sign. Instead, Hiroshi followed his gut and allowed it to lead him here, the doorway of his beloved friend, Shuichi Shindou.
When neither the author nor Shuichi answered, Hiroshi should've left it at that, and then left all together. He should've passed that pang in his stomach off as hunger, and picked up a burger—to lay on his mattress and stay awake despite the best efforts of any sleeping medication he would take, wondering why he couldn't stop crying, the untouched burger still in his hand.
He shouldn't have opened the door.
Because once he seen the blood on the floor, the spatter marking the walls, he couldn't turn back.
He was locked in fear, considering frantically wethere he could brave going into the room, when a powerful rush of sweat, blood and fear hit him, and it hit him hard. That scent that was so familiar to Shuichi stood out in it all. The sent, accompanied by the sight, was enough to drop the guitarist to his knees. Hiro hadn't been to the apartment building very often, only coming when he was invited, or when it was in the best interest of his friend, but he knew that it was often extremely clean, borderline obsessive. Now, with the sofa overturned, and random items soaked with blood strewn across the hardwood floor, Hiro almost hadn't recognized the place.
The paintings that once hung proudly on the walls were smashed or just gone all together. He followed the blood trail with his eyes, letting the crimson tell him a story of struggle. The fight had originated at the couch, he could tell from the massive puddle starting there. The trails led to the kitchen, where the garbage was overturned and the contents of it thrown across the whole house. There wasn't a single spot on the floor that wasn't covered up by either blood or an assortment of items, or both.
Unconciously, Hiro began to walk into the room. He moved in a trance, mouth agape and eyes wide with shock. Horror-struck, Hiro paid no mind to where his feet fell. There was a heavy silence that permeated the air to the point where his already dead lungs had to struggle for air.
The guitarist ventured further into the house, not even bothering to shut the door behind him and never thinking that some nosey neighbor may very well stumble onto it, and in turn fall into the rabbit hole like him. He finally swayed to a cautious stoo, and kneeled beside the couch, softly brushing his fingers against the dampened material.
After a few moments of the ever-present deafening silence, he brought himself back to his feet, trying to comprehend the situation through the haze in his brain. In a daze, Hiroshi began to stumble down the hall, when an unexpected sound sent a jolt down his spine. The crunch that startled him did not come from another room, but from the CD case under his foot. When he lifted his sneaker, he recognized the CD case to be from his own band.
The image was of all three of them standing in a forest. He was leaning against a tree to the far off right, Suguru was slumped against the roots of a large oak tree, and Shuichi was in the middle, peeking out from a smaller tree. There was a crack running across Shuichi's smiling face, another ignored omen.
The haze cleared up almost instantly with this small reminder of what he had come here to find, what he had come here to protect. Hiro began rushing through the rest of the apartment building, pounding on walls, smearing the blood that seemed to be coated everywhere. "Shuichi!" he cried out in an odd strain. "Shuichi, where are you!? Yuki!"
He neared the last door, the only one that was closed and the one that happened to be the bedroom. Now he could hear movement in the room, which was the only incentive he needed to boldy grip the door handle and push it slowly open.
The bedroom was in an even more horrific state than the living room. The mattress was half off of the box spring, with the bedspread missing. There was clothing littered across the floor, throw pillows and garbage shoved into a corner, while the other corner was Yuki's laptop and Shuichi's CD player. The scent in this room was harsher than the smell emitting from the living room, and once again Hiro dropped to his knees, only this time he couldn't help the vomit from rushing out of his mouth and mixing with the blood at his feet.
He opened his eyes when he was sure he was done, brushing away tears that remained in the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand, when he noticed a foot sticking out from the rest of the mess.
"Shuichi!" Hiro cried. The pink haired boy was curled into the mess, hiding himself under the duvet comforter, failing to notice that his foot wasn't as sheltered as the rest of his body. Had the room been in a cleaner state, the hiding place would've seemed pathetic.
"Hiro-kun," a smooth voice purred from above him. He turned quickly to face the man, never noticing his foot slide into his mess. "You shouldn't come uninvited into a home and puke in the master bedroom, it's very rude."
Eiri stepped over the Hiro's trembling form, and over the mess. With the grace of a cat, the author seated himself on the box spring. There was a towel in his hands, wet with water and blood. Hiro watched in mute horror as Yuki began to clean the blood off of his ghostly white hands. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter much."
