He was having the same dream again—the dream he had every night without fail, a nightmare which haunted him. It was really no surprise that he had this dream time and time again—after all, when one thinks of a subject exclusively and with such intensity during their waking hours, it is only natural that those thoughts should follow them into their sleep. And there was not a moment in which Shuichi Shindou's thoughts were not preoccupied by his muse, Yuki Eiri, the person he adored more than anyone or anything else on this earth. He spent nearly every waking moment thinking about his love for this man; he thought about how his heart felt as though it might burst when he saw Yuki's golden eyes, felt his silky yellow hair, heard his seductively deep voice. While his focus should have been on his singing career each day when he went to work, he thought instead about how happy he would be when it came time to go home, where he could once again retreat into Yuki's arms and fall asleep there as usual. Each day, he thought that he would do anything for Yuki, and the hope alone that Yuki felt the same way about him filled his heart with joy.

So, he would wonder each morning when he awoke from his slumber, why were his dreams filled with such coldness and hate?

The dream always started different; he and Yuki might be at the amusement park riding the roller coaster, or taking a walk along some imaginary beach, or having dinner together. No matter what occasion it was, the love and happiness they shared in that dreamscape always made Shuichi feel as though he'd died and gone to heaven. And he never wanted it to end.

Inevitably, it always did.

Yuki's mood seemed only to change when Shuichi had finally gotten comfortable enough to forget that it was just a dream and nothing more—and as a result, the hurt that followed felt even more real than the previous bliss. Yuki would always begin to scream at him, telling him that he was stupid, worthless, and a waste of his time. These insults felt so real, in fact, that Shuichi often awoke in the darkness with tears streaming down his cheeks. It soon became hard to separate the dream Yuki from the real one; often, their demeanor was all too similar.

The dreams always ended with Yuki leaving, and it often felt like a replay of the real-life end to their very first date, when Shuichi had gone to buy them drinks and had returned only to find that his muse had disappeared, seemingly forever. In the dreams Shuichi always felt himself being pulled away from his lover, and no matter how hard he fought against it, some invisible dream-force never failed to compel him to leave Yuki for one reason or another. And when he could finally find the strength to run back, slowed by the anti-gravity of so many dreams, Yuki was gone. Always gone.

Then would come the dread of being alone. The terrible lurch of heartbreak.

"Yuki!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, feeling his chest ache and his heart pound. "Yuki, no! Don't leave me! Don't leave!"

But he was already alone.

"I'll die without you!" he screamed, but no one replied.

No one cared.

When he opened his eyes, it was still dark—not so dark, however, that he couldn't see the silhouette of his lover beside him, and he felt more than heard himself sigh in relief.

"Thank God," Shuichi breathed out quietly, not wanting to wake Yuki, who he was sure would get angry at being disturbed. The alarm clock beside him said that it was a little past three in the morning, and though Shuichi knew it was far too early to get up, he also recognized that he would not be able to get back to sleep. This was just the norm of his life.

I know, Shuichi thought to himself. I'll take a shower. That should help calm me down.

Carefully climbing out of bed, Shuichi paused for a moment and held his breath as his lover shifted, sighing quietly in his sleep and turning over. When Yuki's breathing regained its usual soft evenness—a quality that had always soothed Shuichi—the younger man let out another sigh of relief, happy that he wouldn't be getting a lecture about being more quiet this early in the morning from his lover. Despite what Yuki may have thought, his persistent yelling did hurt Shuichi's feelings more than he let on, and the pink-haired singer would do whatever he could to avoid being berating.

Shuichi pawed his way through the darkened bedroom towards the bathroom door, managing not to trip on the clothing the two lovers had hastily stripped themselves of and thrown on the floor when they'd retreated to the bed a few hours prior. Shuichi's cheeks flushed pink as he touched his neck, where Yuki had roughly bitten him to claim him—more than once, in fact. Yuki had been a lot more rough than usual, and a part of Shuichi wondered whether or not it was partially out of spite, payback for how talkative he'd been earlier in the day—if he had ignored Shuichi's pained groans and neglected to prepare him for their intercourse on purpose.

