The book, It, by award-winning novelist Yuki Eiri... has left this reader lacking any true desire to so much as read ever again. Following the grand traditions of Harle-Quin Romances, I can count the number of pages in to the first sex scene, and find that it's consistent with his last book, Cool. Skin contact by page fifteen, true love by page fifty, and death by one hundred and eighty-two. Apparently, Yuki Eiri has, indeed, discovered the formula to success - the novel has been snatched off the shelves by lonely housewives and schoolgirls across the nation...

Eiri pulled out a careful pair of sheers, cut out the review, and placed it on the blotter on his desk. It was a half page article, with one glamour shot of Eiri in the upper right, smoking a cigarette and appearing...like he normally appeared. Without looking, he dropped the magazine into a wastebasket that sat next to his desk.

He leaned back into his office chair, and considered the article.

It...amused him. It pleased him. A sideways smile tipped his lips, and he let out one bemused and low laugh. He shrugged his shoulders lightly, pulled open the desk drawer and got out his cigarettes, popped it between his lips and started a belated search for his lighter.

The office he was in was typical of the book lined, golden things he'd seen in the movies growing up. It looked like it was supposed to look, and was the only room in the house that wasn't stark and near empty. He wouldn't let Shuuichi ruin the fine lines he'd worked so hard to establish in the living room, the sleek feng shui serenity. It took work to keep it that empty, with Shuuichi constantly wanting to fill it in with knick-knacks.

Canned, clichéd, obvious, simple - these are the words that come to mind when I read It. There is no effort on Mr. Yuki's part to move us to feel for the characters, and the few times he seemed to attempt at humor were flat and in general, not funny. All in all, Mr. Yuki's novel is just a romance, just another bodice-ripper fantasy, another novel where true love is the answer to everything. It makes one wonder, how this man could win so many awards, so many hearts.

And then I take a look at the lovely, 8x10 glossy that came with my copy of It, (pictured on the right) and the equally lovely full page photo of this man that graces the back cover of all his novels, and I cease to wonder.

Eiri considered the article, however short, for the eleventh time. He made a mental note of the reviewer. He finally found his damn lighter, took in a long and grateful drag. He debated whether or not the review was worthy of a frame.

Shuuichi was out for the day. He could hear his feet hit the hardwood floors as he walked, and the air was lovely and cool. When Shuuichi came home, he would immediately turn up the heat, and complain of how chilly it was. Eiri would make no comment and start cooking supper.

He couldn't find his goddamn socks.

He frowned lightly, and allowed himself to be annoyed. He didn't like being annoyed.

Page 115, It

He couldn't find his goddamn socks, where the hell were they? He wandered all around the house, allowing himself to become annoyed. He looked by the couch, where he'd taken them off the night before, he looked by his bed, he looked in his office. He was getting angry, already edgy from the strange company. Finally, on the verge of throwing her out of his home, convinced he'd never find anything in the apartment ever again, that she was running around and moving things at random to disorient him -- he found them, in the laundry room. A tiny folded note on top of neat, fresh smelling clothing, "I Love You. I'll be home late tonight, don't eat without me."

Eiri stopped looking, turned, and went to the laundry room. It was small, he could reach out with both arms and touch either wall. Just enough room for a stacked washer and dryer, one person, and a basket of laundry. Folded neatly in a pile on the washer were his clothes. His socks were paired and twisted onto themselves.

Eiri himself usually neglected things like washing clothing, and wouldn't change for a few days simply because he rarely left his apartment. He snatched up his socks, and then decided to change for the day. As he was spinning on his heel, he saw a tiny note written on pink paper. He knew that the paper would smell like strawberries, and that Shuuichi's handwriting would be on it. He knew that the note would be short.

Note

Yuki, I love you, don't eat without me, I'll be late.

He stuck the note into his pocket, piled the laundry back into the plastic basket and took them back to the bedroom. Shuuichi had probably folded them this morning, before he went to work late again. Shuuichi just did things like that. Eiri doubted he'd ever been at the studio on time.

