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Notes: This is a fic written as a prize for Fairady's correct guess on one of my Mystery Fics, but don't blame her for it; she was very unspecific with what she wanted done. Gravitation does not belong to me. Oh Gods, I wish it did. That would be so cool. But it doesn't, so until then I write fanfiction. No profit, no sueing, 'kay?
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You don't look delicate enough to commit suicide.
If you leave, I'll die!
The words you said to me. Not delicate enough to commit suicide, you said. Maybe you were right, when you said it. I don't think I ever would have considered it.
But you hollowed me out. You took away everything inside me, my heart, my soul, and made them yours. And then in return you gave me your feelings, however grudgingly. And now you're gone, and everything that had filled me is gone with you. I am delicate. You made me delicate.
When they first told me, I didn't cry. Hiro came into the room. He was so quiet and withdrawn. I remember thinking that it was strange, and something must be wrong. And then he looked up at me, and I saw the emotion in his eyes that I have come to dread the most.
Pity.
I remember yelling. I demanded that he tell me what was wrong. And somehow, I knew. I grabbed his shoulders and looked into his eyes, and I knew. But it wasn't enough. I needed to hear him say it.
The deep breath. The shaking voice. Huh. He was afraid. Afraid to tell me the truth.
"Shuichi... It's Yuki. He's dead. A car crash. Some drunk driver hit him."
And since he had told me, I let go of his shoulders. I backed away slowly and sat down on one of the chairs. It was in the conference room at the studio. At least, that's what I seem to remember. I couldn't think. There was nothing. Anywhere where their could have been thought or emotion was completely empty.
Hiro got me home. He wanted to put me to bed, but I wouldn't let him. I couldn't. Yuki and I had a ritual. I slept on the couch unless he asked me to come to bed. Of course, lately he had been asking every night. But it was our thing. When he wasn't home, I slept on the couch. That was it.
I can't recall whether he left me alone or stuck around. At any rate I ended up sitting on the couch. I must have been like that for hours. It got dark, then light again. I never slept. It didn't make sense. I was still trying to believe it. Yuki was dead? It wasn't possible.
If you leave, I'll die!
Yuki, why did you have to go and do that? You always need to test me, don't you? You have to test my loyalty. When I followed you all over Japan you ran to New York. Do you remember what I told you there? If you died, I would follow you into death.
You don't look delicate enough to commit suicide.
You were wrong Yuki. Maybe then I was not delicate enough. You have made delicate. And now that you're gone, there's nothing left to support me. I feel like I'm falling.
Appropriate, that.
If you leave, I'll die!
Every little thing reminded me of you. Hiro forced me to eat, but I never tasted any of it. All I could do was look around the house. A pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. Yours, of course. I never smoked, because of the damage it might do to my lungs and voice. That was the first time I cried. When I finally realized that I would just have to throw them out, because you weren't going to be there to finish them.
The funeral is just a blur in my memory. Lots of people came. But I don't think anyone felt sorry for him. They just watched me, and felt bad for me. I hated them for that. It was supposed to be about Yuki, not me! And yet everyone was giving me a wide berth, as though they couldn't bring themselves to intrude on my grief.
Only Hiro was brave. I remember him coming up behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder. I collapsed. I think I might have been screaming. I couldn't tell. I had been screaming in my mind for a long time.
If you leave, I'll die!
You don't look delicate enough to commit suicide.
I sway as the breeze cuts through me. It's horribly windy. I feel like some figurine, made of glass. So light and thin that I will blow away. He's gone. All that remains of me is a delicate shell.
I take a step forward, off of the edge of the building, and fall.
You don't look delicate enough to commit suicide.
You don't look delicate enough to commit suicide.
You don't look delicate enough-
-don't look delicate enough-
-delicate enough-
-delicate-
If you leave, I'll die!
or
Oh God, that was hideous. Let me complain to the author.