Despite the state of the house, Yuki looked like he was about to tend to an elegant party of some sort. He was dressed in a green button down shirt, the silk shining, despite the room's dim light. The top few buttons were left undone, revealing the blonde's smooth pale chest.
Over the shirt he wore an extravagant looking black coat, the same color of his pants and shoes that just so happened to appear to be spit-shined. The blonde's hair was fashionably mussed, with not a hair out of place.
"You like?" The novelist suddenly asked, placing the towel beside him. "It was rather difficult to get all that blood out of my hair."
"Shuichi…" was all the longhaired guitarist could murmur.
Eiri's cat-like eyes were instantly glaring down at him. "What of Shuichi?"
"What have you done to him, you bastard?"
Eiri's eyes became glassy and his smile became lecherous. "Oh, Hiro-kun," he purred, "I was only playing with him." He gestured expansively around the room, at the blood and the mess and then down at Shuichi's prone form, which had yet to move. "I guess it was just...too much for him."
"You son of a bitch! What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?"
Eiri ignored the outburst and began to serenely pet Shuichi's foot that was still sticking out from under the mattress. "Nothing, nothing. Just a few games are all. He'll be all right Hiro-kun," and here, he looked up with blazing eyes and stared into what seemed to be Hiro's very soul, "but only if you save him."
Hiro stared for a moment, too shocked to say anything. Anger rose like bitter vomit in the back of his throat but he choked it down. "What..." he began hesitantly, "do I have to do...to save him?"
Eiri beamed down at him. "Let me show you." He reached behind his back at an agonizingly slow speed, before finally pulling out a small black handgun and placing it in Hiro's frozen hands. "End it," he whispered, and his voice had taken on an almost hypnotizing tone.
His mind was so thickly fogged, that Hiro never noticed the still form of Shuichi begin to move. It was just a twitching motion at first, a signal that the boy came back from the world of unconsciousness and into a horrible reality.
"Welcome back, Shuichi." Eiri said pleasantly, returning to his spot in the box spring. There was a stifled gasp from under the blanket, as Shuichi became more aware of his situation. While Hiroshi still trying to comprehend the odd weight in his hands, Shuichi slowly began to move the blankets that were obscuring his vision.
He never looked worse. His hair was pulled and matted from the blood, not even attempting to shine. His eyes were listless, and though already bubbling over with tear, very dull and only half open. He was dressed in the clothing that he had been all day, very casual gray sweatpants and a simple black T-shirt. Now the clothing was torn and bloody. The boy's skin was sickly white from lack of blood, making the scratches and blood on it stand out.
Eiri's eyes regarded the injured boy coldly and calculatingly, trying to decipher what he was thinking. Shuichi couldn't look up to meet his lovers eyes, fear and pain hardened it muscles and made it hard, if not impossible, to move. He knew that the golden bore into him, however, which only added to the discomfort Shuichi was feeling.
"Yu...ki," The breathy plea was enough to snap Hiro out of his stupor. His brown eyes flickered towards his friend, watching hopelessly as tears descended down Shuichi's cheeks. He was in so much obvious pain. With out another moment's hesitation, Hiro began to crawl towards Shuichi in desperation.
"Shuichi…Shuichi, oh god."
The boy froze when the familiar voice reached his ears. Hiro—his hero—was here. The hot tears streaked down his fast faster, but the ghost of a smile was forming on his cracked, blood smeared lips.
"Hiro… Thank God!" By now Hiro was hovering over him, blocking everything out from his field of vision. The long brown hair that belonged to Hiro fell down his shoulder, and just barely touched the tip of Shuichi's noise. It was a faint touch, but there, and enough to reassure the boy that he was safe now.
"Shuichi," Hiro meowed pitifully, trying not to let his tears fall anymore. Then he said again, "Shuichi." While reaching down to assist his fallen friend, Hiro dropped the gun.
"Shuichi, Shuichi!" Yuki mimicked, instantly standing above them both. "Hiro-kun, you sound like a broken record."
"Why?" Shuichi interrupted, ignoring the rising tears shouting caused him. "Why did you do this to me, Yuki? I love you."
"That's exacrly why, you incompetent little twit. You're disgusting, and you've served your purpose. I'm finally getting rid of you. Well...maybe not me actually." Yuki strode purposefully over to the gun. He picked it up distastefully, as if it were a dead mouse the cat had brought into the house. "Hiro, be a dear and take this from me."
Yuki's eyes brooked no disagreement, so Hiro reluctantly reached over and took the gun from Yuki with trembling hands. "Wha-what," Hiro's hand was shaking violently now. "What do you want me to do with this?"
