Yuki:
There is a boy next to me in my bed, a beautiful boy sound asleep after a wonderful night. His lean body is sprawled out across the bed, hard muscles gleaming in the moonlight shining through the curtains.
Not really a boy, he's nineteen, but immature and childish. But every so often, so aware and insightful, I almost can't believe it's the same person.
There isn't an ounce of fat on his body, and there should be, with all the junk he eats. But I guess he works it all off being his usual hyper, irritating, endearing self. Bouncing literally off the walls, bursting into tears at the slightest insult, real or imagined, shouting for joy for no apparent reason, all of this is normal for him and very much the opposite of normal for me.
He's so innocent, so naive, how can he trust me like this? So open, never suspicious, never doubting, did no one ever teach him the truth, the way life is?
That, no matter how careful you are, you can't trust anyone. There is always someone who wants to hurt you, to make you cry, to make you afraid, to make you scream out in the middle of the night in pain and fear when there's no one around to help you.
Even, no, especially those you love, no one can be trusted.
I'd learned that lesson before I was his age, long before, and it was the learning of that lesson that made me who I am today. Not just in name, though there is that, but in attitude. I was like him once, but I learned that lesson, learned it well and never forgot it, never could, even though I tried.
But this boy, this young man lying asleep at my side, he never learned, was never taught that lesson, the harsh truth about the world. I don't want him to learn, to lose that sweetness, that childlike innocence that first drew me to him.
He stirs beside me. Rolling over, he sighs gently and opens one eye for a second, looking up at me, but not really seeing, then closes it again.
I love his eyes, those big, brilliant purple eyes, and I especially love the way they widen in shock every time I kiss him. Every time. You'd think he'd have gotten used to it by now. I wish someone would take a picture of that look; I'd keep it in my wallet, with me all the time. That look of shock, absolute surprise, a little bit of fear, and utter happiness.
Who am I to make him feel that happy? God knows I've tried to drive him away, to make him leave. It's for his own good, he'd be better off without me. But he just won't go. Maybe he knows that as much as I want him to leave, I want him to stay. Right where he is, sprawled out in my bed, sleeping next to me. Forever.
Shuuichi:
He's asleep, finally.
He looks so different when he's asleep, so peaceful, relaxed almost, with his face buried in his arm. Strange how he can only fall asleep on his stomach, any other position and he's awake all night.
He's beautiful, absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, with that blonde hair, those eyes, and those muscles. I couldn't ever be that muscular, I'm too skinny, but he doesn't seem to mind.
It's strange, how such a fierce, angry person can be do gentle at times. But that's just the way he is, what he says and what he does have two very different meanings.
In the beginning, I was so nervous, so scared, of him, of the situation, of what we were doing and what it might mean. I was afraid of him, he seems so cruel and mean sometimes, but, for all his harsh words, he has never been more gentle and tender than he was that first time. And, for all his calling me a embarrassment, telling me I'm an idiot, a fool, that I overreact to everything, he doesn't seem to mind, or put up more than token defense when I do. (Example: "Yuki is mine!" "Yours, am I?")
He's so sad though, so unhappy and angry all the time, I wish I could help him. Maybe I have, people who know us say he seems happier since meeting me, but he doesn't seem very happy to me.
The thing that he doesn't understand, or maybe just won't accept, is that I knew about his past. I know what he did, what happened, what was done to him, and I love him anyway. I know I won't hurt him, and I know that he would never do anything like that to me, or let it be done by anyone else. He nearly killed the last people who tried to hurt me, and that just made me love him more. He's so protective of me, and I love it. He makes me feel so safe and protected when he does that, it's a wonderful feeling.
But sometimes when he looks at me, I see that look in his eyes, that shadow, the fear, the anger, and there's nothing I can do to make it go away, nothing I can do but wait, and hope.
And that's what I'll always do.
Because I love him, and I know that, even though he won't admit it, and tries to hide it, he loves me too.
