--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer: Thankies for making it this far. Although that isn't very far at all. ::nervous laughter:: So let's get down to business, shall we? First of all, I do not own Gravitation, because to do so would make me Maki Murakami. As you can probably tell from my lack of humor and all things cute and fluffy (not in my story, so don't turn back now!!!), I am no such person. I also wanted to say that this is my first fanfic ever. It may be a bit wordy, so please review and tell me what you think. This is a revised version of the original Love Lemonade, BTW. Well, that is about all I have to say for now. Oh! And one more thing! If you didn't know that Gravitation was a shounen-ai, now you know . Ja Ne minna-san!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Love Lemonade
By Chiisu Y.
Ch 1:
Open Eyes
Despite the frailty of my mind, I can paint a beautiful image within its complexity. Extraordinary shapes and colors swarm in the vivid pools of words that spout from my soul, resurfacing old memories and killing me inside. With this spectacular picture in my head I can begin putting it into words so that others may see what I see. However, I hate doing it. I hate writing because of that. I hate the fact that the most precious memories in my heart, my innermost mind, are destined to be shared with pathetic housewives and horny schoolgirls. My words were meant to be mine, but you see, those same words are what they use to escape. They play with fiction, thinking that one day they can also have a perfect, wonderfully tragic ending. They detest the brutality of the honest world that they live in, and so they want something better than their God can offer. In all actuality, I hate my life as well. I am not exactly sure if it makes much sense to hate your own existence. Either way, I fall asleep each night to the same distorted reality. I cannot breathe in this world, the world of my dreams that is. It is choking to constantly relive the most horrific event of my life. Yet within my cruel dreams, there is always a disgustingly brilliant light. A ray of hope can come in nearly any form. My ray of hope came in the form of an annoying, overly sincere, and captivatingly beautiful person. I think I love him, but I can never truly be sure. Damn, I've turned into a soft-hearted idiot. Whenever I kiss him, I never truly close my eyes. I simply stare at him, hoping that he would open his own stunningly azure optics and see how cold mine are. I want him to leave me. I have wanted that since he moved in with me. Not because I hate him, but because I am tortured by him. He constantly plays with my fragile heart, toying with my emotion and forcing me to bring down my barriers, to face my demons. It's just like me to shack up with a retard, isn't it? I'm not ready. I just can't tell him that I love him. If I did . . .
If I did . . .
Slowly, a pale eyelid flutters open. I've been watching him and waiting for him to awaken for about five minutes now. Such sweet lovers we must be to wake up within minutes of one another. Gag me. Being the idiot that he his, the other side of his face is already buried in his pillow from snuggling into it too much. The boy loves that stupid object. I can't take it way from him, because if I do, he'll wake up. On the other hand . . . that is, more often then not, how I wake him up for a quick shag or two. With a sigh, I run my hands through my locks then gaze into his lazuline eyes, resisting a smile as I reach over and touch his wine-colored hair. It's easy to find oneself inhaling the subtle strawberry perfume that forever douses his perfect skin. It's that damned herbal shampoo. I take a few strands of his tresses through my fingers, softly caressing his hair then move a slender finger down his peach cheek. Still resisting a smile of my own, I tickle him a bit under his neck with those same feathery light touches. It was just enough to send him bursting into laughter and throwing me a huge grin. He really is an idiot. At last he gets his head off of the pillow so that I can see his face. He smiles gently as the light filters though the blinds, allowing rays of fresh morning sun to decorate his skin.
"Good morning, Yuki." He whispers to me in a songlike tone.
He leans onto his elbows, looking down at me from where he lay. Swiftly, he delivers a delicate kiss upon my lips. His kisses are always so affectionate and divine. They simply beckon me to greet them yet again. And so I do. Being certain to claim those succulent lips as much as possible, I try not to cut off his air. As our kiss goes deeper, I lay him down underneath me. It's as things should be too. That idiotic brat is mine. Finally I part from his sweet mouth with a slight scowl on my face. It was a bit too sweet.
"Tell me that wasn't lip gloss I tasted just now." He leans up to my ear, placing his lips slightly on the sensitive spot. I can't help but smile inside as he whispers those words that I have heard from him every morning since he moved in with me two years ago.
"I love you." He lays back down and giggles like a schoolgirl. "Ten points if you can guess the flavor."
