"Thanks for the ride, Yuki!"
"It's easier than having you dash into the house wet and sobbing because I forgot," the writer grunted, next best thing to ignoring his obnoxious little lover. "If you start crying you walk."
Shuichi snapped a hand over his trembling lower lip. It was pouring, dark, and windy. Besides, anyone who can turn on the waterworks so easily can also shut them off in a second, if need be.
Yuki, for once, had an excuse for his crabbiness. His latest novel was six weeks late, and he wasn't sure about it anyway. Having his own real romance had made him rather tired of writing idealistic fairy tales of other- heterosexual-couples. This new book was a thriller/tragedy based largely in his own diaries and with each chapter headed by a quote from a Bad Luck song. (The latter embarrassed him deeply, but the look he envisioned on Shu- chan's adoring face made it worth it.) He was far more deeply involved with the semi-autobiographical work than anything he'd ever written, but he couldn't for the life of him predict how it'd go over with his editors or, worse, those shallow girls who crowded the bookstore the car happened to be shooting past, still crowing over his last release. On top of those worries, Mika'd been leaving mysterious hints on his answering machine, Tatsuha was popping by more frequently, and he had an overall sense of foreboding that probably linked to future attempts by family to be filial.
"Yuuuuki! You're driving too fast!"
"Shut up, baka." Seeing Shuichi's face fall out of the corner of his eye, Yuki couldn't help feeling a little guilty for his mood, but the last thing he felt like dealing with was a sugar-high, pink-hared pop star. And he was driving faster than the wet, slick roads and oppressive darkness deemed wise, but admitting that would just add to his present discomforts.
"Slow down Yuki. Please? There was a bad accident yesterday around here."
"See if I let you watch the news again."
"Yukiiiiiiii."
Eiri's uncertain temper snapped. "Shut up!" Bad-temperedly, he slammed on the gas and spun around a corner, warranting a squeal from Shuichi. In fact, he noted a slight skid that even made him a little nervous, but to let up now would be to admit defeat.
"Yuki, Yuki, please." Shuichi was pouting again, but his fear looked real. And, when Yuki thought about it, Shuichi was always sincere, a trait he shared with no one else in the avoidant author's life. "Eiri."
At his first name, even Yuki couldn't hold out. Only a gruff grunt escaped him, but he slowed to an almost too-careful speed. Shuichi beamed and leaned gently on his shoulder, and Yuki melted inside. "Knock it off, baka."
"Yuuuukiiii looooooves meeeeeee," Shuichi chanted softly, which Yuki had a feeling would be really annoying really soon. "Yuuuuuuuuukiiiiiiiiiii loooooooooo-Yuki, watch out!"
A car stalled and skidded in front of them. It was too late to break, so Yuki swerved to the left. He had learned to drive with no one in the passenger seat.
Time seemed to slow down as the slick streets threw the car out of control, careening rapidly towards a bridge support. Shuichi's screams ringing in his ears like the horn on Judgment Day*, Yuki tried to pull Shuichi back, out of harm's way, but too late.
A horrible, sickening crunch, searing pain in his right arm, and the sudden absence of sound from Shuichi all struck him simultaneously, and he blacked out.
A/N: The basic premise for this story comes from a song. I'll be using it later, to torment Yuki, so I won't say what, but anyone who guesses it shall have. my commendations, I guess.
*Gabriel's horn, which will supposedly sound on the last day, whatever that is, calling each soul to judgment according to his or her sins. I have no idea how much or little Judeo-Christian mythology Yuki might have picked up in New York, but whatever. Shuichi would probably be flattered by the comparison.
"It's easier than having you dash into the house wet and sobbing because I forgot," the writer grunted, next best thing to ignoring his obnoxious little lover. "If you start crying you walk."
Shuichi snapped a hand over his trembling lower lip. It was pouring, dark, and windy. Besides, anyone who can turn on the waterworks so easily can also shut them off in a second, if need be.
Yuki, for once, had an excuse for his crabbiness. His latest novel was six weeks late, and he wasn't sure about it anyway. Having his own real romance had made him rather tired of writing idealistic fairy tales of other- heterosexual-couples. This new book was a thriller/tragedy based largely in his own diaries and with each chapter headed by a quote from a Bad Luck song. (The latter embarrassed him deeply, but the look he envisioned on Shu- chan's adoring face made it worth it.) He was far more deeply involved with the semi-autobiographical work than anything he'd ever written, but he couldn't for the life of him predict how it'd go over with his editors or, worse, those shallow girls who crowded the bookstore the car happened to be shooting past, still crowing over his last release. On top of those worries, Mika'd been leaving mysterious hints on his answering machine, Tatsuha was popping by more frequently, and he had an overall sense of foreboding that probably linked to future attempts by family to be filial.
"Yuuuuki! You're driving too fast!"
"Shut up, baka." Seeing Shuichi's face fall out of the corner of his eye, Yuki couldn't help feeling a little guilty for his mood, but the last thing he felt like dealing with was a sugar-high, pink-hared pop star. And he was driving faster than the wet, slick roads and oppressive darkness deemed wise, but admitting that would just add to his present discomforts.
"Slow down Yuki. Please? There was a bad accident yesterday around here."
"See if I let you watch the news again."
"Yukiiiiiiii."
Eiri's uncertain temper snapped. "Shut up!" Bad-temperedly, he slammed on the gas and spun around a corner, warranting a squeal from Shuichi. In fact, he noted a slight skid that even made him a little nervous, but to let up now would be to admit defeat.
"Yuki, Yuki, please." Shuichi was pouting again, but his fear looked real. And, when Yuki thought about it, Shuichi was always sincere, a trait he shared with no one else in the avoidant author's life. "Eiri."
At his first name, even Yuki couldn't hold out. Only a gruff grunt escaped him, but he slowed to an almost too-careful speed. Shuichi beamed and leaned gently on his shoulder, and Yuki melted inside. "Knock it off, baka."
"Yuuuukiiii looooooves meeeeeee," Shuichi chanted softly, which Yuki had a feeling would be really annoying really soon. "Yuuuuuuuuukiiiiiiiiiii loooooooooo-Yuki, watch out!"
A car stalled and skidded in front of them. It was too late to break, so Yuki swerved to the left. He had learned to drive with no one in the passenger seat.
Time seemed to slow down as the slick streets threw the car out of control, careening rapidly towards a bridge support. Shuichi's screams ringing in his ears like the horn on Judgment Day*, Yuki tried to pull Shuichi back, out of harm's way, but too late.
A horrible, sickening crunch, searing pain in his right arm, and the sudden absence of sound from Shuichi all struck him simultaneously, and he blacked out.
A/N: The basic premise for this story comes from a song. I'll be using it later, to torment Yuki, so I won't say what, but anyone who guesses it shall have. my commendations, I guess.
*Gabriel's horn, which will supposedly sound on the last day, whatever that is, calling each soul to judgment according to his or her sins. I have no idea how much or little Judeo-Christian mythology Yuki might have picked up in New York, but whatever. Shuichi would probably be flattered by the comparison.