There is a boy next to me in my bed, a beautiful boy sound asleep after a wonderful night. His lean body is sprawled out across the bed, hard muscles gleaming in the moonlight shining through the curtains.
Not really a boy, he's nineteen, but immature and childish. But every so often, so aware and insightful, I almost can't believe it's the same person.
There isn't an ounce of fat on his body, and there should be, with all the junk he eats. But I guess he works it all off being his usual hyper, irritating, endearing self. Bouncing literally off the walls, bursting into tears at the slightest insult, real or imagined, shouting for joy for no apparent reason, all of this is normal for him and very much the opposite of normal for me.
He's so innocent, so naive, how can he trust me like this? So open, never suspicious, never doubting, did no one ever teach him the truth, the way life is?
That, no matter how careful you are, you can't trust anyone. There is always someone who wants to hurt you, to make you cry, to make you afraid, to make you scream out in the middle of the night in pain and fear when there's no one around to help you.
Even, no, especially those you love, no one can be trusted.
I'd learned that lesson before I was his age, long before, and it was the learning of that lesson that made me who I am today. Not just in name, though there is that, but in attitude. I was like him once, but I learned that lesson, learned it well and never forgot it, never could, even though I tried.
But this boy, this young man lying asleep at my side, he never learned, was never taught that lesson, the harsh truth about the world. I don't want him to learn, to lose that sweetness, that childlike innocence that first drew me to him.
He stirs beside me. Rolling over, he sighs gently and opens one eye for a second, looking up at me, but not really seeing, then closes it again.
I love his eyes, those big, brilliant purple eyes, and I especially love the way they widen in shock every time I kiss him. Every time. You'd think he'd have gotten used to it by now. I wish someone would take a picture of that look; I'd keep it in my wallet, with me all the time. That look of shock, absolute surprise, a little bit of fear, and utter happiness.
Who am I to make him feel that happy? God knows I've tried to drive him away, to make him leave. It's for his own good, he'd be better off without me. But he just won't go. Maybe he knows that as much as I want him to leave, I want him to stay. Right where he is, sprawled out in my bed, sleeping next to me. Forever.
Shuuichi:
He's asleep, finally.
He looks so different when he's asleep, so peaceful, relaxed almost, with his face buried in his arm. Strange how he can only fall asleep on his stomach, any other position and he's awake all night.
He's beautiful, absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, with that blonde hair, those eyes, and those muscles. I couldn't ever be that muscular, I'm too skinny, but he doesn't seem to mind.
It's strange, how such a fierce, angry person can be do gentle at times. But that's just the way he is, what he says and what he does have two very different meanings.
In the beginning, I was so nervous, so scared, of him, of the situation, of what we were doing and what it might mean. I was afraid of him, he seems so cruel and mean sometimes, but, for all his harsh words, he has never been more gentle and tender than he was that first time. And, for all his calling me a embarrassment, telling me I'm an idiot, a fool, that I overreact to everything, he doesn't seem to mind, or put up more than token defense when I do. (Example: "Yuki is mine!" "Yours, am I?")
He's so sad though, so unhappy and angry all the time, I wish I could help him. Maybe I have, people who know us say he seems happier since meeting me, but he doesn't seem very happy to me.
The thing that he doesn't understand, or maybe just won't accept, is that I knew about his past. I know what he did, what happened, what was done to him, and I love him anyway. I know I won't hurt him, and I know that he would never do anything like that to me, or let it be done by anyone else. He nearly killed the last people who tried to hurt me, and that just made me love him more. He's so protective of me, and I love it. He makes me feel so safe and protected when he does that, it's a wonderful feeling.
But sometimes when he looks at me, I see that look in his eyes, that shadow, the fear, the anger, and there's nothing I can do to make it go away, nothing I can do but wait, and hope.
And that's what I'll always do.
Because I love him, and I know that, even though he won't admit it, and tries to hide it, he loves me too.