A/N: OMG my first Gravitation fic and it's not even FUNNY!

What is this world coming to?

Eh. Hopefully it's at least entertaining to an extent…

Hm. I consider this story a big retaliation to all of those 'Shuichi leaves Eiri cuz he's such a philandering prick, WAH!' fics wandering throughout the fandom. There are some good ones out there, I won't lie, but I've found a lot of these fics don't explore just why Yuki does the things he does or over-exaggerate the coldness of his character to an extent where I don't even recognize him anymore. He's broken, yes, but there's a reason why he's broken; Eiri is not just a heartless prick (and even that's stretching it to a point) for fun. He's been through shit. How about we explore just what that entails hm?

So here's my own version. Yay for me (and for hypocrisy! -.-;)

Be brutal with me if you must. First Gravi fic equals first attempt at characterization (even though Shuichi is OOC, but that is with a purpose if you get my drift peeps). Being able to improve is always nice. :) I also feel as if this one-shot could be expanded, but I would love to know what you guys think. Criticism please. ^.^

Disclaimer: Do I really have to do this? Do I look like Maki Murakami? I didn't think so. *Le sigh*

Title: Faithfully Yours

"Get the hell out."

The young woman (her name had conveniently slipped his mind after his last drink) appeared affronted for a moment, not quite sure how to take this new brash personality that replaced the smooth talker from the night before, golden-amber eyes glaring at her as if she were the filthiest thing in existence.

"What the hell are you waiting for, an invitation? I just gave you one then; Get. The hell. Out."

After another moment of stunned silence, a series of pattering feet echoed throughout the hotel room until the sound of a door slamming cued the young man that he was finally alone. Glaring at his pants which were rumpled on the floor next to his bed, Eiri Yuki wondered if getting up for a solitary cigarette (which was the last of the pack within the rebellious pair of pants) was really worth the effort…

"Fuck it." The exhausted blond muttered as he reached over, pulling his pants off the floor and onto the disheveled bed, shaky fingers ravaging the pockets for his precious fix of nicotine. Pulling out the crumpled pack, Eiri stifled the sigh prying its way out of his lips. A lone stick lay limply at the bottom of the pack

The pitiful cigarette was immediately pushed in between his lips and lit in no time flat, the curls of satisfaction now running throughout his body akin to the same euphoric sensation he had felt just hours before; the rush of adrenaline pumping his heart rate to newfound heights.

Was it an addiction?

A displaced need for control?

His psychiatrist had so many theories about his own instability that Eiri couldn't even keep up with them anymore, if he were ever truthful with the people around him.

But he wasn't a philanderer per se. And he didn't think of himself as an addict. It was just a habit, a need, an uncontrollably want that he could control if he really wanted to…

Besides none of them ever meant anything to him and the alcohol was only a means to have a good time. The one he 'needed' was right where he was supposed to be, and Eiri never had to own up to the fact.

Shuichi knew how things ran by now and Eiri knew the rosy-haired rocker wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Staring down at his cell-phone, which had surprisingly not rung once throughout the night, Eiri pondered the likelihood of his calling the pink-haired brat and wondered what Shuichi's reaction would be towards the rare sign of care.

He could just imagine…

"YUUUUKIII! WHERE WERE YOU LAST NIGHT? DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED I'VE BEEN? I almost called Seguchi for God sakes!"

His eardrums hurt just thinking about it.

'There goes that idea…'

Pulling on his pants and wrinkled dress-shirt before the urge to give in and dial the memorized number became too much, Eiri fixed himself as best as he could so as to not give Shuichi a heart-attack once he got home. His habits were his habits but that didn't mean he wished to flaunt them in the kid's face either.

Even he knew not to cross that line.

Grabbing the keycard before he could forget, the golden-eyed author made his way out of the room and prepared himself for the rush of pink-spontaneity that was Shuichi Shindo.

For some reason, his heart beat seemed to race at the thought even as his fingers trembled with some type of nervousness that the writer had never felt before.