Was Yuki trying to hurt me? Shuichi thought as he clicked on the bathroom light and hastily closed the door, not wanting the glow to awaken the sleeping man.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Shuichi saw that his neck was a lot worse than he had imagined—it was absolutely marred with bite marks and even a bit of dried blood. A part of Shuichi had liked the rough treatment, but there was no denying that what he saw in the mirror before him was at least a little worrying. Rather than having spent the night with his lover, it looked as though he'd been attacked by some rabid, hungry animal.

But then again, maybe he had.

Keeping his eyes on his reflection, Shuichi reached into the shower and blindly felt for the knob to turn on the water. But before his hand could touch the cold, hard metal handle that he was by now so accustomed to, his fingers brushed something else. Something furry. Something that moved.

Gasping and jerking back the plastic curtain, Shuichi's gaze landed on the most terrifyingly large spider he thought he had ever seen. It had massive legs and a huge, hairy body. When it moved, it crawled away from Shuichi with chilling speed. Undoubtedly, it was poisonous.

His face becoming white as a ghost's, Shuichi cowered away from the spindly creature, backing up against the wall. He swallowed down bile as he watched it, his mind racing.

Okay, this is no big deal, he reassured himself. Just gotta grab that aerosol can and nuke it. No problem. I can do this. I'm not gonna wake Yuki up…not gonna wake Yuki up…

Slowly reaching over to the sink, not taking his eyes off the beast all the while, Shuichi grabbed the shiny can of pine-scented air freshener and crept back over to the shower, holding his weapon of choice as though it were a gun and he was a trained officer of the law.

"Not gonna wake up Yuki," he repeated softly, this time aloud. "Can do this on my own. I'm not as worthless as he thinks…"

Getting as close to the spider as he dared, Shuichi aimed the nozzle at the creature, held his breath, and pressed down.

As a stream of the artificial pine scent permeated the air and hit the spider, the arachnid lurched forward at Shuichi from its spot on the wall and fell into the bathtub with an audible thud. As the spider began to sputter and thrash about on the smooth porcelain, suffering from the chemicals it had been misted with, Shuichi threw back his head and screamed at the top of his lungs, "YUKI! HELP!" before he could stop himself.

In the bedroom, Yuki's eyes shot open and in an instant he was sitting up. The yellow-haired man remained still for a moment, his breathing halted completely and his ears perked, as he waited in silence to confirm whether or not what he'd heard was real. Despite his usual dedication to his fearless bad-boy façade, his heart was racing, his hairs standing up on end, and he felt an undeniable spark of fear jolting through him as he looked around and realized that his small lover was no longer by his side. His dread increasing, he thought to himself, Was that Shuichi? Where is he?

A moment later, his question was answered in full when another scream came, this one much louder, "YUKI! OH, HOLY JESUS…PLEASE HELP!"

And with that, Yuki had sprung out of bed, as though possessed by some inhuman strength. He saw light coming from beneath the bathroom door and he ran there, ran almost as fast as the speed at which his thoughts were racing through his mind in that moment. In the span of as little as maybe thirty seconds, the time it took him to sprint over to the bathroom and wretch open the door, Yuki's more imaginative side had taken over and had conjured up every terrible scenario that could have possibly taken place, each seeming very real and very terrifying, no matter how absurd many of them truly were.

What if he fell and hit his head?

What if he got his hair stuck in the drain and is drowning?

What if he accidently cut himself with a razor while trying to shave and now he's going to bleed to death?

What if he swallowed the mouthwash and now he's puking blood and I've got to take him to the hospital?

What if somebody broke in while he was using the bathroom and is holding him hostage and they're about to shoot him?

Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

But when Yuki laid his eyes upon the scene before him, his face paled, draining of any color it had previously had. Clearly, his imagination had been very far off.

