Yuki sat in the middle of the seemingly darkened room, empty of everything except for a
small operating table. On top of it was a bloodstained cloth covered mound.
What am I doing here? He asked inside completely confused as to why and how he got in
this place of gloom. Last thing he can remember was…. Wait… what is the last thing that
he remembers? His thoughts were in the process of traveling back in time when the door
flung open and somebody stood there like some avenging angel. When the lights faded
and his eyes had adjusted to the sudden illumination, he recognized who the person was.
It was Hiro, one of Shuichi's friends, and the closest, he might add. What's he doing
here? Another question in the writer's mind.
Hiro walked closer to the covered mound, and only then did Yuki became aware of the
pink strands sticking out of the covers; sure reminded him about Shuichi. Where is the
singer anyway? He vaguely remembered some moments in the house, but after that,
everything else seemed blank. Still trying to make out the last events, the next thing the
writer realizes is that Hiro had punched him hard on the jaw, and the spreading pain that
came right after his bottom hit solid, cold concrete ground. What the heck is his problem?
Hiro had shouted something, but the blonde was too preoccupied with the pain that he
had hardly understood the words bastard, damn, some random curses, and something
between I won't forgive you and you didn't deserve him.
Something told the writer something had gone terribly wrong, not that the pain in his
chest and the curses Hiro was throwing at him weren't making that obvious enough
already. This made him terribly eager to remember exactly what happened before this
event, maybe then he could start making conclusions and probably hit Hiro for knocking
him.
Are you sure you want to remember? Was the asking statement that came so suddenly.
Shit. Now he was actually hearing voices inside his head? He wasn't sure why that
question came up, but in any way, why wouldn't he want to remember, right?
In the middle of the small crowd made of the people he and Shuichi know and the noise
of commotion building up in the room, Yuki tried to remember the day's event, starting
with the image of Shuichi waking up. The writer quickly shook his head turning a little
pink remembering that only this morning, Shuichi woke up right after last night's rather
enjoyable and adventurous…. activities… he immediately shouted at himself, saying he
should remember more significant events, not events that would awaken his secret
fantasies.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Okay. Bright afternoon sunlight was slowly creeping up in his study room and the noise
of the clacking keyboard keys echoed throughout the all so quiet room. This is his routine
whenever the singer is out, for those are the only chances that he can get some peace and
quiet to sort out thoughts and words of an upcoming chapter of his novel. Of course, this
was of but temporarily. Shuichi will be back later anyway and he would be forced to
listen to the boy chatting like all the dogs and cats are going after his words. Not that he
would rather write than see the shine in Shuichi's eyes. For some reason, the singer's
gotten under his skin, so deeply that sometimes he actually misses him, and this he would
never admit, not even to the little Shuichi himself, not even when he's being sniped at by
that insane manager they call K.
Anyway, the writer vaguely remembered rubbing his shoulders feeling the muscles knot
themselves to pain. That the only problem he gets in his line of work along with some
headaches and crazy fan girls chasing him along the street like some cannibals just
waiting to tear chunks of flesh off his body. All of a sudden, he felt another pair of hands
rubbing his shoulders in a rather relaxing manner he could've sworn he almost fell
asleep. Part of him knew who it was, but still he leaned back only to lock his golden eyes
to purple ones of his little singer.
"I'm home," the singer said, almost in a whisper it almost made Yuki doubt if it really
was Shuichi, the singer being all too noisy and loud most of the time. "Why don't you
take a rest for a while, Yuki, relax a little." He added kissing the writer's forehead. "I do
remember telling you to take care of yourself about two-hundred ninety-seven times
already."
Jeez, he surely has a good memory when it comes to these kinds of things. The blonde
thought. Yuki spun his chair around to have a better look of the singer who was now
smiling at him. Sometimes, he can be so cute. It made him shiver at the thought, but
proceeded to talk anyway, "you can barely take care of yourself, now you're telling me to
take care of mine?" he bit back, trying to save a little of his reputation being the pompous
jerk and all that.
Shuichi giggled at the statement, slowly walking towards the blonde who by then was
just staring at him. The singer knelt on front of the blonde and rested his head on the
writer's lap. "Yeah, and I love you too…You can be so mean, you know," He said, "Is it
too much to ask you to take consideration of your own well being? I want you to take
care of yourself because I love you, and whatever your pain is, it's my pain as well. I just
want you to take care of your life, because when you do, you take care of mine too."
In truth, the moment the statement had sunk into Yuki's consciousness, it had touched his
once frozen heart, melting yet another piece of ice, but it would be against everything in
his nature to let that show.