'My habits are my habits…'

The argument, which had been the founding brick within his and the pop star's relationship from the start, slowly fell through even as Eiri ignored the sinking feeling within his stomach and hoped that he had replenished the spare bottle of cologne within his car.

The apartment was quiet for once, no signs of the hyperactive brat at first glance.

At second glance it was even less obvious.

The spotless cleanliness did not suit his abode; whereas yesterday there had been a waterfall of DVDs and CDs overflowing every nook and cranny within his living room along with random stacks of notebook paper filled with scrawls of indecipherable writing there was nothing but a clean living space.

Eiri had almost dismissed it as his living room entirely, wondering if he had somehow managed to enter the wrong apartment by mistake (and smacking himself in the head for such an idiotic notion). Slowly making his way throughout the rest of the apartment, the same organized neatness met his eyes.

It was as if Shuichi had never been there at all.

Locking himself within his study, Eiri mechanically made his way to his laptop and turned it on. The cute mug that had at one time made its home within the writer's workspace was no longer in its proper place.

But Eiri did not think about it.

Practically running into his study, the blond-haired author ravaged his desk for the open packet of cigarettes he knew he had left the night before, needing another intake of one of his favorite drugs before the headache pounding against his temples became a migraine.

At least, not yet.

"I'm sorry Eiri but I have no idea where he could be. I have K looking into it at the moment but so far he's found nothing and that's saying something."

Eiri let the burning residue of his cigarette drop into the ashtray as his fingers shook uncontrollably. Matted blond hair clung uncomfortably to the 25-year-old writer's neck as his free hand rubbed his dark-circled amber eyes.

His phone lay on its back, set on speaker as Seguchi spoke. For once, Eiri found himself paying attention to what the older man was actually saying and not tuning him out completely.

"So this is really it huh?" The light-eyed writer whispered, his face tightening with exhaustion and newfound resentment. "Just like I always thought…"

"Eiri, if I hear anything-"

"Just keep it to yourself." Eiri cut his brother in law off, "He obviously doesn't want to be found, least of all by me. Just let the kid rot for all I care."

Shutting the conversation off, Eiri stared at the brightly-lit screen in front of him, the page completely devoid of any words whatsoever.

For once, he honestly had nothing to say.

He smelt of nothing but pure tobacco and some women's perfume that he couldn't identify, but still he didn't feel satisfied.

The buzz of alcohol and sting of ash lulled him into a discomforting oblivion; one he wasn't sure he wanted to fall into.

'What the hell is the matter with me?'

Turning his head so that it lolled disjointedly against the cushions of his couch, the writer closed his eyes and fell into a deep, despairing sleeping.

The lingering smell haunted him even in his dreams, heart pounding with something other than adrenaline for once.

It was a miracle he had missed it the first couple of weeks, but Eiri had not exactly been in the right state of mind, and he blamed his own inattentiveness as the source of all of his problems.

'Fucking brat…'

The letter was crisp and, for once, readable. Each stroke of the ink used precise and written with focus.

'I didn't even know the kid could sit still long enough to actually even write something so clean and pristine.'

It was only two sentences but, like the songwriter himself, they made an impact without having to try so very hard to.

'Stupid idiot couldn't even wait for me to get home… what the hell kind of good bye is this shit?'

He wished he could have given into his first urge and tore the paper up and letting the pieces scatter his carpeted floor.

'Fucking dipshit is always thinking of himself! Only himself!'

But his hands just wouldn't listen to what his own mind had to say.

Instead Eiri stared down at Shuichi's last message, eyes burning and heart racing.

I always knew I wasn't the one you wanted.

Even if you don't care Yuki, I'll always be faithfully yours.

Letting the small message float down onto his table, Eiri quickly took out his cell-phone and dialed Hiro's number.

'Just for my fucking peace of mind…'

Shuichi never did anything half-assed.

And Eiri always was there to pay for his mistakes.

