Regression Chapter 1, a gravitation fanfic

Title: Regression

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: (I've always wanted to do one of these) – I do not own Gravitation or any of the characters from Gravitation. Wah…

Summary: AU When Yuki's sessions with his psychiatrist increase, he hates it. Can a certain pink haired receptionist change his mind?

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Yuki was pissed. Thinking about it now, he thought that perhaps he should not have mentioned that he had been drinking and smoking more than usual, and that he never left his house unless it was to go shopping. How could he be regressing? It had been –what? Six years since he had killed Yuki Kitazawa? He hated the hospital, he hated his stupid psychiatrist and he hated talking about his past. Combine the three and throw them into an hour per week and you get instant torture. Yuki's twice monthly sessions with his psychiatrist had, as of now, become once weekly hourly sessions. And Yuki was none too happy about it.

"You'll make better progress," Sachiko-sensei had chirped brightly at him (how she had become a psychiatrist Yuki would never know; he wasn't remotely suicidal, but if he were he would definitely find Sachiko-sensei's sessions that final push before he did it). "Think: if you continued with your twice monthly sessions, it could take years! Now you might be able to finish in months!" Unfortunately the prospect of having that stupid woman asking him questions about his past and feelings didn't make the next few months look particularly bright.

Right now, Yuki was driving to his first session. His hands kept trying to turn the steering wheel of his car in the direction of home which made his driving a bit dodgy, but showed how completely against his new routine he was. He had left home slightly early because any changes in his counselling caused a fuss at the reception ("Your session is next week Uesugi-san") and he had to have autograph signing time too. The amount of nurses at the hospital was insane so he was always being asked by an Ayame-chan or a Mizuki-chan for an autograph. If he had known how annoying it would be to be so popular wherever he went he would never have become a novelist.

As he drove he became increasingly aware of how close he was to the hospital. How had the week gone past so quickly? Anger was building up inside him as he thought of the awful room he sat in with its 'cheerful' orange walls, staring at the clock that hated him and told him that a minute had passed when he felt like it had been at least forty. When he drove into the car park and parked his car he sat still for a minute, trying to calm down. It wouldn't do any good for him to march into the psychiatry ward insulting every person who spoke to him – it would only increase his sessions, god forbid. He slammed his head on the steering wheel and rehearsed how he was going to act. No smiling, they'd think he was on drugs. Be pleasant, be polite. The two P's of returning to the twice monthly sessions. Perfect – now make that the three P's. Pleasant, polite, perfect.

He checked his reflection quickly in his wing mirror to make sure he didn't look like he had been chain smoking and binge drinking for the past week. He looked ok, a bit rough (he hadn't slept well the night before, or the night before that) but he could tell Sachiko-sensei that he had had a deadline to meet. No need to add insomnia to his list of problems. He didn't need any more medication, the lots he had already costing him more than enough as it was.

After ruffling his hair a little he managed to convince himself that he looked fine. He stared with loathing at the big white building across the car park from him and he took a deep breath. He needed a cigarette but it would not do his image any good to walk into the hospital reeking of smoke. He had denied himself his breakfast cigarette for that exact reason. He only had to wait another hour and a half until he could have one. Only 90 minutes. Seemed impossible to him.

He stared, filled with the alien feeling of dread in his stomach at the pristine white building. He began his walk to the hospital.

Shuichi had just graduated from his high school with bad marks. No – not bad; terrible marks. For the first two weeks he had cried his eyes out, until his best friend, Hiro had told him to 'shut the fuck up and stop with the self-pitying crap' and to do a home-study college course in whatever he wanted to do, where he didn't need good marks. He spent the next four weeks deciding what he wanted to do. He chose psychology. Then he spent the next week crying because he couldn't afford to pay for the course. Fortunately, Hiro's dad (who was a doctor at the hospital) had found him a job in the psychiatry ward ("it'll look good on your CV when you get your degree") at Sato hospital as an assistant and receptionist. Shuichi was so grateful he spent another week crying.

