Yeah! My first story! (At least the prologue to my first story). I know it's kind of short but it's just the prologue- the chapters will be longer!

Oh, and please review! Constructive criticism welcomed, as are claims of undying love and loyalty. XP

Disclaimer:

I own everything! Everything!

gets smacked my Yuki

Fine! I… I don't own any of it!

sobs

Prologue:

It had been six months. February to July. He did the math again, but got the same answer. Except that couldn't be right because it felt like so much longer.

But it was. Six months since he left Japan. Six months since he left Yuki. Six months of crying himself to sleep, writing lyrics meant for no one but himself (Bad Luck was on temporary hiatus), of tears, pain, sorrow- six months since he was whole because without Yuki how could he be Shuichi?

He rolled over again, willing the thoughts away. He really should sleep or he'd be useless at work tomorrow, and he most certainly did not want to get fired. He needed that job. Not for the money (thanks to a highly successful singing career he was probably set for life), but for the time it wasted, because time meant thinking, and thinking meant memories, and memories meant Yuki, and that hurt.

Funny, he never was one for over-thinking things, preferred action, but lately his thoughts were all he had.

The alarm clock rang, harshly jolting him out of his thoughts. Another sleepless night. With a sigh he rolled himself out of bed and got ready for work.

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Eiri Yuki did not need anyone. He knew the only person he could ever trust was himself. Therefore, Eiri Yuki most certainly did not miss people. Especially annoying pink-haired brats. So just why exactly was sitting around his apartment, glancing at a certain special picture on a certain special lighter, he simply could not fathom. Because Yuki. Needed. No one.

He closed the lid of his laptop. Didn't look like he'd get much writing done today either. Writers block. Writers block! For months- six months. Right after a certain special pop star walked out of his apartment and out of his life.

But that was just coincidence.

He sighed. At least he'd get something positive out of the whole frustrating experience, when his editor called again and he could tell her he still didn't have a single page written. That always was amusing.