Just a Little
By Languish-Dreams
The sound of broken glass followed by a muffled curse drew Shuichi's attention from his writing pad. Many sounds of frustration could be heard coming from Yuki's study during the day, but such sounds were rarely preceded by anything breaking. Curiosity, as it's bound to do in such cases, won out and the singer quietly stood up and walked down the hall. He stopped in front of the door for a few moments, a bit hesitant to enter at first, until he finally knocked and pushed the door open.
Unlike the numerous times Shuichi had entered the study before, Yuki was standing in front of the window, silently gazing out to the street below. He didn't turn or acknowledge his boyfriend's presence at all, merely continued to stare straight ahead.
"Yuki?" Shuichi waited a few minutes, despite knowing that an answer would not be forthcoming. "Yuki is everything all right?"
The singer watched his lover reach into his pocket, the snap and click of Yuki's lighter sounded before a light trail of smoke appeared.
"Everything's fine. Go away."
Shuichi's first instinct, with Yuki's cold, sharp voice still ringing in his head, was to do just that. But as he started to back out of the room, the singer stopped himself.
There was blood on the floor.
Right by Yuki's feet, in fact, were several small drops of blood. His eyes traveled up the length of the author's body, though no visible wound could be seen. It was then he suppressed his newest instinct: to run screaming into the room and demand to know what happened. It was known far and wide how Shuichi would completely overreact to everything and anything and because of a few of his more inappropriate reactions as of late, the singer had been trying to calm himself down.
A paper on the desk fluttered then and that, coupled with the direction and disappearance of the smoke from Yuki's cigarette, told Shuichi that they would need a new window now. The J-rocker sighed and shook his head. Sometimes he wondered which of them was worse at overreacting.
"I thought I told you to leave." The author stated flatly, his voice slightly muffled against the cigarette in his mouth.
Startled from his thoughts, Shuichi's eyes gazed again at his lover's back. It was then he noticed that Yuki's hand was clutching something. Daring to step forward, he squinted slightly until he realized what it was.
A roll of film.
The author's long fingers tightened, obscuring the roll from view as well as turning parts of Yuki's hand white. Whatever was on that film was most definitely the cause of Yuki's windowcide.
"Yes, Yuki. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." Shuichi muttered quietly, closing the door softly as he retreated.
He squared off with his brain cells the moment his hand left the doorknob, millions of scenarios fighting for dominance to answer the only question Shuichi was asking himself now: what the hell was on that film?
The answer, so painfully obvious once it had been discovered, eluded the singer for several minutes. Once the thought had fully registered in his brain, however, Shuichi wasn't sure exactly how he should react. So many months later, the episode in question was more like a bad dream than anything else. He didn't understand why Yuki insisted on holding on to such horrible memories, rehashing them over and over until his ulcer sent him back to the hospital.
Shaking his head again, Shuichi walked into the bathroom and pulled the first aid kit down from a shelf. After wetting a rag he walked straight into the study, not bothering to knock this time, and stopped once he was standing beside Yuki. Without a single word he took the author's hand in his own and checked it for any remains of glass. Finding none he cleaned his lover's hand, rubbed some antiseptic on it, and began to wrap it. Yuki said nothing the entire time, simply continued to look out the broken window as the cigarette slowly burned between his lips.
"It wasn't your fault, you know."
Shuichi finished off the bandage and checked it before he answered, "I know."
Walking around his lover, Shuichi took Yuki's other hand in his. Lifting the fingers up, the singer removed the roll of film and looked at it for a few minutes in silence. Without another word the singer turned and walked towards the door. He stopped once he had reached it, tears he had silently begged not to fall having betrayed his pleas and his vision.
"Yuki?"
There was no reply from the writer, merely the shuffling sound as the man turned around.
"It wasn't your fault either."
Yuki's voice was quiet, but the words clearly spoken. "I know that now."
With a small smile, Shuichi closed the door behind him. Sometimes. Sometimes you just need a little.
Just a little. Love. Patience. Faith. Hope. Time.
Just a little.
Understanding.