There had only been a few times like this, times when Shuichi actually said words that
actually had real meaning, and the writer vowed to remember this one moment until the
day he forgets everything else.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Yuki looked around him again. The small room was now filled by around eight to nine
people, most of them looking like they were ready to cry. And the irony was that
although they all seem so familiar to him, the only one whose name he could remember
was Hiro's. The guitarist was standing right next to the cloth covered mound, hands
shaking as he gently pulled the sheet down revealing a familiar face beneath it. A kid,
hair insanely dyed in luminous pink with pale skin laid there, seemingly asleep and
oblivious to all the chaos going on around him. Of course, he wasn't an idiot. He knew
exactly who that kid is, as if anyone in their right minds would dye their hair like that, but
part of him, a rather huge part of him, didn't want to believe it. What was Shuichi doing
lying in a place like that?
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Yuki was out of the house, remembering that he needed to buy something. Whatever it
was, he couldn't remember now, but it doesn't seem significant anymore. Anyway, he
had just crossed the street when Shuichi started calling him from behind. The writer
didn't even care to look back, thinking that the singer would be right beside him in no
time.
"Yuuuuuuukiiiii!" The singer shouted again.
This time, the blonde looked back, seeing Shuichi wave a pack of cigarette in his hand.
"I bought you these on my way home since I knew you'd be out already!" the pink haired
idiot shouted again, cupping his hand near his lips as to make the statement sound clearer
to the blonde.
Damn. If he'd told me that earlier, I wouldn't have gotten out of the house. Yuki cursed
inwardly, now fully remembering that he was out to buy himself some cigarettes. He
stopped on his tracks waiting for the singer to catch up to him, and then they'd walk
home, probably with him trying to be angry at the singer for not telling him about the
cigarettes, but all inside he knew well that it will only be for pretense.
The writer looked at the singer who was now running towards him. For a body so puny,
he sure had a lot of energy. Something made him nervous all of a sudden, followed by the
whole place turning terrifyingly quiet and slow. Everything dimmed in their places;
everything except Shuichi still running towards him, hands extending as if reaching out to
him. The singer was mumbling something that's impossible to hear from the distance
between them, and yet Yuki knew just what those words were because he had heard them
and he had seen those lips mumble them so many times before.
I love you, Yuki…
A loud screeching sound and a blinding light had the writer shutting his eyes for a
moment. When he opened them, it was as if the volume was turned back on and
everything was on their regular speed again.
But something was wrong and a hard piercing pain in the writer's chest kept on
screaming that at him.
Someone yelled out, cars stopped abruptly and cars honked so loudly forcing Yuki to
look around him, looking for answers before the questions even came to his
consciousness.
His body froze in its place from what he saw. A familiar pink-haired figure lay in the
middle of the street, a pool of blood slowly becoming from beneath it. It couldn't be. It
just couldn't be. He walked to the direction of the sprawled body, slowly starting to
become oblivious of everything else around him. This was surreal, too surreal. He stood
right next to it, his mind trying to put together the features of the lifeless face that seemed
to be looking up to him. What the hell just happened? Feeling his legs collapse, he sat
next to the body, glancing at the small hands clutching a small packet of cigarettes.
Again, it was too unreal.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Having gathered some strength to stand up, he walked towards the body lying on the
operating table right across the darkened room. Already aware of that part of him trying
to tell him the truth, a bigger part of him just wanted to wake up from this nightmare.
This could not possibly be real.
He stood right next to it, hands slowly making their way towards the face framed with pink hair. He had felt those cheeks before, warm and smooth they were, but… but not this time. While the skin remained almost as flawless as ever, the warmth was gone, and the color of pink that would always blush at his contact was no longer present. The eyes that would shot themselves open at his touch remained close, as if not paying attention to him.
He grasped the singer's shoulders, shaking him slightly.
"Hey, you idiot," he started out, voice shaking, "what are you doing sleeping here? Wake up and let's go home…" the last word seemed to fade under him, "hey, I said get up. Do you want to catch a cold?" his voice was getting thinner and thinner with every statement, "Come on, Shu-chan, wake up. I am not going to carry you all the way home. Wake up…" he started shaking the shoulders a little rougher. Shuichi had to wake up. No way was he carrying him home. Not that the singer would weigh much, but he just did not want anyone eyeing them, dumb idea since part of him was already screaming to his face that Shuichi would never open those eyes again, "Oi, Shuichi, come on, I'll take you again to the amusement park, we'll watch that stupid movie you were babbling so much about the other day, you asked me to help you with those lyrics of yours, let's work on it…Damn! I'll even buy you that stupid pink rabbit costume that looks like that freakin' stuffed rabbit you have at home………….!... just….. just wake up……" he had to stop for a moment, trying to ward off a sob that was threatening to escape, he was actually trying to negotiate now? "Shuichi, wake up…please……?" the last was toned down by a muffled cry as he held the lifeless body closer to his embrace. The warmth was completely gone from the boy's body leaving nothing but a cold corpse to his touch. He had the body slightly parted from him for a moment to take another look at the singer's face. He looks like he's just sleeping, as if any light interruption would wake him up. The irony, though, remained. Shuichi would never wake up again, not to the loudest noise Yuki could think of. No. Shuichi would never open those eyes again, never to show gleaming purple eyes in the darkness of the night after gentle love-making, never to shine while singing songs he offered to his beloved writer. He enclosed the singer in his embrace again, one of the things he hadn't given Shuichi the satisfaction of having before this unfortunate incident.