Yuki grinned, his eyes twinkling with hate. "It's actually quite simple. Iwant you to do what you're supposed to do with a gun." He walked closer and crouched down next to Shuichi's crumpled form. He placed a disarmingly gentle hand on his crumpled shoulder and glanced at Hiro's withdrawn face slyly.
"What...what is it that you exactly mean?" Hiro asked worriedly, not understanding Yuki's meaning and leering looks between the gun and Shuichi.
Yuki merely continued to stare at Hiro, his smile growing larger by the second until it seemed that his face would split with unholy glee.
Comprehension dawned on Hiro's face as he finally grasped Yuki's gesture. "You surely don't mean..."
Yuki nodded. Hiro began to hyperventilate.
"No, no, no, I couldn't, I can't, I won't, I won't, I won't!" Hiro screamed, hysterically screaming towards the end.
Yuki's eyes narrowed. "Oh, stupid Hiro-kun. You can do it, and you will do it. Or I will."
Hiro stared wide-eyed and helpless at Yuki, wishing desperately that this was all just a dream. Yuki had finally snapped. He'd gone crazy. Oh god. They all should have known something like this would happen. With Yuki's fragile psyche, and Shuichi's abundant and sometimes reckless enthusiasm, the two were bound to clash. And they had. Yuki had snapped, oh god, he'd snapped and now he wanted to kill Shuichi. Hiro's mind became a broken record, and endless litany of, 'Oh God, Shuichi, Oh God, Shuichi.'
Yuki glanced detachedly at Shuichi's prone and unmoving form. He nudged it roughly with his exspensive boot, now stained beyond repair by Shuichi's congealing blood. Shuichi didn't even flinch at the contact, didn't utter a word. He was still. Too still.
"He's already bled too much. He's going to die anyway," Yuki muttered, glaring clinically down at Shuichi's rapidly bleeding body.
Hiro whimpered, a strange keening sound escaping out of his mouth. Yuki seemed to be shaken out of a trance at the noise and smirked at Hiro. He made his way, cat-like, carefully tracing his way through the path of wreckage and destruction strewn throughout the room. He reached Hiro's side, and all Hiro could do was stand still with shock, eyes stilled fixed upon Shuichi's corpse, no, damn it, his body.
Yuki reached a velvety hand over Hiro's hand, the one shakily holding the gun. Yuki flicked his tongue over Hiro's earlobe and breathed silkily into it. "One...quick...little bullet and it's all over Hiro. No more pain, no more suffering. You could end it all, here, now. End it Hiro, do him one final favor. Protect him one last time."
Hiro's eyes closed and tears rolled down his cheeks, silently. He felt Yuki's hand inch down to the trigger. He felt Yuki's hand lift the gun up, making Hiro's hand point the gun at his best friend in the world. Hiro felt Yuki exerting enough pressure on the gun to pull the trigger.
Hiro felt the gun shake with the bullet's throbbing exit. He heard the bullet tear through flesh, bone, vital organs.
Shuichi was dead, and he'd done it. Oh, god.
Yuki jumped up from his bed with a scream.
This dream. This dream was different. There had never been anyone else in them before. He'd never destroyed Shuichi so utterly before. He could feel the leftover hate from the dream rise from his throat like bile, burning it. He choked out a few dry sobs, body shaking violently.
This was different. This was worse. He couldn't control this anymore.
He needed help, this time.
Shuichi stood on the steps in front of a large and impressive looking doorway. He bit his lip nervously, checking, double checking the adress on the piece of paper clutched in his sweaty hand. He had no where else to go.
Yuki was mad at him, Hiro was sick of him, and he couldn't sleep at the studio. It'd be looked around now, it was so late.
He had no one.
And that fact, and that fact alone, is what gave him the extra encentive he needed to go the door, and knock.
Huzzah! Finally, the all exciting continuation of "TOMORROW BRING". It took a while, but it was well worth the wait. I hardly worked on this chapter at all, so it was mostly written by my talented Betta LIZZIE. Therefore, it's only fair that she gets her say on the authors note.
Lizzie: I AM ALIVE. and everyone needs to review this, cause Danni and I worked our arses off.
She gives me too much credit. PLEASE REVIEW, BECAUSE WITHOUT THEM I GET DISCOURAGED AND I HAVE NO INSPIRATION TO WRITE. But with them, I want to post more and more and MORE.