Sugar Rush -CHAP.01--GRAVITATION-

  A light melody drifted up out of the Suzuki family's sitting room. The boy standing in the centre of the room used the bow to draw the notes out one by one, where they were released from the strings in the perfect pitch. The song wasn't made for a violin - it was made for strings that could be plucked, synthesised keys that could be tapped, a beat that could be danced to... But it was currently circling round and round inside the boy's head. He didn't even know the name of the song, but he'd just had to try playing it.

  Plus it was such a fresh change to the music that he usually played. Classical music didn't have quite the same... life to it that rock music did.

  "Mica! That is not one of the songs I gave you to practice," came a sharp voice from the doorway.

  Mica jumped guiltily, knocking the music sheets that he hadn't actually been using off the stand in front of him. He quickly bent to retrieve them. "Sorry, father. I was just warming up."

  "Then use the warm-ups that I gave you," Jun Suzuki directed. "That did not sound like classical music to me."

  "I just... thought I'd try something different," Mica ventured hopefully.

  Of course, his hopes were quashed by his father's steely gaze. His nostrils were practically flaring at the very idea. "Use the warm-ups I gave you," he repeated in a final tone.

  "Yessir," Mica conceded.

  He knew better than to argue. He had to keep up the image of model son. If he showed even the slightest sign of wanting to rebel, he knew that his father would keep an even tighter rein on him. And how could he get away with going about his other lifestyle if that was the case?

  "Besides, you should have already warmed up by now," Jun pointed out. "So let's hear some Beethoven. Pastoral Symphony - the full five movements."

  "Yessir."

  "And draw out your words more when you speak. You sound lazy when you talk like that," continued Jun. "There should be a distinct break between those two words."

  Mica repressed the urge to sigh. "Yes... sir."

                                                             *

  Mica lay wide awake on top of his bed that night, still fully dressed and waiting patiently. His older brothers had already gone to bed and he'd heard his father finally retire to his own room about twenty minutes ago. He had to leave it half an hour. Just to be on the safe side. That was the routine.

  He stared at the digital display of the clock sitting on his bedside table, watching the final minutes crawl by. Once he was certain that it had been the full half hour and that he hadn't heard any noises from the other rooms, beside the sound of light snoring, he slid quietly off his bed and tiptoed over to the window.

  The window was fitted with a more modern handle, which turned smoothly with barely any sound at all and permitted the window to open halfway, allowing just enough space for a slight person to fit through. Mica was just that person.

  After making sure that his cell phone and wallet were stored safely in the pockets of his slacks, he slowly squeezed out through the window and lowered himself onto the tiny ledge just below - the ledge that had once been used to hang decorative flower boxes on, until Mica's father had grown tired of birds using them to roost.

  Mica carefully edged along the side of the wall until he was close enough to reach the old apple tree that grew behind their house. The tree hadn't bore apples in over eight years now, but it made an excellent climbing frame down from Mica's rear bedroom window.

  He clambered from branch to branch, again used to this same routine. As soon as he was low enough, he jumped down silently onto the grass below, dropping onto all fours like a cat in order to both soften and quieten his landing. He then straightened up and ran to scale the gate at the end of the garden - the gate that led out onto the botanical park behind them.

  The main gates to the park were always locked by this time of night, but Mica knew of a broken part in the fencing on the far side that the maintenance staff had never seemed to have noticed. He jogged through the park at a pace that wasn't quite a run, but still designed to save time. He found the split in the seam of the mesh fence, pulling it back just enough for him to slip through without catching and tearing any of his clothing.

  The secret passage led him out onto the street behind the church. He knew this street well. Haruki Miyano lived on this street. Haruki was his best friend. And he was also the person he'd come to meet at this late hour.

  Mica sought out Haruki's house and rang the doorbell. The stealth and speed part was over. Haruki's parents weren't like his father. They even stayed up till past midnight, so Mica didn't have to worry about waking anybody up. Sure enough, the porch light suddenly came on, bathing Mica in a warm and yellow glow.

  It was Haruki's mother, Mai, who answered the door. "Hello, Mica, come on in. You look very smart tonight."

  "I still need to get changed," Mica explained.

  "Oh, I see. That's a shame - that shirt suits you," Mai complimented him. "Did you leave your clothes with Haruki again?"

