Before you have my head, please note that the next chapter of Tomorrow Bring is being delayed, but will come. I'm sorry.
The singer sat solemnly on the expensive blue couch, the cushion sinking under his weight. Despite his current mood, the dark room he sat alone in wasn't extraordinary depressing, didn't hold a double meaning, didn't reflect his emotion, didn't seem like anything other than what is was; a dark room, a normal living room complete with a large window sporting a very good view of Tokyo's grand lights.
He sat back against the backrest, because better use is a backing than to support a very upset, very hurt, very talented young man in his time of need. He slumped further against the couch, his lose fitting top riding up as he did, and his foot slid further down the table.
The position was horribly uncomfortable, but he paid no mind to it. Instead he folded his hands on his stomach and huffed out a strained breath. The clock struck ten, the boy only noticing as he straying eyes landed on the digital clock on the DVD display. If only the famous boys held ownership of a coo-coo-clock, for Shuichi never would experience a more perfect time for a coo-coo-clock. The certain drama of the situation would be something straight out of Eiri's novel. So if only there was a coo-coo-clock.
He huffed again, and then cast his heavy violet eyes to his foot, propped up on a leopard print pillow and expressive looking coffee table. His ankle was wrapped in thick blue-ish white bandages, making his state of dress look odder than usual.
Super stylin' Shindou Shuichi, lead singer of a sensational band, known for his outgoing personality, charming smile and sexuality, caught wearing very un-super stylin' clothing. That is right folks due to his fashion don't of an ankle cast, the heartthrob boy had to roll his pant leg up, and leave the other down. What Shuichi? Try hard gangster? Roly-poly pants and a not so becoming XL t-shirt? We thought you had style boy.
And the readers wouldn't even care that his ankle was in pain. The doctor prescribed painkillers, something to seriously kill the pain, but Yuki took them away as soon as they got home. He said something about how he'd rather not deal with a super high singer, who already acted like he was stoned.
After taking the pills, the author retreated to his office to catch up on the work he missed. And Shuichi knew exactly how much after being yelled at the whole ride home.
The boy released another huff of hot air and slunk further down on the couch.
"He could've at least pretended to care."
After hearing the resounding slam of the study door, Shuichi was left to fend himself. With the crutches—Which disabled him more than helped him—he managed to seat himself on the couch, and then with much grunts and two pulled muscles he reached a pillow, his pillow, to prop his foot against.
The table was just too hard by itself, you see.
He hadn't even been able to turn on a light, and the television remote was so far away. Besides, he wasn't really in the mood to be offered to the light. The more he thought about it; maybe the dark room did have a second meaning.
"Jeez," Shuichi sighed aloud, now fiddling with the folds of his shirt. "He acts like it's all my fault. I didn't want to be run over by a mad cyclist. I didn't ask for that crazed kid to break my ankle. So what if I called Yuki to pick me up? I was hysteric from the pain! It was agony."
Even recalling such intense pain sent tears clustering in the boy's eyes.
"Talking to yourself is a sure sign of madness." The voice stirred Shuichi from his thoughts, his body jerking with the shock. He turned his head awkwardly to look upon the form of Yuki, as he was leaning against the wall next to the couch with crossed arms.
Had Shuichi not been in such a difficult position, he would've fully turned his body away from the beautiful man. Instead he simply turned his head in the opposite direction, snorted, and copied the older mans action in crossing his arms.
Not known for his stupidity, Yuki knew he was being shunned. Maybe, and just maybe, he could've allowed Shuichi a painkiller. Not the strong ass pills the over concerned doctors ordered, but an Aspirin. Two, if the boy complained enough.
"Brat," he called softly, prying himself from the wall and strutting his way towards the still angry boy.
"I'm not." Shuichi cut in stubbornly.
Ignoring that, Yuki sat himself beside the disabled singer and lightly touched his shoulder.
Minutes of silence, completely awkward and degrading minutes that went so slowly Yuki was sure--heaven forbid--he attained gray hair. He knew that the key to fixing Shuichi's attitude was one simple word a two-syllable word Sor-ry. Sorry was all it took.
The word itself was on his tongue rolling around gleefully in a taunting way. All Yuki had to do was open his mouth and force it out and then prepare for a lapful of one very happy boy.
It didn't happen
So instead Yuki swallowed his apology. "You hungry?"
"No."
"It's late. Are you tired?"
"No."
"Want to watch TV?"
"No."
"Light?"
"No."
"…Music?"
"No."
By this point Yuki was seething. He was on his proverbial knees, baring his proverbial soul to the superstar in attempt to get him to smile, but all Shuichi could do was turn down offer after offer.
"So basically you're happy just sitting here, in the quiet dark, alone?"
