No Doubt
Yuki always knew he was good at what he did – writing sappy romance novels that those middle-aged house wives and teen aged school girls would lap up like water in the Sahara desert. Yes, he was just that amazing and talented.
It wasn't ego that prompted him to have this view of himself; it was fact.
Alright, and maybe a bit of smugness was thrown somewhere in there as well, but no one ever said that Yuki was a pure, good-hearted, modest man (pretty far from it, actually).
It didn't hurt that Yuki was young, cool, mysterious, and a pretty-boy himself, though it didn't take a genius to figure out that his image hurt his personal life more than it ever helped his career. Yuki was also an intelligent man; his stories weren't quite like other romances, where the plot was brainless and blunt, where the characters were all the same but with different names, and where character growth was pretty much extinct. Regardless of whether or not he liked the genre, Yuki did take his stories quite seriously (never let it be said that Yuki's finished products were half-assed).
He tended to characterize each of his characters differently and did his best to keep them as in character as possible throughout the book. He always did thorough research on wherever or whenever his stories took place and his descriptions were never lacking. Perhaps the most significant and the best part of his books, however, were the darker aspects they adopted throughout the novel.
Indeed, Yuki was a master at twisting and convoluting the mood, emotions, and psychological welfare of all his characters without adding in the predictable murder, disease, or breakup. Perhaps it was because he was so fucked up himself; who knew? Yuki didn't really like lingering with those thoughts for more than a mere, flitting second anyway.
The only thing Yuki would ever admit that he had had trouble with, was the romantic aspect of the novel. Well, not trouble, per se, but it wasthe only part of his stories that he could not connect with on a personal level. Somehow, of course, the blonde author still managed to come out on top – in that, he was instinctually good at writing emotions he himself had never experienced. Love and longing were the biggies.
Love for Kitazawa – well, Yuki tended to push that out of his mind, lest the painful memories came back to engulf him. It didn't help that his love for Kitazawa always mixed so strongly with the guilt Yuki carried for killing him and that most of the time, he ended up in the hospital or his therapist's office as a result.
Longing for Kitazawa... that he hadn't really felt, actually. Yuki had only been 16 at the time, and astonishingly innocent, even for that age.
Either way, those two emotions always forced Yuki to detach from himself when writing; with the former, all he had were unpleasant memories and pain; and for the latter, he really could not recall a time when he had longed for anything or anyone but peace and quiet.
In any case, no one could say that Yuki was some mediocre author who threw in two-dimensional characters in a flat plot with the romance genre (and smut, of course) slapped in there to entertain the lovely house wives and their high-pitched daughters. Most of his books had been sold in record time, from the minute they were for sale, and many had been highly acclaimed by various reviewers and other famous writers.
Looking back on them now, however, Yuki could feel that his past novels – the ones he had feel so smugly and egotistical about just years before – were nothing but crap.
He still felt a small fondness for his characters and he very much enjoyed reading over his plots while trying to recollect what he had been thinking during various parts of his works. He still patted himself on the back for the excellent information and research he put into all of his stories.
No. Yuki was still quite content with these aspects of his novels. It was, of course, the romance that bothered him the most nowadays – it irked him that he wasn't quite as superior as he thought himself to be.
For, as he went over his past stories, he realized that he wasn't as good at writing those two damn emotions as he had originally believed. What his characters feel, what they do because of those feelings, Yuki realized, was actually written quite unrealistically.
As reluctant to admit as he is, he definitely knew better now. And he can clearly see the difference between when he had to detach himself to write love and when writing love became just as personal as every other aspect of his creations. And the difference, much to his annoyance, is gigantic. There were so many things he had overlooked...
Back then, he hadn't thought how love could seize one's heart.
How it could make you do painful things.
How you stopped thinking of yourself all the time without you even aware of it.
How you push them away when all you want to do is never let go.
How putting all your faith into one person is the scariest thing you'll ever do.
How your heart stops when you think you might lose the only thing you've got left.
How that person slowly shifts to the center of your universe.
How you start thinking of so many cliches, you almost feel nauseous.
How you can love with all your might and still have room to love some more, and all for one person alone.
Yuki didn't know how no one could have caught this before. To him, it was eerily obvious how generic and stereotypical his love scenes used to be. Perhaps his own love didn't quite fit the mold (actually, there was no "perhaps" about it) and that's why it seemed so different and better in comparison. Perhaps no one had called him on it, simply because they liked the regular, shallow love that was presented in his older novels.
Either way, Yuki found he couldn't be that bothered by it. He was changing and improving, after all, and that could never be a completely bad thing.
And there was no doubt in anyone's mind who was influencing him the most to become a better person. There was no doubt who taught Yuki to soak in love, not push it away for fear of pain. There as no doubt who Yuki longed for every day, regardless of whether or not he showed it.
There was no doubt and Yuki felt particularly smug when he realized that there probably would never be any doubt.
Not so long as that brat was still glued to Yuki's hip as if he were damn surgically attached.
Owari
This fic... I feel like I rambled and went on in small circles without really getting my point across. Ah, such is life (though it really is frustrating...)
Anyway, please enjoy and send me feedback. I'd really appreciate it.
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