There stood Shuichi, cowering in the corner and pointing at the bathtub with an accusatory, shaking finger. His eyes were closed as he murmured over and over, "Yuki, kill it please. Kill it, Yuki." With the way Shuichi was trembling, Yuki expected to see some sort of huge reptile coiled up in the tub, a pit viper or a big, scaly crocodile. But when the blond peered down into the tub, all he saw was a spider. A small one, at that. A dead one.

Maybe it was the fact that it was very early in the morning. Or maybe it was that he'd been woken so suddenly and forced from his warm bed. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Shuichi's screaming had actually scared him. Or maybe—just maybe—it was that Yuki didn't want to admit how worried he'd been for Shuichi when he hadn't known what was going on or where he was.

Whatever the reason, Yuki was furious. Slowly, he turned and faced his lover.

"Is this a fucking joke, brat?" Yuki spat at him, getting in the younger man's face, easily intimidating him.

Shuichi was quiet for a moment—or rather, he'd been stunned into silence. It took him a moment before he could muster the strength to look his muse in the eyes, where he saw, much to his dismay and sadness, the fiery, unforgiving rage staring back at him, the fury plastered clearly across Yuki's face that he could neither deny or ignore. "Y-Yuki…" he stuttered softly. "It's not…it was…I…"

"You what?" Yuki yelled. "You thought it'd be funny to wake me up in the middle of the night for this shit? When you know I've got so much writing I have to get done tomorrow? Thought it'd be funny if I was too tired to meet my deadline?"

Shuichi backed up fully against the tiled wall, his body now trembling visibly—and it was not because of the spider. Shuddering as his lover took a step closer, the pink-haired singer began to plead softly. "N-no, Yuki, no! It wasn't a joke!"

Yuki snarled, reaching out and grabbing Shuichi's chin. "Not a joke, huh? Then you really were so terrified of a little bug? Helpless brat."

Shuichi whimpered, feeling as though he were a crippled sheep in the sights of a hungry wolf. He hated it when Yuki acted like this; it was so far from his usual, affectionate teasing. This attitude of his—easily offended, confrontational, and bitterly, bitterly mean, that was—always seemed to consume him whenever his writing got a bit too intense. Shuichi had thus far tolerated these moments as Yuki's personal whipping-post, because he loved the older man so much and he knew that his moods would pass eventually. Soon enough, he always told himself, Yuki would go back to acting cute and romantic, spending time with him and treating him like one should treat their significant other. He just had to wait it out.

But why? he thought. Why should I have to wait to be treated with respect? Aren't we supposed to be in love? If we are, I don't feel any love at all.

Gathering the strength to stand up for himself—for what was perhaps the first time in months, since Yuki's newest novel had first gotten underway in fact—Shuichi shoved the writer's hand away and glared at the taller man with as much courage as he could muster. "Stop treating me like shit, Yuki."

Yuki looked a bit taken aback by this, but he quickly regained his composure, snarling down at his lover. As Shuichi met his gaze in that moment, the pink-haired singer was sure that this man—the person he had called his lover for so long—now hated him with everything in his being.

"You are shit," Yuki said matter-of-factly, before turning and heading towards the door. "Don't even fucking think of sleeping in my bed tonight, brat. You can either take the couch or you can leave. You can get lost for all I care."

And with that, Yuki was gone.

As tears ran down his cheeks, Shuichi stared at the dead spider, wondering why it had to ruin everything. Why couldn't he have just had a simple shower and gone back to bed without a fight? Why did it have to destroy and taint all of the earlier happiness the night had brought them? Why?

It's not the spider's fault, Shuichi thought as he lay down on the cold leather sofa. It's Yuki's. No one should yell at or degrade a person they claim to love for something as small as getting scared by a spider. It's not even like he lost any sleep—he's already in there, snoring his damn head off.