He had started two days ago and loved his job. He was a very friendly person, so he chatted with a lot of the staff and patients. He also wore the women's uniform. It was nicer, he argued to anybody who confronted him, than the men's uniform of a lab coat or a suit. Nobody had had the heart to tell him that he couldn't wear it. So he wore it. Over the last two days he had learnt how to answer the phone (fun – "Good morning/afternoon, Sato Hospital's Psychiatry ward, Shindou Shuichi speaking, how can I help you?") and how to file records and add to patient's information onto the hospital database – something he had never learnt to do in high school. He had just about turned the reception desk into a home for himself with pot plants and photos– why shouldn't he? He had long working hours and worked most days.

Today was pretty quiet. He hadn't had many calls apart from a cancellation and a confirmation of an order he had made for the head of department. He sat back in his swivel chair boredly and spun around. He checked the time and the appointment sheet and saw that the next patient would be arriving for the 10 o'clock session soon. He loved talking to the patients. He himself had always hated quiet receptions and thought that the patients would enjoy a chat before they went with their psychiatrists to talk about painful or stressful things. So far all of his conversations had been good ones.

He heard the elevator open at the end of the corridor and he immediately stood up and tried to look busy and professional. He heard a person's footsteps and he looked up, smiling his cheerful smile that he had been perfecting for weeks. His smile fell from his face as he gave an unprofessional squeak. It was YUKI EIRI! His sister loved the novelist, and Shuichi had never met a celebrity before. Yuki stepped up to the desk.

"Uesugi Eiri," he told Shuichi boredly, "I have an appointment at 10."

Shuichi nodded dazedly, and then snapped back into his cheerful mood again and smiled at Yuki, who merely stared coldly back at him. Shuichi reached for his pencil holder to get a pen to tick 'Uesugi, Eiri' off on the register. Unfortunately, the day before he had emptied his pencil holder and refilled it with strawberry Pocky and he found himself trying to tick the name off with a stick of Pocky. "Oops," he said to Uesugi, Eiri. He was just regarded more coldly.

Slightly flustered now, he searched for a pen, rummaging unprofessionally in drawers until he located one. He ticked Eiri off on the register and smiled at him apologetically. "I haven't been here long," he explained.

"Ah." As if he cared.

"Excuse me if I'm mistaken," Shuichi continued on a different note, "but are you Yuki Eiri? It's just; well, you look a lot like him…"

Yuki nodded curtly at the pink haired receptionist. He had had gay fans salivating over him before but was this person for real? A pink haired brat in the women's uniform with a pencil holder full of Pocky? From the elevator the cross-dressing receptionist had actually looked a lot like a woman. It scared him slightly to know who was reading his books.

Shuichi's eyes grew wide. "You're Yuki Eiri? The novelist? Really? I'm not saying that you're lying but you're famous, and you're here! Can I have your autograph? For my sister I mean, I've never read your books. Her name is Maiko, but I think she's like it if you wrote Maiko-chan, you know?" He handed Yuki a piece of paper and a pen, and, to shut the babbling receptionist up, Yuki labouredly wrote his standard message to Maiko and signed it, putting two x's at the end. That done, Yuki went to take a seat, where he might get some peace and quiet.

But Shuichi hadn't finished with him yet. The receptionist continued to talk to him. "I can't believe Yuki-san came to this hospital, where I am! I'm Shuichi by the way, Shindou Shuichi."

"Pleasure to meet you," Yuki replied, his voice a monotone. Shuichi faltered slightly, none of the other patients had been so unresponsive.

"My sister is going to be so happy. She loves all of your books. I've never read them; my reading's not so good." He wrinkled his nose in obvious remembrance of a reading-related time. "She has loads of posters of you in her room. Can I ask you a question?"

"Knock yourself out," Yuki replied sarcastically.

"Don't you find it weird when fans obsess over you? I would hate it."

"You get used to it," Yuki told him dryly. The bubbly pink haired thing the hospital had stuffed in reception was slowly driving him to murderous thoughts. Had Sachiko-sensei managed to clone herself into cross-dressing man form? Yuki detested over-friendly people, especially over-friendly strangers.

"I don't think I ever could." Shuichi confessed, munching thoughtfully on a stick of Pocky. He caught Yuki eyeing his Pocky. "Want some?"