I never quite knew why I couldn't relate those words back to him. Maybe its because I don't wear lip gloss. Seriously though, I can't say how I feel about him. Those three simple words seem to be used so often in my novels. With only a syllable each, it is a wonder how they can be so hard to say. It's always something said by my heroine right before her "shining knight" goes off into battle. She cries for a while, like the dolt she is, and then sends him off with a kiss and an artless prayer. Little do my readers know, but my own lover has never heard those words escape my lips. He is so deprived of my love. I don't know how he withstands my cold demeanor and bitter words. No . . . I do know. I just hate to admit that he is stronger than me, even though he always had been. He is so simple and naive, although fate keeps flirting with him. She deals him all the bad cards and causes this, in my own eye, insurmountable pain. But he has overcome her game. His affection is laced with a sickening strength that rests within him. He could never fight anyone alone. In fact, I'm amused at the thought of Shuichi beating up another guy. The pansy wouldn't last five minutes. You see, the strength has nothing to do with kicking someone's ass. It's the strength to say with me that he has come to grow into. I am hurting him with my words and lies, constantly threatening to leave him, having left and came back to his amazement, all that and never saying the 'L' word. I just want to wish it all away. I want him to know that he means more to me than anything else in my life. Yet something within me won't permit me to tell him. Not yet at least. It stings inside.
"Mixed Berry?"
"No."
"Whatever." I pull him onto me, grasping his oversized shirt. Correction, my perfectly sized shirt. With a gentle kiss, I cradle his head with my hand and embrace him. "Idiot." I add quickly to my note of surrender.
He devotes to me an endearing smile while he latches a hand to my pajama shirt.
I hear a drop of water, distantly.
That's enough of that. I've shredded my dignity into quite enough of a bloody pulp, thank you very much. I shove him off of me. Why is it that even after two years of living together, I want to push him away now? Isn't that just peachy? I'm officially the least committed man in Tokyo. Of course it's nothing new. I've been like this for . . . well, for nearly nine years now. We fight all the time because of me and my insecurities. I am constantly pushing the thing I love most away from me. I give him an empty kiss on the cheek before making my way to the bathroom. He rubs his eyes as a throaty moan erupts from his lips. It's not like this is the first time he has done this, so I manage to ignore, plainly rolling my eyes as usual.
"Yuki . . . Won't you stay with me a bit longer?" He whines.
I disregard him as I take off my nightclothes. My lover continues his irritating begging. I go to him, half clothed and making him blush. He looks downward and mutters a dim-witted 'I'm sorry, Yuki'. I take his face in my hand, tilting his head upwards. I give him a small brush on the lips before returning to my morning routine. Again, he his flustered.
"Stop that." I growl.
"Stop what?"
"Stop saying sorry like a pathetic puppy that had torn up his master's slippers."
"I'm sorry." I narrow my eyes on him. If his comment was derived from spite, I probably would've punished him. Damn sincere brat. I walk from the bathroom and flick him on the nose, just to get a rise out him. He squeals in mock agony.
"Yuki?" He asks quietly with a whine in his tone. He rubs his dainty little nose carefully.
"Yes." I answer him with a slightly agitated voice.
"Do you want me to make breakfast? It's Sunday and I don't have work so-" Another roll from my eyes is delivered.
"Shut up."
"Sorry. I'll be quiet now." Things are quite boring when he gives in like that. I can't stand it.
I really don't know what makes me so cold to him. Perhaps it is that I fear becoming to close to him. I know that if I develop a stronger relationship, it will hurt even more if I were to lose him. Maybe that is just an excuse. I want to paint pictures with my words, using him as my only inspiration. I want him to swim in the sea of imagery and passion that is a Yuki Eiri novel. But this will not be a novel for just anyone to read. It will be our own. Instead of writing with a computer, or even paper and pencil, we will weave our story with our own lives, living each day to write a new sentence in the blessed book. Only those who agree to our love may bear witness to our tale. Good lord, his retarded ness is rubbing off on me. I sigh. He will know of my feelings one day, but for now I can't allow myself to cave in to anyone again. I won't be able to live with myself if I hurt him anymore.
"Who spit in your milk today." Shu grumbles.
"I said, shut up. Should I be more blunt because you're too stupid to understand?" It hurts to say, but the words continue to flow. I feel compelled to finish what I've started, no matter how cruel it may be. I want to say that I'm sorry. I hesitate. He speaks.
"Hey, why are you mad at me? Did I do anything wrong? Whatever it is, I'll cut it out!" He runs to me, pawing at my chest. His voice is more determined than a whine. He is such a strong little thing. Strong and pink. It's a rather irritating color in my opinion. I look down at the ball of fluff he calls hair. I really wish he would dye it brown again, or at least let it grow out gracefully.