"You really didn't see it?" The redheaded guitarist muttered as he stared into Eiri's eyes, Hiro's own gaze just as bloodshot as the writer's. "And you have the nerve to call him selfish and naïve? You're just as bad."

Huffing out a angry sigh, the tired blond rolled his hand forward as if to speed up the guitarist's frame of thought. "Fine, whatever, I'm a jackass, we know this. Just tell me where the hell is he so I can stop having to give a shit alright?"

"Even if I did know what the hell makes you think I would tell you?"

Eiri glared at the younger man, his eyes holding no amount of reluctance at the promise of pain such a thing would entail on Hiro's part.

"Look, I don't know. He's just… gone." Hiro lamented quietly. "I had always hoped that even if you didn't care about him as much as he did you that there was enough love there that something like this wouldn't happen. Did you really dislike being with him that much, Yuki?"

"I let him stay with me didn't I?"

"And nearly tore him apart in the process."

"He knew what was going on; not once did I ever lie! He stayed by his own volition!"

"And I'm sure you didn't help him ease into that decision at all did you?"

"I tried to get the brat to stay away from me; if he stayed, that was his prerogative!"

"Do you really believe that?" Hiro blinked, amazed at the author's own excessive denial. "Do you honestly believe that you really did everything you could to make sure he stayed out of your way and life permanently?"

Fiddling with the lighter within his coat pocket, Eiri toyed with the idea of staying a bit longer, of trying to figure out the answer to the riddle Hiro had unknowingly left him with-

'Did I really want him to stay?'

But decided that such things really weren't worth thinking about just yet.

Not if he could help it.

"If you see him, let me know." Eiri muttered solemnly, the door slamming in his face just seconds later.

A strange melancholy settled within the pit of his stomach as he stared at the door which Shuichi had always turned to when the writer's urges for silence became too harsh or the problems within their relationship too great to sustain alone.

And it was with that thought that Eiri finally began to understand just how much of a burden their relationship truly was to the J-pop singer who had, at one time, loved him more than he could ever know.

Three months and there was still no sign of the pink-haired brat.

Tohma refused to speak about it whenever he came over to check up on him and Mika was even less forthcoming. The days where Eiri would venture out into the NG recording studios and perhaps catch a glimpse of his pink nymphet left him with a bitter taste within his mouth; the remaining members of Bad Luck glaring at him for all they were worth whilst the members of Nittle Grasper did the same (he was almost positive that even that stupid bear doll that Ryuichi carried around even managed to glare at his presence, but Eiri could never be too sure). Everyone felt Shuichi's loss-

But nobody felt it quite like the writer who had unknowingly sent him away to begin with.

Pop Superstar Shuichi Shindo was found critically injured this morning-

J-Pop Sensation Shuichi Shindo was found badly injured today; inside sources say that he has been missing for quite some time now-

There's no word as to who is behind the assault-

Reports on his status have not yet been given-

Whether or not he is in stable condition or not is still under question-

No one from NG records has been able to be reached for comment-

Family members are being questioned-

Author Eiri Yuki has still been labeled absent-

Click.

Eiri felt his eye twitch as he stared at the tiny body lying unmoving on the white hospital bed.

'Perhaps now is the time to starting thinking about it, hm?'

"You're going to have to move sometime, Eiri."

The blond writer was silent, his vigil over the unconscious singer settled within the hospital bed rigid and unerring.

"It's not your fault, you know. He chose to leave."

"Just like he chose to stay?" The unusually shaky author snapped back.

Tohma seemed to falter, quickly losing steam as he saw just how unsettled his brother-in-law was as the heart monitors around them continued on with a melody both men were, unfortunately, familiar with.

"He didn't have a choice," Eiri continued, "either way, he was miserable. He just chose to be miserable without me…"

Tohma shifted his feet, the awkward silence now hanging between them unbearable and like any other they had nursed before.

"Do you at least want your laptop with you?"

"Not right now, thanks." His fingers quivered in rebellion, but Eiri said nothing to appease his senses. "But soon… I think I'll have a lot to say soon."