He put the laundry basket on the messed up bed, walked back to his office, tossed his socks onto the desk without putting them on. He'd changed his mind about going out and buying a frame for the review. He opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out a little lacquer box. He flipped open the lid casually.

Inside the box, small folded pieces of paper. Each tiny piece covered in Shuuichi's katakana. He lifted his hips, pulled the paper out of his pocket, and tossed it in, closed the lid and considered the box.

It was a foolish thing to do. Shuuichi left him a little note almost every single day since they had moved in together. If you sifted through them, you can see little transition periods in there, the days of the white paper, the days of the sticky notes, the days of the little Hello Kitty, the days of Calvin and Hobbes. Each one started with "Yuki, I love you." And each one he kept inside that lacquer box.

Foolish, stupid, utter drivel. Pure sugar sentiment, utterly beyond his comprehension. The actions of a hopeless romantic. Why on earth was he doing this?

He opened the little lacquer box, dumped all the little notes onto the table, considered the pile of paper. With one, rather determined swipe, they all fell into the trashcan by the side of the desk. He got up, and walked angrily to his wall of framed reviews. Bad reviews. He only kept the bad reviews. They were his favorites.

He stared at one review until his eyes lost focus, until he wasn't looking at the words, but instead, was looking at the reflection on the glass. He could see his own hazel eyes, his own blonde hair, and that slightly glazed look that comes from when you don't get enough sleep and think too damn much.

He spun around, looked at the trashcan. "God damn it." He knelt down, and started to pull each note out of the trash. "He's finally turned me into an idiot." He muttered under his breath. "Idiot, idiot, idiot." He wasn't entirely certain if he was calling himself, or Shuuichi an idiot. He got his fingers stuck for a moment on a wad of Shuuichi's gum, and he jumped and flicked it off with a snap of his wrist and rescued the last of the bits of paper from the trash, tossed all the little notes onto his desktop.

He sat heavily onto his leather office chair, and regarded them again. Bits of white, pink, yellow paper. Some of them had bleed through marks, so that Shuuichi's note was written backwards on the other side.

Underneath the notes, was the bad review. He had written the whole damn book because of Shuuichi. He did it sometimes on purpose, sometimes by accident, whole scenes lifted right out of his life. This had to be the most sincere book he's ever written. He...rather liked it. He brushed aside the notes that Shuuichi left him, picked up the fragile paper he'd cut out of the magazine, crumpled it and tossed it into the trash.

He looked at all the little love notes and was at a loss. He pulled out the bad review for a second, tossed it back in with a bit of a growl.

He was being too damn indecisive. He sat back down, and looked at the pile of notes again.

He pulled out a beer, and stared at the notes again. Every time his laptop powered down, he'd hit a button so that it would turn back on again. He looked at the story he was working on. He couldn't think of what to write. So he sat there and alternated his focus back and forth from the little pile of love notes to his newest story. He drank his beer, smoked his cigarette, and sighed quite a bit.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, tapping the desk impatiently with his socks (he still wasn't wearing them) and trying to figure out what he should do with the notes. But eventually, he heard the front door open, and all the noise that Shuuichi brought with him started to fill the apartment.

"Yuki! I'm home!" and he heard the sound of the TV being turned on, but he knew that Shuuichi probably was not standing there watching.

Shit, was it that late already? He hadn't brushed his teeth, he hadn't changed his clothes, he hadn't gotten supper ready, he hadn't even written so much as one paragraph all day. What the hell did he do?

He tried to be quick about it. He reached out to gather up all the love notes, stuff them into the box, and shove it back into his desk. His cuff hit the top of the beer can, and dumped itself all over the desk.

"Fuck!" Snatched the can back up, righted it and started to blot at his desk with his sleeve without thinking. A half second after his sleeve touched the beer, he swore again, closed his eyes, and dropped his head in frustration.

Now, his sleeve was soaked.