  "Thank you," said Mica graciously. He was always so much more well-spoken than Mai's son was. "I did earlier in the week. It's only a casual place we're going to."

  "Ah, of course. You wouldn't want to be overdressed," Mai agreed with a smile, remembering those days herself. "Haruki's just in his room - he's still getting ready. Carry on up."

  Mica thanked her again and followed the stairs up towards the final door on the landing where the sound of soft rock music was coming from. He let himself into Haruki's bedroom and was immediately assaulted by a cloud of some powerful cologne. He wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"

  "Duh. My new cologne," replied Haruki, not even turning away from the mirror on the wall as he continued teasing his blonde hair up into long spikes. He was clearly more prepared for the night ahead of them - already dressed in a low-cut white shirt and a pair of black jeans that looked as if they'd been painted on.

  "It doesn't smell new at all," said Mica, still unimpressed.

  "What; you don't want some then?" asked Haruki, completely oblivious to how offensive his cologne was to his friend's senses.

  "Not unless I want to clear the dance floor," said Mica adamantly.

  Haruki gave him a withering look. "You're just jealous. Now are you gonna get changed or what?"

  Mica decided to hop to it. "Clothes?"

  "In a bag at the bottom of the wardrobe," Haruki directed, turning his attention back to the mirror. "And your boots are still behind the door."

  Mica sought out the garments, which he'd left with his friend earlier in the week. When they weren't here at Haruki's, his clubbing gear could be found hiding out underneath the floorboards in his bedroom, lest his father discover them. His outfits for clubbing were a little more... outlandish than what he usually wore.

  Not at all shy about showing skin, Mica changed whilst Haruki was still fixing his hair. He'd left his favourite top here this week - a deep burgundy colour with large geometric cut-outs along the neckline, shoulder straps and an attachable sleeve. His skin-tight jeans were  a dark purple shade, which he added a studded belt and chains to. A pair of big, bold red and black stripy boots completed the look.

  "Nice. Very visual kei," Haruki commended, catching sight of him in the mirror. He knew that was the look his friend so adored and always aimed for. A look that Mica's father would never approve of in a million years - his little classically-trained musician gone rogue.

  "Thanks."

  "You gonna do anything with your hair?" asked Haruki, having finally finished toying with his own.

  "There's not really anything to do with it," said Mica. His dark, almost black hair was currently braided down his back in a thick plait with two shorter, wavy strands that had broken free and hung loose, framing his tanned face. "There's just too much of it."

  "Well, you're the one who grew it like that," Haruki pointed out. "I'm still amazed your dad hasn't cut it all off whilst you've been sleeping."

  "He just blames it on my mom's side of the family. Thinks all Hawaiians are hippies," explained Mica, pulling at one of the loose strands. Personally, he'd always loved the Hawaiian side of his heritage.

  Haruki watched as Mica joined him by the mirror. "You could untie some and try backcombing it," he suggested.

  Mica shook his head. "It's still too long. I'd look like a scarecrow." He swished his long braid back and forth. "Have you got any ribbon?"

  "Ribbon?" Haruki repeated with raised eyebrows.

  "Purple or red, preferably," said Mica, now pulling his braid forward to inspect it in the mirror. "I want to colour coordinate my hair too."

  Haruki rolled his eyes. "You're such a girl. Gimme a sec; I'll go see if Mom has some in her sewing kit..."

  It definitely wasn't the first time that Mica had been compared to a girl. With his long hair and effeminate face, he was often mistaken for being someone of the opposite sex. It wasn't actually the image he was aiming for, but at the same time, it never bothered him either. It wasn't like he'd ever strove to be overly masculine or anything of the sort.

  Plus Haruki could hardly talk when he spent at least half an hour on his hair every day. Not to mention the lavish amounts of eyeliner that he wore. Oooh, eyeliner, that was what he was forgetting... Now where did Haruki keep his eyeliner pencil again?

  Haruki came back with a red ribbon in his hand just as Mica was finishing up with the eyeliner. "Is this acceptable for the princess?" he said teasingly.

  Mica copied Haruki's eye roll. "Very funny. But yes, it is." He took the ribbon and tied it into the end of his braid.

  "Ready to go then?" Haruki asked.

  "Yep," Mica replied brightly. "So where exactly are we going tonight?"