At this point in time, Yuki felt like begging. Yes. Dropping to his knees begging for his pink haired idiot to be back, warm and alive, in his arms. He didn't care if the singer would talk nonsense again and again, or complain about something he would not remember anyway, as long as he talked, followed by some idiotic giggle so sweetly presented with a smile.
"Damn you, Shuichi! You really think you could just do this to me? I promised you everything you want now wake up already!" this one made with another embrace. What wouldn't he give for his little singer to be back? Back to him, back to the warmth of life that seemed to have just been taken away without consideration. If only….
If only he didn't make the singer follow him… if only he had waited the moment Shuichi called his name… if only he wasn't such a damn chain smoker… if only he had walked back the moment the singer waved the cigarettes at him… if only…
Shit. Now he was actually blaming himself? But there was no one else to blame, and the paradox in here was the one at fault will also be the one who'll be missing the damn puny little idiot too… damn Shuichi… damn little singer… damn little idiot… and damn you you stupid blonde writer for not even taking into appreciation all the love that little idiot was giving you all so freely…
The pain is not solely for the loss… it was also because… because of guilt maybe… because he had hurt Shuichi many times before, and now that he came to think of it, he never did apologize for all those things that he did. He called him a lot of names too… idiot, foolish, moron, stinking brat… he had rarely called him with his name, and the only nice word he could remember calling the singer with is "cute"…
Was this really supposed to be this painful? Not that he had not been pained before, but because part of him was at fault asking if this is also the pain that he caused Shuichi many times before. If so, then he surely deserved this… but did Shuichi have to die?
Yuki felt a streak of warm sensation from the corner of his eye. He must be crying, and under normal circumstances he would wipe it off immediately followed by some words for his defense, but this wasn't a normal circumstance and he damn no longer cares what the world will think of Eiri Yuki if they see him crying his eyes out. He surely didn't like this, didn't like being transparent, didn't like looking very vulnerable, but he was afraid that if he held back these insufferable emotions he would surely die, not that dying didn't have its appeal by now.
In the midst of his crying, he felt a pair of hands shaking his shoulders madly. Fully intending to hit whoever it was, he turned around, only to see a familiar face with, although seemingly worried, shining blue-purple eyes and pink hair messed all over his face.
"Yuki! Yuuukiiii!" the kid shouted, still rocking Yuki's body.
The writer would've jumped if only he was sure where he was. Wasn't it that just moments ago he had this kid, lifeless, in his arms? It was scary thinking this could be a ghost?
"Yuki, wake up! You're having a nightmare!" Shuichi shouted jarring the singer's ears.
Yuki had to sit up, instantly running his hands through his hair and then wiping some huge beads of sweat threatening to fall from his brow.
What the heck?!
Shuichi sat up right next to him, worry slowly becoming from his child-like features. The singer stood up, taking a glass of water from the kitchen and giving it to the now calming writer, "are you okay now?" he asked, sitting right next to his beloved.
Yuki swallowed the last drops of water down to his throat, slowly figuring out what was happening. So he was right. It was just a nightmare. Figures. Part of him was just relieved, but now, looking at Shuichi sitting right next to him, he couldn't help but feel fear now growing from inside him. Almost unconsciously, he pulled the singer to his embrace. Yes. This is Shuichi, warm and breathing in his hug, and the thought of this being gone sent shivers down to his spine.
Shuichi did not deny him, or made any attempt to loosen his embrace, but the singer sure was surprised at the actions of his writer. Yuki was not always this welcoming towards him, not that he didn't like this at all, but it was just a little… strange.
They both lay back down to the soft bed, Yuki still not releasing the singer. He was almost afraid to, thinking what if this was another dream, would he have the strength to actually wake up knowing that his dear Shuichi is no longer by his side and will never be? These thoughts he dismissed at the feel of Shuichi's warm breath touching his bare chest. That was not the time to fear, it was a time to value the moment, it was a time to value the life that is in his arms.
Maybe he should take a vacation, something to relieve him from the stress of his work. Yes, maybe he would, and never to forget bring his darling singer with him, maybe he'd even try to get revenge because Shuichi had him pleading, in his dreams at least.
The tiny figure in his arms wiggled to get himself to a more comfortable position, followed by a small almost soundless giggle, "Love you… Eiri…"
When husky breaths steadied themselves, and when Yuki was sure that the singer in his arms had already departed to dreamland…
"Yeah, I love you too… Shuichi…"