The cuff was made heavy by the lukewarm beer. And he didn't think the notes were going to be rescued at all. The third week of the month was now a smear, he had no idea what his appointments were anymore, and every note was completely drenched.

Shuuichi choose this moment to pop his pink head into the office. His timing made perfect sense.

"Yuki!" Shuuichi said cheerfully, and then stopped, and tilted his head to one side, "Yuki?"

Eiri was still sitting there, his eyes closed, his left sleeve dipped in beer and love notes, and a look on his face, as if he was barely restraining a growl. "What?"

"Yuki..." Shuuichi said cautiously, "Are you okay?" and he started to edge forwards, into the mostly off limits area of Eiri's Office. "You look - um..." He paused, dipped his eyes down to the desk, at the mess that lay there. "You loooook, um... like you spilled something."

Shuuichi padded forwards, meekly, and poked lightly at the beer soaked pile of notes. He pulled one piece out, and delicately opened it, read a note he'd written a month ago. He looked up at Eiri a bit shyly.

Eiri tried to remain composed, with his shirtsleeve still dipped in beer, and made very level eye contact. "Yes, I spilt some beer."

Shuuichi was starting to shine at him. Puppy-ish joy radiating from him and he bit his lower lip and ducked his head a little, "I wrote this, um, last month..." His licked his lower lip for a moment, pursed his lips and re-read the note one more time, looking up to make eye contact with Eiri and smiled as though Eiri had just paid him the most wonderful compliment in the whole world, "I thought you threw them all away."

Trying to maintain dignity while you've obviously just fumbled is difficult enough as it is, trying to maintain aloof pride while a sweet, wonderful, cute, beautiful boy was beaming at you at the same time made it much harder. Eiri opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, something cool, something that would have saved his dignity. But before he could do that, Shuuichi launched himself at Eiri and clung tightly. "Yuki! I love you! I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you." and started to kiss at him.

They fell back wards onto Eiri's office chair, Shuuichi landing comfortably on Eiri's lap and Eiri himself nearly having the breath knocked out of him. "Ah! Careful, you idiot!" and he put his arm around Shuuichi then, his wet-beer sleeve landing heavily on Shuuichi's back and staining his vest. Shuuichi snuggled in under Eiri's chin and didn't care. He sighed dreamily.

"I thought you threw them all away!" He said for the eighth time, and tightened his arms around Eiri one more time.

"Well." Eiri was ready to say just about anything to make Shuuichi stop gushing, "They're all ruined now, aren't they?" And he tried to push Shuuichi away.

Shuuichi let himself be pushed away just enough to look at Eiri's face. "But...you kept them." He said, almost reverently. "I thought you were going to get mad at me for wasting paper."

Shuuichi was looking at him with that sort of love-struck, wide-eyed, deluded-with-daydreams sweetness again. He tried very hard to stay annoyed. He tried very hard not to give into the cute (he hated cute things). He tried very hard not to melt. He tried very hard not to give in. He tried very hard...

But Shuuichi almost always won. He sighed, shook his head, and placed a hand on Shuuichi's cheek. Shuuichi glowed at him and smiled. "But now, I've ruined them all." He heard himself say gently. "After I bought them their own box."

Shuuichi spun around and looked at the box. "It's pretty." He said, ran his fingers over the gloss. "You bought this for my notes?"

"I just said that, didn't I?"

Shuuichi ignored the irritated tone. After a moment of careful prodding, lifting it out of the slowly drying beer puddle, examining the high gloss black, and the pretty red velvet insides, he put it down and shut it, turned to Eiri with a sparkle in his eyes. "I can write you a new one." Shuuichi turned, opened a drawer in Eiri's desk, pulled out a pen. "Hand." Shuuichi said, completely at ease with telling him what to do.

Obediently, Eiri held out his hand. Shuuichi expected it so much, it felt natural to concede. Shuuichi turned it palm side up, and wrote on it, "I love you."