  "There's a new little bar down from Risa that I was thinking..." said Haruki. "Meant to be quite cosy. It's still got a dance floor though."

  "By cosy, I hope you don't mean sleazy," said Mica.

  Haruki feigned being outraged. "Would I ever take you somewhere sleazy?"

  "Yes. Yes, you would."

  Luckily, Haruki had already learnt that lesson beforehand. Sleazy places were now officially off their list. Mica actually never really minded where they went - he was always happy to let his friend choose - all he ever asked for was that they had a dance floor. Check.

  When they got to Hajime, the new place, Mica could see what Haruki meant about it being cosy. The dance floor was probably only twice the size of Mica's sitting room and there was only one bar, near the seating area. Mica didn't mind. He often tended to prefer places like this. When you moved from the dance floor to the booths, you could actually hear yourself talking over the music.

  "Drinks?" Haruki suggested. "My treat."

  Uh oh. Haruki only offered to buy drinks if he'd just been paid, had already had one too many - he was very generous when drunk - or he wanted a favour. Mica knew that his friend didn't get paid until the following week and as far as he knew, he hadn't drank anything yet either.

  "Aww, I really don't think I want to tonight..." he started, knowing exactly what 'favour' Haruki would be hinting towards.

  "Oh, come on!" Haruki protested. He knew it wasn't the drink that Mica was talking about. "I promise we can still dance and have a few drinks first before anything else. Sound good?"

  Mica sighed. "A vodka gimlet then, please."

  "And a back-up, mainstream drink?" Haruki asked. Mica always seemed to go for more obscure choices that a lot of places didn't even know how to accommodate for.

  "I don't know. Something with tequila in it," Mica decided. He'd need something a bit stronger if he was going to go along with his friend's games. No wonder Haruki had dressed somewhat sharper tonight.

  "Your funeral." Haruki personally hadn't touched the stuff since a bad experience doing tequila slammers.

  To both of their surprise, however, the girl tending bar was very clued-up and mixed the vodka gimlet with no question. Mica was impressed. "I think I do like it here!"

  "Just because someone knows how to make your girly-ass drinks," Haruki teased. They were now sat in one of the booths and already on their second round of drinks.

  "Totally," agreed Mica. He'd already finished both of his drinks and was now itching to get out on the dance floor. "Come on, Haru. Just down it already."

  "Hey, hey, you can't rush a perfect drink like this," Haruki protested.

  "It's a JD and coke. That's hardly exotic."

  "Yes, but the lovely lady on bar may have been a little generous with Jack's portion," Haruki grinned, gazing back over towards the bar.

  "No way. I know I agreed to play wingman, but you cannot hit on the girl who can make the vodka gimlets," said Mica.

  "Aww, but why not?"

  "Because if you guys actually do hit it off, she'll eventually find out that you're an idiot and then she probably won't serve us again. Or worse, it may be awkward for us to come back here at all," Mica pointed out.

  Haruki didn't take any offence to that. It was true. after all. "Yeah, it is a nice place here, isn't it?" He was pleased that Mica was already interested in coming back another time.

  "Yes. So don't blow it," Mica warned.

  "Yeah, alright then. Staff are off-limits," Haruki agreed reluctantly.

  "Good. Now will you hurry up with that drink already?"

  Haruki eventually conceded to joining Mica on the dance floor. The night had started to get busier and there were already people strutting their moves, attempting to seduce others through their dance, or simply having a good time with their friends. Haruki obviously liked the seduction option, but Mica was all about just enjoying himself.

  If there was one thing he loved, it was to dance. So whilst Haruki was concentrating on dancing closer and closer to some poor unsuspecting girls, Mica was more interested in finding his own space so that he could just move and lose himself in the music.

  He sashayed back and forth to the beat, forgetting everyone around him, feeling nothing but the rhythm of the music thrumming through his entire body. His long hair swung with every movement. The strobe lighting cast flashes of white and colour over him as he turned and swayed within the dance space he'd created for himself.

  This was what he looked forward to every week. This was exactly what was worth his escape through the bedroom window each Friday night.

  They broke for another drink after a while, before returning to the dance floor once again. Mica found the thrill of being able to move like this in public much more intoxicating than the effects of drink. But the combination of the two was even more so.

  "Hey, wingman!" Haruki spoke loudly into his ear over the music. "I've found a target!"