Eiri sighed as he chocked down his first cigarette of the day, the blond beside him smiling evilly as they fingered the magnum settled by their side.

"If you're looking for a report on his condition then you're looking at the wrong person. I'm not fucking doctor."

"Oh, Yu-ki." K sang out cheerfully, his expression offsetting his airy voice, "You were just the person I was looking for!"

"I'm sure…"

"You see, our little song bird has been out of his medically-induced coma for almost a week now-"

"Don't go there, K."

"And not once has he seen his supposed knight in shining armor-"

"I am really not in the mood…"

"And Shu-chan just can't work when he's not only so out of it medically but, and more importantly, emotionally as well-"

"You should probably be speaking to somebody who cares about the brat then."

"Now, when I think of the words 'Shuichi', 'emotional' and 'work', I automatically think of-"

"What the motherfucking hell…"

"You."

"Then maybe you need your thinking processes checked." Eiri growled out. "Kid's fine, I'm fine, he's already made his choice-"

"But have you?"

Eiri's left eye twitched as he stuck another cigarette within his mouth and brought the lighter up to his lips.

Watching the golden-haired American smile his quirky little smile did little to the author's nerves, the words playing over and over within his head even as K's silhouette became nothing but a passing shadow against the hospital roof's crumbling walls.

"Figures he'd still be sleeping." Eiri grumbled as he sat down in the empty chair. Switching on the laptop sitting precariously over the makeshift table given to him by the nurses, the writer settled down after weeks of non-stop thinking and let his fingers fly over the keys.

So into the machine Eiri was, he did not notice the pair of sleepy violet eyes shyly peeking over the mountain of white sheets and staring at the older man's slumped form with an expression of shock and candor.

A small smile enveloped the boy's lips as he closed his eyes again, the discomfort from his injuries fading off into the back of his mind as the spark of warmth so familiar with the name 'Yuki' gathered him in with welcoming arms and cradled him back into the vestiges of sleep.

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

"Are you tired then?"

"No."

"… Hungry?"

"Not really."

Eiri gave the boy a look.

"Who the hell are you and what the hell have you done to the brat?"

Shuichi shrugged as he pushed his crutches off to the side, limping onto the couch without even so much as a glimpse in 'his' Yuki's direction.

"I think I just need to rest a bit." Shuichi muttered as he propped his leg up and laid back. "Thank you Yuki."

Fingers tapping against the outside of his thighs, a light bulb seemed to go off above the blond's head as Eiri immediately grabbed two pillows from his room and threw them at Shuichi's face, ignoring the squawk of surprise Shuichi gave as they hit their target.

Both men knew that that was as acquiescent as Eiri Yuki would get short of an aneurysm on both their parts.

"Where are you going Yuki?"

Shuichi shifted his leg as he lied back against the couch, large sparkling eyes dulling over as the light-haired writer pulled his jacket on over his shoulders and held a cigarette between his lips.

"Somebody has to go get your meds don't they?"

"U-um… sure." The tiny boy pulled his right leg to his chest, the other leg heavy with the cast molded over it. "Ok. Thank you."

"Hmph." Eiri gave the boy a penetrating stare. "I'll be back in 15 minutes. Watch the clock for me alright."

A smile twitched over Shuichi's lips as he watched the author leave. His normally outrageous personality simmered underneath this new timidity that had taken over his life in concern with Yuki (and, by default, his music as well). Trying to reach the level of excitement that had at one time been so easy to reach, Shuichi quietly floundered.

Questions slithered into his mind's ear-

'Where is he going?'

'Will he come back?'

'Why does he always leave me alone?'

'Will he care enough to actually come back on time?'

'Why am I not good enough to want?'

Infecting the pretty lyricist with petty insecurities he wished he could discard as easily as Yuki did his cigarettes.

Eyes straining to keep themselves forward so as to watch the digital clock in front of them, every second became a mini-eternity onto itself until (slowly) the dark oblivion of sleep overtook his senses and all Shuichi knew was what he dreamed.

