A/N: The persistent but crappy writer has returned! I really need a new beta since my last one disappeared from the face of the earth as soon as I finished "Learning to sing with my heart." ;; So yeah. I have been still writing a bit (not much really) of my other stories in my handy dandy notebooks. But I found a whole bunch of empty ones in my room and my muse made me write new stuff down. Apparently it a has a very short attention span. It keeps giving me new stuff before I can even finish the old! I swear that it's doing this to torment all of us... So I'm attempting a new story because He won't leave me alone till I do. I found that as long as I continue thinking up new ideas and writing them down, I can sleep. Otherwise, He'll pester me with sleepless nights full of daydreams until I do! And finishing the old stuff isn't acceptable. Oh no...

Damn quirky muse.

I actually have a few new things to post. But I really should post the old, shouldn't I? hehehe. I'm a procrastinator, and my muse is an over imaginative four year old. Great pair, isn't it?

"Stupid editor." I muttered. "Making me write poems. I groaned. "Of all things, she had to have me write poems." I muttered as I scuffed my feet through the partially lit park. I got a big break not more than a year ago. A large publishing company that wanted to publish my work took me on. But my new editor told me today that they though my books would sell better if it had a poem starting either each section or chapter. Apparently, they had researched my background and recovered some poems of mine that had been published in past newspapers. They liked what they saw and wanted to sell them. I'm very self-conscious about my poems now, and I've had no inspiration or motivation to write them. I shrugged and stuffed my hands in my pockets. They also bring back bad memories, now. "Oh well." I kicked at a stone, then my face brightened. "Well! I might as well celebrate my good fortunes"! I skipped off in the direction of the nearest bar to earn myself a wonderful hangover.

A paper fluttered out of my pocket and landed at the feet of a figure who stepped out of the shadows. He leaned over and picked up the scrap. As he read it, he snorted. "That boy wrote this? It's crap." But nonetheless, he carefully out it in his pocket and stalked out of the park.

Another day

I staggered out of the bar and headed towards the crosswalk. I did not relish going back to my crummy apartment, but I knew I needed to sleep off the beer sp that I'd be ready to see my editor for the first time since when she told me about the poems. But the fates were against me. As I crossed the street I heard the squeal of rubber as a car roared around the corner. As I turned to see, I was engulfed in a bright white light, right before I collapsed in a heap in the middle of the road.

General pov

The car screeched to a stop. The door then swung open to the blaring of horns and a long legged blond stepped out.

"Look!" A girl whispered.

"It's Yuki!" Cried another.

"Who's that boy?"

"Yuki's so dreamy..."

"Is he all right?"

Yuki stood looking down at the boy. "You are so foolish, brat." Yet he tenderly lifted the teen and set him down on the back seat of his car. Then the car roared to life and squealed down the street, leaving several befuddled passersby behind.

Yuki tipped the mirror so that he could look in the back seat. He studied the stranger lying there. Sweat soaked pink hair was plastered to a pale forehead which was accented by flushed cheeks. His mouth was slightly open, making him look very cute, but also troubled.

What's wrong with this boy? Why did he write a poem like that? He thought in puzzlement. What happened to him to make him like this?

He pulled into the garage at his apartment and carried the kid upstairs. He set him down on the couch and grabbed his mp3 player to listen to. As his own music flooded into his ear, he sat quietly on the couch and watched the stranger intently.

Why do I keep seeing this boy? I think I must've seen him a total of 5 times in the past three days when I've never seen him before in my entire life? He is an enigma. A pink haired boy who's obviously not in school and writes poetry like this. He pulled the slightly wrinkled paper out of his pocket that he found a few days before and scanned it again for the umpteenth time that night, not counting the other days he had had it.

"Hey." He heard a voice say groggily at a volume he could just barely hear over his music. So he switched it off and looked into the brilliant, but dull, amethyst eyes across form him.

Shuichi Pov

"Thas mine." I said, slurred because I wasn't quite able to control my speech.

"You're drunk." Stated the blond across form me.

"Whashit toya?" I looked at him cross-eyed, a goofy grin on my face.

He tore his headphones off and dragged me out of the room.

"What're you doin'?" I said as I found myself standing in the bathroom, dazed. As if from very far away, I heard the squeal of the tap and the sound of water running. Then a grim face turned towards me.

"Wha?" I stepped back, unsure.

The man grabbed my arm and forcefully propelled me into the shower. Clothes and all.

"Hey! That's cold!" I screeched.

The water was turned off and I was pulled back out of the stall. I just stood there, dripping, glaring daggers at the offender. If looks could kill... Then I sneezed and started shivering.

"Wait here." The blond growled.

He came back a moment later, set a bundle on the counter, and handed me a towel.

"Dry off and put these on, brat." He ordered as he stalked out of the room. He closed the door firmly behind him.

I peeled my clothes off and toweled myself dry. Then I picked up the bundle. It was a pair of flannel boxers and a concert t-shirt of Nittle Grasper.

If I wasn't feeling so horrid, I'd freak out: It was a limited edition t-shirt that I hadn't managed to get a hold of.

I slowly opened the door and peered out into the hallway. The door creaked, and in response, the man called from down the way "If you're feeling more sober, come and talk."

I crept down the hallway and in the larger room amber eyes once again met amethyst.

What unusual eyes! I thought. Yeah, I should be talking. Is he even Asian?

"Yeah?" I said grumpily.

He opened his mouth to say something and I interrupted him with "Wait. Who are you?"

"Yuki."

Goody, a, monosyllabic kind of guy. I opened my mouth and he drawled slowly.

"Nope, it's my turn. Who are you?"

"Shindou Shuichi."

"Why are you drunk?"

I grimaced, is that any of your business?"

He frowned back. "It is when you try and wreck my precious car."

"I was just feeling a little frustrated." I huffed. "And a little sad. That's all."

"Explain."

"I'm an author and just recently started writing for a big publishing company. They want my to publish my poems as well. I disagree with them mostly because I stopped writing those a long time ago. But they are persistent. I went to get smashed to forget for a bit. That's all." To forget the bad memories that my poems bring back. I smiled weakly."I'm not sure that you'd understand." I stood up to leave. "I'm sorry to intrude upon your hospitality, but I really should be going."

"No."

"What?" I turned around, shocked by that statement.

He held up a piece of paper. "This is yours, right?"

I reached for it with trembling fingers. I glanced at it and bowed my head with shame.

"Yeah."

"It's crap."

I felt my eyes start to water. "I know it's not the best, but I haven't written any poems in months." I choked out.

"A second grader could do better, but.."

I looked up. "But?" I asked hopefully.

He stared directly at me and I felt as though he could see write through me. See all of my secrets.

"But it conveys this feeling, passion that I thought only songs could. I'm impressed."

I felt dumbfounded. Does he like it, or not? Why is he contradicting himself so much? Then everything started to swim before my tired eyes, and as I fell over, I saw a worried face floating above mine in concern.

I need a beta!