"Your hair . . ." I argue, searching for a way out of this pit.
"What's the matter with my hair?" It was a wrong move on my part. He's pissed, not threatening, but pissed.
"It's disgusting. Why is it pink?" If possible, that was a worse move. For someone so intelligent, someone who had spent countless years studying to become a genius writer, I'm very socially inept.
"It's always been pink, ever since I was in high school." He defended.
I'm angered by his defiance, as always. "Dye it light brown, your natural color." I narrow my eyes on him.
"Make me." He glowers. "Do you even have a reason to be mad, besides my terribly pink hair, of course . . . ?" I can hear sarcasm in his voice.
"You know what; I have plenty of reason to be mad at you. You're loud, annoying, troublesome, and it's costing money to house you." I yell pushing him off of me roughly. "When was the last time you've paid the bills or had to deal with me whining? Never. You're a spoiled brat." He falls back to the bed with a loud thud. He is silent.
"Yuki, why are you bringing this up again . . . ?" He catches his breath, indigo-ochre orbs still focused on me. Tears threaten to fall.
"No. Don't you dare fucking talk to me or get all emotional. Listen you little brat, all you're good for is doing the laundry and sex. That's it. You're nothing to me but a cheap fuck." I'm a liar, a malicious liar.
His peach lips quiver as he clutches his arms with lithe hands, short sobs racking his willowy frame as he doubles over. "I'm sorry, I . . ." he chokes out. Shimmering tears trickle down his small face. Eventually, he brings his hands to his visage, wiping each pristine tear as it falls from his lazuline eyes. "You . . . you bastard." The words pour form his mouth. I stare at him, unable to speak. "You're going to leave me again. You're going to throw me out!" His head snaps upwards. The stunning mixture of fear and shock that has registered on his face was too much for me. Still, I force him away in fleeting glances. It is necessary for some reason. I love that he is afraid of me, afraid to loose me. It's how I tame the lion within him. I want him to be afraid.
"Why would I ever want to stay with you?"
"You're a damned self centered fool." He says bluntly as he walks out of the room.
Even though I want to grab his hand as he saunters off, I know it would be admitting a weakness within me. My heart longs to break down and cry with him, to say I'm sorry and to be forgiven. Instead of taking him back into my arms as I should have, I head to the dresser. My mind was made up. I take a pair of pants and a shirt from his drawer, some brightly colored orange and yellow clothing that is often scattered all through my house. Promptly, I go to the living room where he sat in silence. He looks up at me, tears still streaming down his face.
"What now?" He asks in defeat. Shuichi hides his face from me.
"You fucking brat." His arm suffers my grasp. He hisses in pain as I twist him off of the couch.
"I gave you your way, now let me go! What are you doing?!" He screamed in pain. That noise curled down my spine. "Ah! That hurts! Stop it!" Dragging his writhing frame to the doorway, I only tighten my grip on him.
"My God, please! Stop this . . . It hurts, Yuki." He began to give in a little. The boy was no longer struggling to break free. I pitch him out of the entry throwing the garments to him shortly after. He landed on his side and gave a loud cry. I had hurt him. Not mentally, but physically. I feel sick.
"There." I say in a hushed voice that disguises my true feelings.
At least he won't freeze, if my coldness hasn't done so already. I slowly close the door, locking it behind me. Turning my back to the door, I lean against it, tears falling freely from my own eyes. I run a slender hand through my golden blonde tresses. Why the hell does this have to happen? I'm in love with the brat. I'm madly in love. Yet, no amount of preparation could help me say it to him. I always imagine the day I tell him. I use it as a comfort blanket. Like now. I hope that it will not be terribly romantic. In fact, I would think it best to tell him here, in our home as we bask in each others presence. It feels odd to call this our home. You see, these walls tell tales of an irritating boy who barged into my life and shared a kiss with me in an elevator shaft. They tell of a one night stand who found me the morning after and the joy he brought me without ever wanting anything in return. I hear him pounding on the door, willing me to comfort him, despite the fact that I caused his pain. Half of me wants to let him in, but half of me says he'll be better off. What have I just done? . . . .
==================================
I think that my story is going pretty well so far. I will fix it if it doesn't make any sense. I just thought that it would be better to be a bit more vague than other fan fics with Yuki's reasons for acting coldly towards Shuichi. I think so because Yuki is really vague in both the anime and the manga. Hmm . . . Well, that's all I have to say for now! Ja ne minna-san, arigatou gozaimasu!
