The morning sun filtered through the blinds; the rays speckling the dark carpet like spots of gold. Light reflected off the many CDs scattered on the carpet among the mounatinous stacks of newspaper and music/fashion magazines that littered the floor. In the middle of this flammable nest was a bed, or what looked like a mess of tangled blankets and sheets. Shuichi opened one eye to look at the digital clock. Bright neon green numbers glowed back at him: 7:30 a.m. He flipped over onto the floor and threw the pikachu-printed sheets off. He scratched at his backside and headed toward the bathroom. He stared sleepily at his own reflection, a line of dribble almost dried to his face. Opening a tube of peach-apricot scrub he gingerly wiped the spittle off and began his morning beauty regime. He had been doing this routine ever since Yuki and he had been together. Shuichi knew it made no real difference. This little effort was just ignored by the famous, short-tempered novelist. He sometimes thought Yuki forgot they were lovers, except he couldn't possibly forget because they had just XXXed last night.
8:30 a.m. - An hour later (note: jeez it takes that long?)
He walked down the hall, through the common room, and plopped his fresh, fruity self down in a chair at the kitchen table. He scratched again and yawned, his stomach loudly gurgling in hunger. There seemed to be nothing in the fridge, not until he did the shopping anyway. Shuichi promised he would not resort to cannibalism, despite how tempting his peachy-apricot flesh seemed. Luckily, there was a large basket of fruit on the kitchen table and a note. Not bothering to read the note, he unwrapped, sniffed, and proceeded to snarf a whole apple. Getting up again, he put a kettle of water to boil and then he sat and waited, doodling lyrics onto the scrap piece of paper.
" Kitchen blues...oh yes, I've got the blues in the kitchen cause there is no food. "