Eiri raised his eyebrows. Shuuichi looked up and him and gave him a very satisfied kitty smile. Eiri took back the pen from Shuuichi - he felt a little offended Shuuichi had touched the pen at all - took hold of Shuuichi's hand, and wrote "idiot" on his palm.

Shuuichi looked up at him and knit his eyebrows delicately at Eiri. "Yuki, how could you? After what I wrote..."

No, he didn't want to give in again, he didn't want Shuuichi's cuteness to win again, he didn't want...the warmth it made him feel. He didn't like cute things. He did not like them. He wouldn't give in, he wouldn't. It was bad for his reputation. It made him squeamish. It made him want to avert his eyes.

But Shuuichi looked at him, made his eyes just a little bigger at him, and...looked...cute...

Eiri sighed in resignation. "'Idiot'--" He said softly, caught Shuuichi's chin, and kissed him lightly. "suits you best."

Shuuichi took back the pen, tugged at Eiri's sleeve, and wrote "meanie" on his wrist.

Eiri took back the pen and wrote "child" on Shuuichi's wrist.

"Yuukii!" And Shuuichi hit him on the chest and pouted. "I was trying to be romantic."

Eiri laughed softly, wrapped his arms around Shuuichi's waist and pulled him close, his lips resting close to Shuuichi's ear. He was giving in. And maybe he even secretly liked it, just a little - but not enough to encourage him. Any encouragement on his part and there would be no end to it.... Shuuichi looked at him just a little aggressively, just a little peevishly. Eiri sighed again, he caught Shuuichi's other wrist, took the pen, and carefully wrote, "adorable" on his skin.

It was just appeasement tactics. He was just doing it so Shuuichi wouldn't pout so much...

Shuuichi flashed him a bright, happy smile, took the pen away, and wrote, "sexy" on Eiri next. It quickly turned into a game. Eiri took off the shirt, it was soaked in beer anyways, and Shuuichi wrote words all over his torso. Fair being fair, Eiri insisted that Shuuichi take off his shirt as well. And Eiri wrote words on Shuuichi next. They took turns, trading the pen back and forth.


Beautiful.
Moody.
Music.
Poetry.
Ticklish.
Erotic.
Silly.
Sweet.
Lover.
Mine.
Eiri.
Shuuichi.

Shuuichi would laugh when the pen tried to write on a sensitive patch of skin, and Eiri would twitch. He stroked Shuuichi's cheek as Shuuichi wrote on him, pressed a kiss before he wrote himself. Eiri leaned in now to press a kiss to Shuuichi's abdomen, and prepared to write more, when Shuuichi's stomach growled. Eiri paused, and looked up at Shuuichi. Shuuichi was a bit embarrassed, and said, "I haven't eaten all day."

Neither had Eiri, but he would have been willing to overlook it. With a bit of a sigh, he pulled himself away from Shuuichi. Their little game ended. They went to the kitchen shirtless, and Eiri tossed something together that really shouldn't have tasted good, but actually tasted divine. Shuuichi was always filled with a sort of awe at Eiri's cooking skills, how Eiri would seem to toss everything in at random, and how it would always taste wild and good.

Shuuichi fed Eiri, and Eiri fed Shuuichi. When they were close, and when it was dark, when they were alone, it was easy to just give in to it. Allow all this sappiness to happen. Eiri had always thought himself too...well, manly for such stupid romantic things. Shuuichi made it hard to avoid. He hated feeling susceptible to it, feeling weak. He hated looking like an idiot. Romance made him, edgy, uncertain, guarded.

But there was a sort of... breaking point for his intolerance. The way Shuuichi was sometimes... it made him feel so weak, that he'd break. And, if he didn't think on it, he didn't feel stupid, or afraid. If he didn't think on it, he felt wonderful. Whenever he stopped his pride would get in the way and he'd start to feel idiotic again and want to change the topic.

Romance was what he wrote about, not what he did.

But, Shuuichi made him not mind so much.

The last word he wrote that night, he wrote on human skin.