==================================
Disclaimer: Thankies for making it this far. Although that isn't very far at all. ::nervous laughter:: So let's get down to business, shall we? First of all, I do not own Gravitation, because to do so would make me Maki Murakami. As you can probably tell from my lack of humor and all things cute and fluffy (not in my story, so don't turn back now!!!), I am no such person. I also wanted to say that this is my first fanfic ever. It may be a bit wordy, so please review and tell me what you think. This is a revised version of the original Love Lemonade, BTW. Well, that is about all I have to say for now. Oh! And one more thing! If you didn't know that Gravitation was a shounen-ai, now you know . Ja Ne minna-san!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Love Lemonade
By Chiisu Y.
Ch 1:
Open Eyes
Despite the frailty of my mind, I can paint a beautiful image within its complexity. Extraordinary shapes and colors swarm in the vivid pools of words that spout from my soul, resurfacing old memories and killing me inside. With this spectacular picture in my head I can begin putting it into words so that others may see what I see. However, I hate doing it. I hate writing because of that. I hate the fact that the most precious memories in my heart, my innermost mind, are destined to be shared with pathetic housewives and horny schoolgirls. My words were meant to be mine, but you see, those same words are what they use to escape. They play with fiction, thinking that one day they can also have a perfect, wonderfully tragic ending. They detest the brutality of the honest world that they live in, and so they want something better than their God can offer. In all actuality, I hate my life as well. I am not exactly sure if it makes much sense to hate your own existence. Either way, I fall asleep each night to the same distorted reality. I cannot breathe in this world, the world of my dreams that is. It is choking to constantly relive the most horrific event of my life. Yet within my cruel dreams, there is always a disgustingly brilliant light. A ray of hope can come in nearly any form. My ray of hope came in the form of an annoying, overly sincere, and captivatingly beautiful person. I think I love him, but I can never truly be sure. Damn, I've turned into a soft-hearted idiot. Whenever I kiss him, I never truly close my eyes. I simply stare at him, hoping that he would open his own stunningly azure optics and see how cold mine are. I want him to leave me. I have wanted that since he moved in with me. Not because I hate him, but because I am tortured by him. He constantly plays with my fragile heart, toying with my emotion and forcing me to bring down my barriers, to face my demons. It's just like me to shack up with a retard, isn't it? I'm not ready. I just can't tell him that I love him. If I did . . .
If I did . . .
Slowly, a pale eyelid flutters open. I've been watching him and waiting for him to awaken for about five minutes now. Such sweet lovers we must be to wake up within minutes of one another. Gag me. Being the idiot that he his, the other side of his face is already buried in his pillow from snuggling into it too much. The boy loves that stupid object. I can't take it way from him, because if I do, he'll wake up. On the other hand . . . that is, more often then not, how I wake him up for a quick shag or two. With a sigh, I run my hands through my locks then gaze into his lazuline eyes, resisting a smile as I reach over and touch his wine-colored hair. It's easy to find oneself inhaling the subtle strawberry perfume that forever douses his perfect skin. It's that damned herbal shampoo. I take a few strands of his tresses through my fingers, softly caressing his hair then move a slender finger down his peach cheek. Still resisting a smile of my own, I tickle him a bit under his neck with those same feathery light touches. It was just enough to send him bursting into laughter and throwing me a huge grin. He really is an idiot. At last he gets his head off of the pillow so that I can see his face. He smiles gently as the light filters though the blinds, allowing rays of fresh morning sun to decorate his skin.
"Good morning, Yuki." He whispers to me in a songlike tone.
He leans onto his elbows, looking down at me from where he lay. Swiftly, he delivers a delicate kiss upon my lips. His kisses are always so affectionate and divine. They simply beckon me to greet them yet again. And so I do. Being certain to claim those succulent lips as much as possible, I try not to cut off his air. As our kiss goes deeper, I lay him down underneath me. It's as things should be too. That idiotic brat is mine. Finally I part from his sweet mouth with a slight scowl on my face. It was a bit too sweet.
"Tell me that wasn't lip gloss I tasted just now." He leans up to my ear, placing his lips slightly on the sensitive spot. I can't help but smile inside as he whispers those words that I have heard from him every morning since he moved in with me two years ago.
"I love you." He lays back down and giggles like a schoolgirl. "Ten points if you can guess the flavor."