"No." Yuki replied bluntly, debating whether another murder would cause him further psychological damage. If the murder victim was Shuichi, Yuki concluded, probably not.

"I just want a normal job, you know?" Shuichi continued, oblivious to Yuki's rising anger levels. "My best friend got me this job. I want to be a psychiatrist. I think it would be really nice to be able to help people." He paused in more thought, and then added hastily: "I'm not accusing you of choosing a selfish job. I think writing is great… even though I'm not too good at writing stories…"

"Do you make it a habit to tell complete strangers about yourself?" Yuki asked him coldly. He figured that the only way the pink haired receptionist would understand that he was pissing Yuki off was by being blunt.

Shuichi looked a bit taken aback. "I'm sorry, I was just making conversation. I thought that you'd like to talk instead of sitting in silence."

"If I wanted to 'make conversation', it wouldn't be with a kid like you. What the hell compelled them to employ you here? This place is already full of useless brain-dead staff without you here."

Shuichi was hurt. He would never have guessed that Yuki Eiri would be such an asshole. His sister always told him about what a good person Yuki Eiri was, donating to charity and being charming in interviews. "Hey," Shuichi protested, "you can't just come in here and tell me I suck at my job! I didn't do anything to you."

"You didn't have to," Yuki told him, his anger dissipating now that Shuichi had dropped his cheerfulness. "Now be a good receptionist and answer the phones or something." Shuichi drew himself up, incensed and ready to argue.

Sachiko-sensei walked out into the reception and beamed at Yuki. "Uesugi-san, what are you saying to our new receptionist?" She laughed at them both. "Don't worry about Uesugi-san, Shindou-san. He's a little bad tempered." Yuki cringed inwardly. He couldn't understand why Sachiko-sensei talked about him as if she were his mother. From the look on Shuichi's face he could tell that the receptionist loved the cheery psychiatrist. His clone in cross-dressing male form theory was beginning to prove itself. However, he didn't have long to dwell on it as Sachiko-sensei began to lead him towards her room.

Shuichi waited furiously for the next hour for Yuki to leave. He spent a lot of his hour planning what he was going to say to the novelist when he came to the reception desk to make arrangements for the next session. Mentally unstable or not, Yuki Eiri was not going to get away with insulting his work. Shuichi was so angry that he ignored the next patient who tried to make conversation with him. He had just perfected his livid face when Yuki walked down the corridor into reception to stand in front of the desk.

"How can I help you?" Shuichi asked him in a clipped voice. He knew exactly what Yuki needed; Sachiko-sensei had faxed him the report for Yuki's first session ages ago.

"I need the report," Yuki stated, before adding against his better judgement, "Brat."

Shuichi bristled. Now he would pull out all the stops! "Funny, I need an apology. Can you help me out?" He replied wittily.

Yuki stared at him for a long time before leaning towards Shuichi until their faces were a few centimetres apart. "Don't fuck about, brat. Do you want to lose your job?"

Shuichi gulped, starting to wish he hadn't picked a fight with Yuki Eiri. "Just apologize and I'll give you the report." He was being extremely brave, which probably had a lot to do with the fact that he knew that Yuki wouldn't be able to hurt him if he was behind the desk.

"Give me the damn report." Yuki said softly, dangerously.

"No," Shuichi replied firmly, looking back into his eyes defiantly.

Without nicotine or alcohol in his system, Yuki wasn't feeling too in control, and having Shuichi push him wasn't doing him any good. "Kid, I'm not fucking around with you, if you don't give me that damn report, I'm going to do something bad to you, d'you hear?"

Shuichi seemed to be weighing up his options. Fight or flight? Yuki looked strong, and Shuichi wasn't the best at fighting – perhaps he should give in and get his revenge when Yuki was in a not-so-scary mood. "Take it," Shuichi muttered, and he threw the report unceremoniously into Yuki's hands. Yuki smirked at him.

"I'm glad you saw it my way, Shuichi-kun."

Shuichi glared at him. "I hate you."

Yuki shrugged and walked away.

Revised 15th January 2008 – huge 'thank you' to blaqksilence, you are wonderful.