Author's Note: Right now it seems as if everything I write competes
fiercely for the title of the oddest thing I ever wrote o.o. Still, here's
another strange one-shot thing.
Now, so far no one has commented on the fact that Shuichi is slightly OOC
in this fic. Before anyone does, I would like to explain that this is
deeply contemplative Shuichi. Kinda like adult Ryuichi. Understand? Good.
Enjoy!
Snowfall
It's snowing today. I can't remember the last time I had the inclination to stand at my window and watch the snow falling, but I'm doing it now. Anything to waste time, I suppose. Something to do so that I can be late for work and not have to face Hiro again.
Not that there's anything wrong with Hiro in particular. We haven't fought, he isn't being patronising or unkind. He's just...expecting too much. Like everyone else. He expects me to come to my senses someday soon, and leave this place.
Leave Yuki.
It's funny the way everyone thinks that the crueller Yuki is to me, the closer I get to breaking. That one day I'll leave Yuki lonely and scared, and punish him for everything he's done. For all the times he's thrown me out of the house, or called me "annoying" or "baka", or insulted my lyrics. Even Yuki, I can tell, is just waiting for it to happen. Sometimes I think it myself, but I know it isn't true. I could never leave Yuki. I could never hurt Yuki.
He's an enigma to most people, that man. No one knows why he acts the way he does. I do not think he knows himself – at least, were you to ask him, he could not tell you. Those who know say it was Kitazawa, but I know better.
The snow is falling faster now. When I was a child, I used to stand at my window just as I am now, and watch it fall. I never could bring myself to play in it as the other children did, to trample through it, manipulate it as if it were white sand. To me it was defilement, desecrating something so soft and white so that it froze hard and grey as the weather became colder.
Yuki named himself for snow. All most people can think of when they think of him is coldness. Ice, frozen and hard, unfeeling. But that is not snow, that is not Yuki.
I know Yuki, perhaps better than he knows himself. I know that the coldness in him was never meant to melt, that he was never supposed to become warmth. I doubt I could love such a Yuki.
But I will never leave him. No matter how harshly he treats me, I will come back to him when he needs me. Because he does need me, perhaps more than I need him. He may never admit it to himself, and he certainly will never admit it to me, but he knows it. Perhaps he even knows that I know it.
I am Shuichi Shindou, and for as long as I live I will stay with him. With Yuki Eiri. And I will let him hurt me, take me back, hurt me again. And perhaps it will drive me insane, but I will never abandon him if he needs me, because I cannot bear to see him in pain.
Because he is my Yuki, my freshly fallen snow.
Snowfall
It's snowing today. I can't remember the last time I had the inclination to stand at my window and watch the snow falling, but I'm doing it now. Anything to waste time, I suppose. Something to do so that I can be late for work and not have to face Hiro again.
Not that there's anything wrong with Hiro in particular. We haven't fought, he isn't being patronising or unkind. He's just...expecting too much. Like everyone else. He expects me to come to my senses someday soon, and leave this place.
Leave Yuki.
It's funny the way everyone thinks that the crueller Yuki is to me, the closer I get to breaking. That one day I'll leave Yuki lonely and scared, and punish him for everything he's done. For all the times he's thrown me out of the house, or called me "annoying" or "baka", or insulted my lyrics. Even Yuki, I can tell, is just waiting for it to happen. Sometimes I think it myself, but I know it isn't true. I could never leave Yuki. I could never hurt Yuki.
He's an enigma to most people, that man. No one knows why he acts the way he does. I do not think he knows himself – at least, were you to ask him, he could not tell you. Those who know say it was Kitazawa, but I know better.
The snow is falling faster now. When I was a child, I used to stand at my window just as I am now, and watch it fall. I never could bring myself to play in it as the other children did, to trample through it, manipulate it as if it were white sand. To me it was defilement, desecrating something so soft and white so that it froze hard and grey as the weather became colder.
Yuki named himself for snow. All most people can think of when they think of him is coldness. Ice, frozen and hard, unfeeling. But that is not snow, that is not Yuki.
I know Yuki, perhaps better than he knows himself. I know that the coldness in him was never meant to melt, that he was never supposed to become warmth. I doubt I could love such a Yuki.
But I will never leave him. No matter how harshly he treats me, I will come back to him when he needs me. Because he does need me, perhaps more than I need him. He may never admit it to himself, and he certainly will never admit it to me, but he knows it. Perhaps he even knows that I know it.
I am Shuichi Shindou, and for as long as I live I will stay with him. With Yuki Eiri. And I will let him hurt me, take me back, hurt me again. And perhaps it will drive me insane, but I will never abandon him if he needs me, because I cannot bear to see him in pain.
Because he is my Yuki, my freshly fallen snow.