I never quite knew why I couldn't relate those words back to him. Maybe its because I don't wear lip gloss. Seriously though, I can't say how I feel about him. Those three simple words seem to be used so often in my novels. With only a syllable each, it is a wonder how they can be so hard to say. It's always something said by my heroine right before her "shining knight" goes off into battle. She cries for a while, like the dolt she is, and then sends him off with a kiss and an artless prayer. Little do my readers know, but my own lover has never heard those words escape my lips. He is so deprived of my love. I don't know how he withstands my cold demeanor and bitter words. No . . . I do know. I just hate to admit that he is stronger than me, even though he always had been. He is so simple and naive, although fate keeps flirting with him. She deals him all the bad cards and causes this, in my own eye, insurmountable pain. But he has overcome her game. His affection is laced with a sickening strength that rests within him. He could never fight anyone alone. In fact, I'm amused at the thought of Shuichi beating up another guy. The pansy wouldn't last five minutes. You see, the strength has nothing to do with kicking someone's ass. It's the strength to say with me that he has come to grow into. I am hurting him with my words and lies, constantly threatening to leave him, having left and came back to his amazement, all that and never saying the 'L' word. I just want to wish it all away. I want him to know that he means more to me than anything else in my life. Yet something within me won't permit me to tell him. Not yet at least. It stings inside.
"Mixed Berry?"
"No."
"Whatever." I pull him onto me, grasping his oversized shirt. Correction, my perfectly sized shirt. With a gentle kiss, I cradle his head with my hand and embrace him. "Idiot." I add quickly to my note of surrender.
He devotes to me an endearing smile while he latches a hand to my pajama shirt.
I hear a drop of water, distantly.
That's enough of that. I've shredded my dignity into quite enough of a bloody pulp, thank you very much. I shove him off of me. Why is it that even after two years of living together, I want to push him away now? Isn't that just peachy? I'm officially the least committed man in Tokyo. Of course it's nothing new. I've been like this for . . . well, for nearly nine years now. We fight all the time because of me and my insecurities. I am constantly pushing the thing I love most away from me. I give him an empty kiss on the cheek before making my way to the bathroom. He rubs his eyes as a throaty moan erupts from his lips. It's not like this is the first time he has done this, so I manage to ignore, plainly rolling my eyes as usual.
"Yuki . . . Won't you stay with me a bit longer?" He whines.
I disregard him as I take off my nightclothes. My lover continues his irritating begging. I go to him, half clothed and making him blush. He looks downward and mutters a dim-witted 'I'm sorry, Yuki'. I take his face in my hand, tilting his head upwards. I give him a small brush on the lips before returning to my morning routine. Again, he his flustered.
"Stop that." I growl.
"Stop what?"
"Stop saying sorry like a pathetic puppy that had torn up his master's slippers."
"I'm sorry." I narrow my eyes on him. If his comment was derived from spite, I probably would've punished him. Damn sincere brat. I walk from the bathroom and flick him on the nose, just to get a rise out him. He squeals in mock agony.
"Yuki?" He asks quietly with a whine in his tone. He rubs his dainty little nose carefully.
"Yes." I answer him with a slightly agitated voice.
"Do you want me to make breakfast? It's Sunday and I don't have work so-" Another roll from my eyes is delivered.
"Shut up."
"Sorry. I'll be quiet now." Things are quite boring when he gives in like that. I can't stand it.
I really don't know what makes me so cold to him. Perhaps it is that I fear becoming to close to him. I know that if I develop a stronger relationship, it will hurt even more if I were to lose him. Maybe that is just an excuse. I want to paint pictures with my words, using him as my only inspiration. I want him to swim in the sea of imagery and passion that is a Yuki Eiri novel. But this will not be a novel for just anyone to read. It will be our own. Instead of writing with a computer, or even paper and pencil, we will weave our story with our own lives, living each day to write a new sentence in the blessed book. Only those who agree to our love may bear witness to our tale. Good lord, his retarded ness is rubbing off on me. I sigh. He will know of my feelings one day, but for now I can't allow myself to cave in to anyone again. I won't be able to live with myself if I hurt him anymore.
"Who spit in your milk today." Shu grumbles.
"I said, shut up. Should I be more blunt because you're too stupid to understand?" It hurts to say, but the words continue to flow. I feel compelled to finish what I've started, no matter how cruel it may be. I want to say that I'm sorry. I hesitate. He speaks.
"Hey, why are you mad at me? Did I do anything wrong? Whatever it is, I'll cut it out!" He runs to me, pawing at my chest. His voice is more determined than a whine. He is such a strong little thing. Strong and pink. It's a rather irritating color in my opinion. I look down at the ball of fluff he calls hair. I really wish he would dye it brown again, or at least let it grow out gracefully.
