Title: Ameagari

Author: Mizery-Rose (LoveSasa)

Summary: Ameagari. After the rain. Money, drugs, booze, friends, sex, and rain... Welcome to the life of a rock star.

Author's Notes: All original characters and plot, copyright me. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental. "Ameagari" is Japanese for "after the rain." Please review. Tell me what you liked, what you didn't, and what you'd like to see. Thank you, and enjoy.

"Tonight all weapons

fall at our feet

and turn to dust.

One flower,

two flowers,

millions of little flower

appear in the green fields.

The gate of deliverance opens

with a smile on the lips

of my innocent child."

- From "Contemplation" by Thich Nhat Hanh, as found in call me by my true names

Chapter 6

                Constant and repetitive ringing assaulted his ears, his sore body groaning in protest as he sat up from where his soma had passed out the previous evening. Momentarily groggy, it was difficult to discern where the annoyance was issuing from. Glass bits stuck to his flesh and clothing where it had lain against the grime-covered flooring. After digging through his pockets and mumbling a few curses to make a Harajuku punkster blush, Tokaji found the beat up phone and, pressing a few buttons, placed it against his ear with a muddled “Morning…”

                “Open the fucking door! Morning!?! Bastard it’s 3 pm! What, did you get trashed last night? Was there a date-rape drug in your drink at the bar? Get your lazy ass out of bed, or wherever the fuck you are, and let me the fuck in!!” Shizue’s drawled screams hurt his brain, increasing the pounding in his head and causing him to hold the phone a few cm from his ear and whimper slightly. There was some slight argument on the other end, and a bit of scuffling before another voice cut in, whining about the cold. “Oi man, I don’t care if you fucking join in or not, but we’re comin’ in to light up! Don’t fucking tell me no man, you said –“

                “Shut up, don’t let the neighbors hear your bullshit!” Clinging to the toilet for support as he scrambled up, brushing the mess from his clothing as he left the bathroom and shut the door tightly behind him. He would have to clean that up before anyone decided they needed to use it, he concluded. Questions that he didn’t want to answer were sure to ensue if he didn’t.

                “Yeah like they don’t know, and wish that you fucking invited ‘em…” His Kansai accent drenched voice droned on. Click. Turning off the phone and returning it to his pocket, he heard the guitarist spouting curses outside his door in response. Reaching up to unlock and open the door, he was greeted by Shizue spouting a string of insults as he kicked off his shoes, followed closely by a thin and somewhat timid looking half-blood with natural colored shaggy hair.

                “Anyone else showing up?” They headed in to the western-styled living room near the back of the flat, separated from the rest of the area by traditional paper walls.

                “Don’t fucking think so, not now. Shoji and Emi might be coming around later. Bastard’ll call.” Tokaji simply nodded, and conversation trailed off.

                Reaching back to turn on the space heater, Shizue sat down and reveled in the dim light afforded by the sun flickering through semi-closed blinds. The others followed his example, and watched vaguely interested as he pulled a pipe, lighter, and a few miscellaneous plastic bags from the pocket of his ratty jeans. After a few hits, the guitarist seemed to lose his agitation and the half-breed became friendlier, taking part in an apparently humorous conversation with the provider of happiness. The vocalist took the time to glance over the half-blood brought along by his friend. A thin t-shirt peaked out from under his faded hoodie, a look that would be punkish, were both not hanging off his thin frame in such a way that it was obvious he simply couldn’t be bothered. Jeans that would have been tight on the American boys they were designed for hung low on his waist and buckled over his ratty skate shoes, slightly baggy.

He was cute, but quite an obvious user if one knew what to look for – Tokaji knew the symptoms well, which led him to wonder for a few moments how he had never managed to notice the road Tai had gone down. Still, none of them had, and he hadn’t let them get close enough anyways, and there was no point in beating himself up over a problem that had long since commenced. Accepting a line of white powder from the back of an album case when it was offered, he the vocalist turned his attention away from the other two who were by then quite obviously flirting and picked up an acoustic guitar propped up in the corner. Strumming along with the tune of an old X-Japan song, Tokaji sang softly and leaned back against the solid wall beside the window. Shizue’s anger, probably from another argument with his wife, seemed to have dissolved rather quickly and he was now intently exploring the half-blood’s lips.

Slowly the playing drifted off and at some point the guitar was cast aside, a cd player equipped with the album of a political British glam-rock quartet took it’s place. The owner of the flat laid back and mused over what the foreign words meant, turning over in his mind the few he understood – remnants of his secondary education – and creating fanciful stories to fill in the rest. Two other bodies were intertwined on the futon, a western piece that Tokaji had decided to splurge on when moving into the place. The vocalist thought of how the rain drops upon the windowpane splashed and bloomed like hundreds of tiny flowers, and how those flowers seemed to wash away all reserve.

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Author’s End-note: I’ve had this chapter done for a while, but I lost the page or so more I had written to explicated what was going on. It turns out it was fairly pointless anyways, so I figured I’d just post the chapter.

For those of you who have been reading for a while, you might notice the quotes at the beginnings of the chapters. I have decided that I really do like the symbolism that quotes hold, but rather than be stereotypical and pick clichéd and overused song lyrics, I would insert the wisdom of the philosopher who has certainly made a great impact upon my own life. Thus, as of yet all of the quotes are from Thich Nhat Hanh, save for one in Chapter 4, which is mine, albeit badly written. I highly recommend any of Hanh’s work. Many of his books can be found on .