Due to some good advice, I revised the story's POV. I hope the writing and POV are easier to comprehend this time around. :) Thanks to Bakayoro Onna for the advice and to both her and Sun's-and-Stars for being the first two in reviewing this story.

Disclaimer: No. Because if I did Kumagoro would be able to talk and be my companion in world domination…maybe in the next lifetime ^_^

Kumagoro and Pocky Production Presents...

By Echoline

Story 1:

Chances

Hn….

It's funny how your life can get disrupted so easily, no matter how in control you think you are.

…for example…

You are having trouble writing, so you go out and spontaneously take a walk through the park to clear your head. What are the chances that then…

Just then…

Your calm, angst-y life style is disrupted by…

"Yuki, I'm home!!!!!"

Front door slams shut.

…Crappy lyrics and an annoying brat.

My peace hitting an apocolypse for the day, I open my eyes slowly. I glance at the small picture on the opposite wall, watching it rattle and swing crookedly before the nail that held it up for three years, weakens and give away. It's funny how a ten pound frame can't do for three years as opposed to what a certain maniacl idiot shutting a simple door on teh other side of teh apartment, can.

That is when I see IT, I am ready for IT. IT...actually, because eventually this might become confusing, 'he' always came home at five-thirty...with the same greeting. A pink blur jumping through the office door, and, once again, this I was ready for, straight in to my lap.

Joy.

I feel the leather chair swing akwardly bakwards and some pretty rational part of me was sure we'd both fall over.

"Yuki, guess what?!" I hear the half-scream next to my ear, making my brain ring on voulmous levels. It is terrifying how I'm use to this. In all of my twenty-three years this is probably the most abrasive harpy screech I've ever heard, yet I'm not doing anything about it. He looks excited, so something good has happened. I don't answer the pink headed idiot, because it doesn't matter if I do or not...I am going to hear about it, anyway.

"I arrived late this morning and Fujisaki..."

And...here we go.

"-was really angry, talking about how I was hopeless and holding Bad Luck back. I was so angry and attacked him and we kinda, sorta got in to a full blown fight before K shot us and…"

His whole face is flushed, beaming. I know if I look hard enough, there will be figurative stars in his eyes. It's easy for him to express whatever he is feelings. I have spent my whole career writing about something I've never believed in from the beginning. I have never had a reason to begin believing in it from the very beginning. This is how I saw it turning out: I'd grow old by thirty and die from an expired lung brought on by three packs a day. Yeah, a wonder what a fucked up, traumatic chain of unfortunate past events can do to one's Point Of View concerning their future. Love is...overrated.

For him is socially effortless. For example:

"…after Hiro pried Fugisaki's hands from my throat, Tohma walked in and said 'Your sales of this album are doing better then expected' – jerk- 'J-TV is asking for an interview…' Hiro and I freaked out-…!"

The words I hear from his lips are constant.

'I love you.'

Every day and every night…

'I love you, Yuki.'

With ease.

Totally overconfident.

How can he do it so easily? How does he know I feel the same for him? No matter how many times he says it and yet I neglect to say it back, he smiles. He whines and complines, but later in teh day he's still genuinly smiling up at me. Like he knows I love him.

Right.

Too over confident…

The rant continues.

His violet eyes connect with mine in a digustingly cheerful manner that is so like him, but one I came to reconize only with him.. His stupid, childish, innocent self challenging my over cold expression that should be frightening enough to scare him off of me, at least.

Instead, chances are I'm the one who will begin to feel scared if he doesn't look away.

"I think it's going to be awesome! We're performing a new song so we'll make it a surprise. You'll be there, right Yuki?!"

It feels like a few seconds before my brain can register the question. I smirk and roll my eyes in a way that always made his exuberante smile lessen a little at the corners, "Like I have nothing better to do then to listen to another one of your poor excuses of a song."

But...chances are I will be there.

Chances are I will listen to his song and replay it again and again, whether in my head or turned up loud on the stereo – when the brat isn't home of course; just like he I the first one to buy Bad Luck's current CD when it hit the stores. He'll never find out. If he does, there is a certain flmboyant producer and CEO and dear brother-in-law of mine that is certain to die.

Chances are I will sing it in the shower, much to my horror.... Again, after I am absolutly sure the kid wasn't home of course. Chances are….

"No thanks." I say coolly as I shove him off of my lap and on to the carpeted floor.

Before all of this, my life was ruitine, routine, routine.

The following is as close to a routine as I've had in the last year sinceI met him:

Tears immediately spring to his eyes.

Then comes the....

"YUKI YOU ARE SO MEAN!!" He cries.

And then...

I give him an uncaring look.

Heh, somehow I don't mind. I realized a while ago that chances are if I ever settle back in to a routine, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. Ask me a year ago, and I wouldn't call this my medium.

He pouts. Despite my disregard, he wasted no time curling up next to me like he does every day, pulling on his on his headphones and walkman. There is a small, knowing smile on his face. From this point on the room is subjected to silence. Exluding the muffled beats and medolies of songs coming from the brat's headphones.

I slowly begin to settle back in to quietly contemplaing on what the next scene in the novel is going to be, but not quickly enough. While my life is being surrounded by techno, strawberry sceneted shampoos, whines, complaints, Nttle Grapser day in and day out, being dragged in to this he could care less about, crumbled papers harboring messy words scribbled in equally messy handwriting, a relationship that strange and unwanted as it is unpredictable and needed...yet still wanted, and hands deep in pink hair die to please a significant other, I muse.

There were a lot of chances in my life.

Chances that were handed to me, chances I fought for, chances I missed.

Chances that scarred me…scared me.

Then there is Shuichi…

~

The next one will be a Ryuichi/Tatsuha! Stay tuned! R/R!

Ali-chan