Maybe this should tell me something, Shuichi thought as he began to doze off. I keep making excuses for him…but it's not the spider that caused the fight. It's him. His awful temper. It always has been.

Was I even happy earlier tonight? Was that really what I felt when he grabbed me and bit me and took me without caring?

No. It was pain.

He made me bleed.

I've been dreaming all this time—worrying all this time—that he might leave me. But now I think I might be gone before he gets the chance.

Shuichi fell asleep.

The next morning, Shuichi awoke before Yuki. That was nothing unusual—Yuki, of course being a writer who worked from home, had no schedule to keep and often slept in as late as he wanted. There were some mornings where the blond man would rise to have breakfast with his younger lover before he left for the studio, but that usually didn't happen when he was close to a deadline for one of his books and certainly never happened when he was in a bad mood. Shuichi was not naïve enough to have his hopes up, especially not this morning—but then again, a part of him was not sure he even wanted Yuki awake. In the past, he was sometimes so eager to spend time with his beloved that he would make an effort to rouse the sleeping author himself, but today was not one of those days, needless to say.

Shuichi made his way to the bathroom, slipping quietly past Yuki's bed, allowing his lover to sleep. As he prepared for his shower—got his towel, pried the dead spider off the bottom of the tub with an excessively large wad of toilet paper, started the water—he let his mind wander, trying to decide what should be done about last night's incident. The old Shuichi would have simply let it go, pretended it had never happened, maybe even groveled and apologized to Yuki simply to get on his good side, whether he owed him an apology or not—but something inside of him had changed, and he felt wholeheartedly that he could not allow his so-called lover to get away with this kind of shit any longer. When Yuki treated him like he had the night before, Shuichi's heart always broke just a little, the cracks spreading, deepening each time the writer lashed out at him. The terrible things Yuki said seemed to stick with him like weights, getting heavier and heavier with time, each and every insult he was dealt plunging him just a tiny bit further into a vast ocean of despair. Last night's fight had seemed to be the final push; the thing that had shattered his heart and caused him to drown in sadness.

He could take it no longer.

As Shuichi stood beneath the spray of water, he decided that he wanted Yuki to apologize. That was all. He just wanted to hear his lover say that he was sorry—not even that he wouldn't do it again, because if he did say that, Shuichi could be sure that he was lying. Shuichi hoped and prayed that somehow, magically, Yuki would sense this and would say it, first thing when he woke up and saw him, without having to be prompted or shrugged off. The pink-haired singer had asked God for very little throughout his life, but he asked God of this.

Please let Yuki understand, he asked. Let him regret it.

And if he doesn't... Shuichi paused, but he already knew what followed, perhaps even before it had become a conscious thought within his mind.

Then…I'm done.

When he stepped out of the bathroom to get dressed, he saw that Yuki's bed was empty, and heard noise coming from the kitchen. Though he dreaded it, Shuichi stepped into his clothes and followed the sounds, mentally pausing to compose himself before he entered the threshold of the kitchen. He wasn't sure, exactly, how he wanted to present himself, but he knew above all else that this time, he wouldn't grovel, no matter what mood Yuki might be in. At the end of the day, it simply wasn't his fault, so he shouldn't have to apologize.

What kind of love is it if you only get it by accepting blame for every single thing that happens, even if it isn't your fault? By ignoring everything that's really going on and letting yourself be treated like a second-class citizen? By settling for respect only half the time?

When Shuichi entered, Yuki was leaning against the counter, sipping a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette, as per usual. Nothing to eat, though recently Shuichi had noticed that Yuki often skipped meals all together. Probably just fills up on beer all day, Shuichi decided with a hint of resentment. What a healthy guy he is!

As the pink-haired singer made his way into the kitchen, he refused to look at Yuki, though he could feel, unmistakably, that the writer's eyes were following him. Though it felt uncomfortable and unnatural to ignore the love of his life, Shuichi was determined not to give in. He went to the table and grabbed a piece of fruit from the bowl placed in the center. As he bit into the apple he'd chosen, he began to dig through his bag, completely disregarding Yuki's attempts to make eye-contact with him.