"…No."
The author sighed.
"What can I do to make you smile again?"
Slowly, the boy turned his head towards Yuki, large tearful eyes looking very uncertainly at the novelist. His bottom lip, which jutted out pouting-ly, trembled.
"…No?"
Curtly, Yuki turned on his heel and marched towards the empty bedroom.
"Wait!"
The novelist did wait, but didn't turn, showing his impatience through hunched shoulders and a tapping foot.
"Yuki," Mewled the boy, "There's something that will make me feel better."
"I'm listening."
He pinched his casual t-shirt, folding the fabric between his slim fingers. The tenseness in his shoulders lessened to the point where it never was, but he was still stark still. His slowly tapping foot was tired, but he didn't want to give up the impatient impression so easily. The injured singer would take advantage of the situation if he knew that Yuki was just about willing to do anything to make Shuichi happy. Taking into account all the things that actually did make Shuichi smile unnerved him.
"Tell me you love me," Was the weak request finally, the voice almost visibly wavering.
The swallowed apology flew out of his mouth, choking him. "Excuse me!"
"Tell me you l—"
"I heard what you said!"
Yuki almost heard Shuichi blink in surprise. With out turning around, he saw the confused expression decorating his boyfriend's face, until finally he understood and it morphed into determination.
"Yuki! If I know you love me, I'll be happy. Tell me now!"
His blood ran cold, thickly, through his veins as Yuki stiffly turned his neck. It seemed color had a way to vanish quickly when being imposed upon by dark shading, even darker in the lightless room. It accented the ominous unreadable look in his rich golden eyes.
There, on the couch shrouded in dark, sat Shuichi like a damsel in distress. It was be so easy to pounce now, strangle the slouching boy, and pretend it never happened. His movements were drawled out, as if he were in slow motion, moving with both arms outstretched the boy.
Shuichi raised an eyebrow at his actions.
"What are you doing?"
"Killing you." He said slowly, almost in a singsong zombie like voice.
Shuichi pouted. "I want to hear you love me."
Instead of heeding the boy's words, Yuki gurgled. He couldn't, not that he didn't want to. Just like apologizing genuinely, it got caught on his tongue. But sitting there, shining in the dark, Shuichi looked so cute and the longing to simply smile and tell the boy, "I love you" was intense.
He gurgled again.
It was impossible, choking him silently to death. This was it his number was up. He was moving on up, finally casting the world aside. That, or he had one to many beers.
With out even noticing it, he was pressed against Shuichi. Their noses touched and he could see the tears already swimming in the violet depths. Shuichi moved Yuki away with a single brush of his hand, sitting up with much pressure on his sore ankle, but without a care.
"Normal lovers tell each other they love each other! They say it no matter what! They mean it!" He saw Shuichi struggle through a sob. "They say it because it makes their lover happy, and that makes them happy. They say it because they mean it. Why don't you say it? You know you can. You just don't want to. You like seeing me sad, confused and in the dark—"He indicated to the room around him—"You don't say it because you don't love me!"
A dramatic saying called for a dramatic exit. The singer swung his leg off of the table, sending the pillow sprawling towards the floor. The pain he put on his foot was unbearable, but Shuichi was determined to hobble away before Yuki told him he was right.
A hand on his shoulder stopped him, forcing him back on the couch.
"Fine, you brat." Yuki rolled his eyes. "I love you." An obvious sarcastic tone lingered in the air. Yuki almost felt like walking away, just to prove his non-existing point, but remained in his pouty teenager stance.
"Yuki!" Shuichi whined, extending the name in empasis of his intent on getting his way.
Rolling his eyes again, Yuki untucked his arms and planted a firm hand on Shuichi's shoulders. He peered his sunlight eyes into Shuichi's lilac stare.
"I love you."
Shuichi gasped aloud, drawing in his breath so fast it nearly choked him. Yuki looked down at him, a solemn expression on his face finally. He meant it. Instant joy flooded the boys system. He couldn't help leaping to his feet and then glomping his loving lover.
They lay together on the floor, hugging each other and declaring love silently for the rest of the night, where morning found them both asleep.
I was right, Shuichi sighed contently, and the darkness doesn't have a second meaning. It's simply the opposite of light. After all…
Shuichi cuddled deeper into the sleeping mans embrace
The dark can never be bad if that's where Yuki admitted he loved me.
Sappy ending, but per usual, these things tend to have them. Yuki was out of character, obviously, but I found it amusing and I love it. In my defence I declare he was drunk and in the sequal that will never be made, he doesn't remember confessing. Because, I'm just a teenage dirt bag baby.
This was just a little one-shot to my Betta. Even though I didn't get one! -Tear-