  Mica stopped and turned, looking in the direction that Haruki was indicating. He was gazing towards the booths where a beautiful woman with long, dark hair was sitting by herself. She was currently looking in their direction.

  "You're kidding. She's definitely out of your league!" Mica exclaimed, just as loud.

  "Dude, she's looking right at me!"

  "Yeah, she's probably thinking you dance like an idiot!"

  "Then you go over and talk to her first," Haruki decided. "Y'know, scope out the situation for me."

  "Aww, Haru..." Mica protested. "That's so high school!"

  "Come on, you agreed to be wingman," Haruki pointed out. "And I got you those two drinks, didn't I? Just this one girl, I promise."

  Mica sighed. Haruki was right - fair was fair. "Fine, but I'm not gonna lie to her by bigging you up."

  He reluctantly left the dance floor and crossed over towards the booth where the woman was sitting. She looked up as he approached, mildly curious. "Can I help you?"

  "Sorry for bothering you," Mica apologised. "My, err, friend wanted me to come and talk to you..."

  The woman raised her eyebrows. "You mean the one dancing like an idiot?"

  "That's the one." Haruki had been right in that she had been watching him then. Just not in the way he would have hoped. "He doesn't stand a chance, does he?"

  The woman gave him a rueful smile. "Even if I was into younger guys who can't dance, I'm afraid that's my husband right over there."

  She pointed to where a blonde man wearing a hat was waiting by the bar. Trust Haruki to go for a woman who was not only older and way better-looking than he was, but also already married. "Oh, I'm really sorry. If I'd known, then I certainly wouldn't have interrupted you. I'm sorry to have bothered you, Miss..."

  "Just call me Mika," said the woman, sounding somewhat amused.

  "Mika?" Mica repeated in delighted surprise. "Really? That's my name too!"

  "Really now? Then it's nice to meet you, other Mica." She seemed entertained by Mica's rather excited reaction.

  "You too." Mica gave her a polite bow. "And I'm sorry again. Please excuse me."

  "I was watching you dance," Mika called after him, as he made to head back towards the dance floor.

  Mica stopped and turned around, surprised again. "You were?"

  The woman nodded. "You're very good. You looked like a natural out there... unlike your friend. You clearly have an ear for rhythm."

  "Oh... err, thank you," said Mica, feeling flattered. "But I don't really know all that much when it comes to modern music, if I'm honest. I like a lot of it, but I don't know any band names or even the titles to most songs."

  "Really? I would never have guessed." Mika looked his outfit up and down. It seemed to say quite a lot about him - and not just about his music taste. He reminded her strongly of the kind of people whom her husband, Tohma, was acquainted with. "I'm guessing you're quite into the rock scene, am I right?"

  "Right." Mica nodded. "At least, I like the music anyway. Like I said, I don't know much about any bands."

  "I see. Then tell me... Have you ever seen a band perform live before?" Mika asked.

  "Err, no. Never," replied Mica, a little confused as to why she'd be asking. "I've always wanted to though."

  That was enough to cement the idea in Mika's mind. "In that case, how would you like a ticket to see a live performance next Friday? It's for an up-and-coming group. I think they'd probably be to your tastes."

  Mica was rather startled by the idea. "But... why would you offer me a ticket?"

  "My husband's the head of the N-G recording company. He's promoting the band who are performing," Mika explained, sounding rather bored by the idea. "He still has a few spare tickets left and you seem like you'd appreciate it more than a lot of people would. When he comes back over, I'll tell him he should give you one."

  "Thank you so much. That's really kind of you," said Mica, still stunned. He didn't know what else to say.

  "And you'd better appreciate the hell out of it, because I'm not usually this nice," said Mika with another rueful smile.

  "Yes ma'am."

  "And don't call me ma'am."

  "Yes. I mean, right," said Mica, somewhat nervously. "So, um, where would I have to go on Friday? What time does it start?" He was already trying to plan what excuse he could use on his father for his absence.

  "It's at the Dome," replied Mika. "I'm going with my husband and a few of his friends, but I guess you can tag along with us. I'm sure we can find somewhere to meet with you beforehand."

  "Right. Thank you... Again." Mica gave her another, appreciative bow. He was still amazed how nice this woman was being to him, a complete stranger.

  "Just one condition..." added Mika.

  "What is it?"

  "Please don't bring your friend."