Summary: Shuuichi realizes Yuki doesn't love him and goes to an extreme measure to cure his pain. Oneshot, does not have a happy ending aka deathfic.
Love is a Gun:
Chapter one:
Shuuichi's POV:
I never thought it would come to this, that I would be faced with the sure fact that you didn't love me—that you would never love me. But here I am finally admitting to myself what I tried for years to disregard—you don't love me. You can't love me—I finally realized that, after years of witnessing the truth firsthand I'm finally getting it.
What's changed? Why have I just now decided you didn't love me? Simple—you showed it surprisingly well for the past month; you ignored me more thoroughly than you ever have—even when I confessed to you everything I would do if you didn't say you loved me, you dismissed me.
I guess you thought it was just another of my usual overreacting episodes—you went as far as telling me you wouldn't miss me if I did it. And you looked so coldly at me—that's when I knew; you didn't even care about me, let alone loved me. Otherwise how could you say you wouldn't miss me if I killed myself?
I told you what I had planned; I showed you the scars on my arms where I tried to bring myself to do it in the past—and you still turned away. You still dismissed me.
Isn't there any emotion in that cold heart of yours? Can't you at least fake kindness? For once couldn't you just give me the answer I want to hear?
You may think, or hope, that I will be the weak one and attack myself to get back at you—but I know that won't work. Talking to you, showing you my scars, proved that.
I won't attack myself anymore—I won't kill myself to get back at you; instead I'll play my vengeful hand directly. I'll make sure you can't have time to regret your actions—I will hold a gun, but it won't be to my head.
I never thought before that I could hurt you—I always assumed you'd be too strong. But I've discovered so many different ways to do the deed—many that have a high chance of me getting away with it.
There're so many poisons out there—arsenic, cyanide, resin—even gold can be used. I saw an episode of a medical drama where a woman used gold to poison her husband. She very nearly got away with it too—just think how high a chance I have of getting away with it; no one would ever suspect me—I love you too much, they would say, dismissing all thought on the topic.
They don't know that I hate you as well; living with you has been hell, and I'm finally through with living with the festering pain eating away at me.
And I will end it, not through my death, but through your suffering—I don't need to kill you to be satisfied, just seeing you in pain will be enough.
I think I'll go with the gold—it'd be perfect since I always saw my future with you as a golden heaven awaiting me—but that dream has crumbled to dust. Your need for me has always been more lust than anything—I don't blame you for focusing on that, it feels so good that one can forget any- and everything.
For a while the sex was enough to make dealing with you worth it. Now it's not. I don't know why that's changed. Maybe it's because we hardly do it anymore. My libido's shot, and you're never around much anyway.
Maybe it's because I've grown up—I've entered the world of adulthood more fully over the past two years. I've discovered just how corrupt and vicious it is. And it's just not worth it to follow their rules.
So I'll follow my own.
I will get my revenge on you for hurting me—for allowing me to become attached to you so I could be hurt. Yes, I blame you for that, there were so many things you could've done different, things you could've done to stop my crush on you from blooming into love. I blame you for letting me fall in love with you.
Why did you have to toy with my emotions? Why did you have to always hide behind that cool façade so that I could never know if you liked me or not? Why did you have to keep your feelings a mystery?
Did you enjoy watching me look like a fool everyday as I fell in love with you, all the while knowing that you wouldn't return my love? Did you get some sort of sick, twisted pleasure imagining how hurt I'd be once the charade was over? Do you get pleasure from thinking about me killing myself in my anguish?
Well fuck you! I will not, I refuse to fall victim to your games, I will not kill myself—I will kill you. I hate you. I may love you, but I hate you so much more now—I can't escape it.
I think I will use a gun instead, I already stole one of K's—originally planning on using it on myself, but that was before our talk; before I told you I would kill myself if you didn't say you loved me.
I wonder if you'll say it if I held the gun to your head?