"So," the older man spoke after a moment, "Not gonna say 'good morning'? I was holding my breath, waiting for you to start screaming about the spider again. I'm so proud that you could handle it all by yourself, kiddo."

His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Good morning," Shuichi said coolly, not bothering to acknowledge what he'd said about the spider, all the while refusing to look up at his lover, hoping it would irritate him. He glanced down at his notebook, which lay open in front of him, and picked up his pen as he tried to think of some song lyrics to write.

"Trying to write?" Yuki scoffed, taking an obnoxiously loud sip of his coffee. "You haven't figured out yet that you're no good?"

At that, Shuichi finally looked up, glaring at the man he had called his lover, perhaps more intensely than ever before. If it made Yuki angry, it seemed not to matter to him, not anymore. Shuichi searched and searched in his lover's gaze for any hint of remorse for the remark, but he found none. That made him care even less. "Why is it that the only things you can say to me are mean?"

Yuki took a step closer and smiled at him, but the smile was anything but pleasant. It was full of contempt, bitterness and that creeping hatred that Shuichi was able to detect more and more as time went on. It was, truthfully, an expression which made Shuichi feel sick—which was amazing in and of itself, since in the past nothing had made Shuichi happier than seeing his lover smile. "Ah, I hurt your feelings? You think you deserve better?"

It was at that moment that Shuichi realized something: the scornful theory he'd had about his lover's drinking may have been more than just speculation after all. He could smell alcohol on Yuki's breath, more so than he had ever before, even after he'd come home late to find the writer still dutifully typing away at his keyboard, surrounded by empty beer cans and smoldering cigarettes, when he was typically at his drunkest, whatever that was.

He woke up after me and he's already drunk? He couldn't even wait until after I left for work?

It was more than the pink-haired singer felt he could take. Shuichi's eyes were filling with tears, but he tried his best to will them away, to stay strong, knowing it would only add to Yuki's satisfaction if he were to show his weakness so openly.

"Yes," Shuichi said softly, drawing on whatever confidence was left within him. "And yes, I do. I know I do."

At that, Yuki chuckled. It was a sound that chilled Shuichi. He had never felt so cold and alone in his life, he thought.

"No, kiddo, you don't. But if you hate it so much, you're more than welcome to leave, though I don't think there's another living soul who would even bother to put up with you to the extent I do. Now get lost so I can finish this damn book. Don't bother me."

Yuki left the kitchen, and the door to his study slammed shut.

Don't worry, Shuichi thought as he packed up his bag. In went his mug, a few of his clothes, his favorite video tapes. I won't bother you anymore.

You'll never change, he thought, putting on his coat. Not for me, anyway.

But I don't really care, he decided.

Shuichi put his key to the apartment on the kitchen table and left for work.

In his study, Yuki took a long swig of his coffee, to which he'd added a tall shot of whiskey. He stared down at his keyboard for quite awhile and didn't move. It was as though he could not bring himself to press a single key—that he felt something terrible might happen if he did.

"I'll make it up to him tomorrow," he said softly after a long time. "Once I finish this bitch."

Then he started to type, and sighed in relief as he did, as though he'd satisfied some cosmic force, prevented a karmic disaster from occurring. It was as though he thought those words alone had fixed things.

If only he had said them to his lover, they might have.

A/N: Hey! Just wanted to give some back story. I'm actually not at all familiar with writing for this series. I was recently introduced by one of my good friends. We watched a few episodes and she left all the discs with me. I wasn't gonna watch them but then one day I said, "Satan take the wheel daddy" and a few drunken binging sessions later I had finished all the episodes. I have not read the manga. So if throughout the course of this story there are any mistakes or if I get something wrong, I apologize in advance.

I hope to update soon, and if people like it I'll shoot for once a week. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed. Review if you like.

Ya girl, Rick :)