Falling…

Falling…

Why did he feel as if he were falling?

He felt so…

Lonely.

For so long, he had felt these pricks of abandonment needle into his skin and settle themselves within the core of his being as if they had been there all along. Exhausted, belittled and betrayed, why did these sensations feel so fresh and familiar?

In the vestiges of his mind, the gravity of his own feelings was once again denied as the wall of disbelief (never, ever, ever, Yuki would never do that to me, never, ever) ceased to crumble and blinded him from the truth's illumination.

"What possessed you to leave?"

Silence

"Where did you go?"

Silence.

"Why didn't you tell me where you were going?"

Silence.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

Shuichi looked up at the blond-haired man with red-rimmed eyes, his brash nature now virtually non-existent.

Eiri felt his temperament rise exponentially, not quite sure just why he was so angry (and if it was even Shuichi he was angry with), but needing to blow off the steam anyway he could.

"If you're not going to say anything then I'll just fucking leave!" Shuichi barely even shifted at the sudden bellow, his eyes dulling over even further. "When you're done being an immature little brat, you know how the hell to find me!"

The sound of the door slamming accompanied the tiny sob finally escaping Shuichi's throat, burning violet eyes stinging with the familiar feel of shame and desperation that the young boy had sought to escape all those months ago…

'What the hell am I doing?'

Staring into the nameless woman's eyes, Eiri felt a surge of bile rising up his throat and coating his esophagus. The shot glass in his hands was dropped, the burning liquid still inside splattering all over the floor as the sound of glass seemed to break Eiri out of his alcohol and rage-induced stupor.

'I should be home.'

"Don't you want to get a room…?"

'He'll know. He left before and he'll leave again. He'll know.'

Walking away from the affronted would-be one night stand before he could actually formulate a response (though it was doubtful he actually heard anything to begin with), Eiri raced out of the restaurant and made his way back to his car.

'Not again, not again, not again-'

He would never admit it out loud-

'Please don't leave me again…'

But Shuichi truly held more authority over him than the tiny pop-singer would ever know.

"Get the hell back inside."

Shuichi stared at the rumpled blond's clothing as he leaned on his crutches, one small bag perched uncomfortably in one hand as the other was set tightly over the handle of his broken leg's crutch. Looking incredibly miniscule within the baggy tee-shirt and shorts he had managed to slip on all by his lonesome, Shuichi began to hobble backwards as Eiri strode forward, the rage burning within his eyes frightening beyond reason.

"W-wah…?"

"Get. The hell. Back inside!"`

The writer's face showed the seething despair that months of worriment and battered silence had woven into his already-distraught psyche; the awkward quiet he was now faced with dissolving his own inhibitions and creating a newfound bitterness that Shuichi himself had unknowingly helped create. Shoving the bag out of Shuichi's trembling hands, Eiri carefully unwound the J-Pop singer away from the crutches and pulled him into his arms back into the apartment where he knew Shuichi belonged.

"What the hell were you doing?" Eiri growled out, a whisper of a shout already leaking into his tone. "You could've gotten yourself killed walking out of the apartment like this! Don't you realize how much more vulnerable you are in this state?"

"I-"

"And what about me, huh?" The writer continued. "I'm supposed to just be content watching you walk away after all that waiting? Am I so easy to forget Shuichi? Am I?"

"No." Shuichi whispered against Eiri's shoulder. "I couldn't even if I tried."

The unspoken "and I did." laid there in between them, coagulating within the tense silence that had seemed to overtake the loud relationship that was once shared between them.

The frustratingly tense mass of flesh hovering within his arms could not be the same boy that had rammed himself into Eiri's life and decimated all the barriers he had at one time held so endearingly close to his chest.

Where was the boy that had broken through all of his bullshit with a large smile and go-get-'em mentality that he had admired even when Eiri himself hadn't been able to take it without cringing in disgust?

"Did I do this to you?"

The question remained unanswered as both men collapsed on top of Eiri's bed, a tangle of limbs, tears and broken hearts.