Will you finally say those three little words? Will you finally show some emotion when I pull the trigger? Will you? I'm desperate to find out, but I know hearing you say it won't stop me from shooting you. I'm too far immersed in hate to contemplate forgiving you—especially since it will only be your fear talking.
Damn it Yuki, I tried so hard to win your love but you've always pushed me aside—sure you tolerated me more than you normally would if it was someone else, and I used to be satisfied with that.
But I now know better—even when you started being kinder to me, it wasn't because you loved me; it was because I reminded you of the one you did love. The one you admitted to me that you would always love, the one that would never leave any space in your heart to love another.
That hated, rotting corpse in the ground named Kitazawa.
I hate him, for hurting you and turning your heart cold and unfeeling, but more so for the impossible barrier he put up—the barrier that I can't seem to destroy so I can finally get you to love me. You loved, and still love him, he betrayed you but you still love him—and I can't seem to worm my way into your heart because of him.
Why must I compete with a corpse for your love? How can I compete with a corpse? How can I compete with a love so strong that even after being betrayed you still love him? Why can't I make you forget him? And why can't you see me when you look at me? You see him, I know you do, every time you're nice to me, outside of sex, you're nice because you see me as him.
You're holding onto a love that was poison to you, that is poisoning you even now; a love that will lead you deeper into darkness. I know all about that kind of love—I've been living in it with you for years now, losing a piece of my soul each time you refused to return my feelings; feeling myself bleed each time I saw you look at me with emotion and realized it was for Kitazawa, not me.
I hate you. I love you so much that I can't stand seeing you looking at me so cold. I can't stand living on in this fantasy any longer; I'm getting the gun from where I stashed it and confronting you as soon as you get back from your walk. I promise you that.
I have the gun in my hands now, and I'm typing some more to this letter I'm leaving on your laptop. I want you to know what I'll do ahead of time, I want to see your expression as you read each word, and realize your mistake.
Not that you can rectify it.
Not without dying at least.
I loved you; Yuki but now's too late to fix your mistakes. Don't worry, I'll see you soon after—I already know I won't be able to live without you here, I won't be able to live with the deed I plan on committing.
I love you.
Shuuichi.
-
Tohma looked away after reading the last word, tears in his eyes. So this was why, this was the reason for that night, the worst night of his life. The night that led to police cars being parked around his brother-in-law's house, the night of the most chilling call he ever received.
' "Tohma, come quick, please."
"What? Eiri? What is it?"
"Just come ov…." Something sounding like a gun shot in the background.
"Eiri? Eiri! …."'
The line went dead that moment, scaring Tohma more than the gunshot he heard in the background and he rushed over to his brother-in-law's. What he found shocked him to tears—his brother-in-law and his brother-in-law's lover were both lying in blood.
Eiri lying against the wall, eyes closed, bullet wounds in the chest, barely breathing. Shuuichi sprawled on the floor a gun in his hand, a bullet wound to his head—not breathing at all.
"No…" Tohma rushed to Eiri, his chest burning with panic, "God no." It was in an emotionally befuddled state that he called an ambulance, checking between his precious brother-in-law and the pink-haired singer.
Shuuichi had already started going cold, a fact too surreal to contemplate—Eiri was still warm, and breathing though it was faint.
"Eiri." Tohma knelt beside his brother-in-law, shivering with fear and grief, and confusion. "What happened?"
He never got an answer. The police disclosed it as a murder-suicide, but Tohma couldn't believe it—none of those who knew the couple could believe that the pink-haired singer could do such a thing. They believed Shuuichi was happy with the novelist, that things, as difficult as they were, weren't that bad.
Then Tohma found the text file on Eiri's laptop, the one Shuuichi wrote to the novelist. He had opened it and couldn't stop reading, not until he reached the end.
"Shindou…how could you…?" He sobbed falling to his knees in the eerily quiet house.
A/N: End. I'm not planning on writing more to it, it was just an idea that wouldn't leave me, and so I wrote it. Please review.