"Your hair . . ." I argue, searching for a way out of this pit.
"What's the matter with my hair?" It was a wrong move on my part. He's pissed, not threatening, but pissed.
"It's disgusting. Why is it pink?" If possible, that was a worse move. For someone so intelligent, someone who had spent countless years studying to become a genius writer, I'm very socially inept.
"It's always been pink, ever since I was in high school." He defended.
I'm angered by his defiance, as always. "Dye it light brown, your natural color." I narrow my eyes on him.
"Make me." He glowers. "Do you even have a reason to be mad, besides my terribly pink hair, of course . . . ?" I can hear sarcasm in his voice.
"You know what; I have plenty of reason to be mad at you. You're loud, annoying, troublesome, and it's costing money to house you." I yell pushing him off of me roughly. "When was the last time you've paid the bills or had to deal with me whining? Never. You're a spoiled brat." He falls back to the bed with a loud thud. He is silent.
"Yuki, why are you bringing this up again . . . ?" He catches his breath, indigo-ochre orbs still focused on me. Tears threaten to fall.
"No. Don't you dare fucking talk to me or get all emotional. Listen you little brat, all you're good for is doing the laundry and sex. That's it. You're nothing to me but a cheap fuck." I'm a liar, a malicious liar.
His peach lips quiver as he clutches his arms with lithe hands, short sobs racking his willowy frame as he doubles over. "I'm sorry, I . . ." he chokes out. Shimmering tears trickle down his small face. Eventually, he brings his hands to his visage, wiping each pristine tear as it falls from his lazuline eyes. "You . . . you bastard." The words pour form his mouth. I stare at him, unable to speak. "You're going to leave me again. You're going to throw me out!" His head snaps upwards. The stunning mixture of fear and shock that has registered on his face was too much for me. Still, I force him away in fleeting glances. It is necessary for some reason. I love that he is afraid of me, afraid to loose me. It's how I tame the lion within him. I want him to be afraid.
"Why would I ever want to stay with you?"
"You're a damned self centered fool." He says bluntly as he walks out of the room.
Even though I want to grab his hand as he saunters off, I know it would be admitting a weakness within me. My heart longs to break down and cry with him, to say I'm sorry and to be forgiven. Instead of taking him back into my arms as I should have, I head to the dresser. My mind was made up. I take a pair of pants and a shirt from his drawer, some brightly colored orange and yellow clothing that is often scattered all through my house. Promptly, I go to the living room where he sat in silence. He looks up at me, tears still streaming down his face.
"What now?" He asks in defeat. Shuichi hides his face from me.
"You fucking brat." His arm suffers my grasp. He hisses in pain as I twist him off of the couch.
"I gave you your way, now let me go! What are you doing?!" He screamed in pain. That noise curled down my spine. "Ah! That hurts! Stop it!" Dragging his writhing frame to the doorway, I only tighten my grip on him.
"My God, please! Stop this . . . It hurts, Yuki." He began to give in a little. The boy was no longer struggling to break free. I pitch him out of the entry throwing the garments to him shortly after. He landed on his side and gave a loud cry. I had hurt him. Not mentally, but physically. I feel sick.
"There." I say in a hushed voice that disguises my true feelings.
At least he won't freeze, if my coldness hasn't done so already. I slowly close the door, locking it behind me. Turning my back to the door, I lean against it, tears falling freely from my own eyes. I run a slender hand through my golden blonde tresses. Why the hell does this have to happen? I'm in love with the brat. I'm madly in love. Yet, no amount of preparation could help me say it to him. I always imagine the day I tell him. I use it as a comfort blanket. Like now. I hope that it will not be terribly romantic. In fact, I would think it best to tell him here, in our home as we bask in each others presence. It feels odd to call this our home. You see, these walls tell tales of an irritating boy who barged into my life and shared a kiss with me in an elevator shaft. They tell of a one night stand who found me the morning after and the joy he brought me without ever wanting anything in return. I hear him pounding on the door, willing me to comfort him, despite the fact that I caused his pain. Half of me wants to let him in, but half of me says he'll be better off. What have I just done? . . . .
==================================
I think that my story is going pretty well so far. I will fix it if it doesn't make any sense. I just thought that it would be better to be a bit more vague than other fan fics with Yuki's reasons for acting coldly towards Shuichi. I think so because Yuki is really vague in both the anime and the manga. Hmm . . . Well, that's all I have to say for now! Ja ne minna-san, arigatou gozaimasu!
==================================