Title: Insomnia
Author: Celeste
Rating: PG-13 for yaoi themes
Feedback: keviesprincess@netscape.net (flames welcome because they're funny)
Pairing: Yuki/Shuichi
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I don't even know them beyond a few one word comparisons…
Summary: Yuki can't sleep. Why? A plethora of reasons. Really.
A/N: I got this idea in the shower randomly. Yes, I'm just that weird. This is my second foray into writing Gravitation, and I tend to be the kind that takes one step forward and four steps backwards, so this is probably going to come off as intensely stupid. Apologies in advance for the usual stuff—OOCness, bastardization of the fandom, random inanities and lameness. This one is a bit more stream of consciousness than I usually do, but what can I say besides that a loopy, neurotic Yuki appeals to me? Aheh.
Dedication: Prism because she let me corrupt her into the Gravitation fandom without any protest. Hah! Corruption is be-a-u-tiful!
Distribution: Ask and you'll probably get it.


Yuki Eiri glared balefully through the murky haze of his cigarette smoke in what he hoped was the general direction of the gaudy digital clock resting on the nightstand beside what had been serving as his bed for the past six and a half days.

Why glaring at the clock, you ask? Well, because…

…it was…

Yuki squinted to see through the smoke.

…1:30 am. New York time.

And he was wide awake. Why again?

Well, he couldn't say. In fact, he didn't really know himself.


Why would he be up in the middle of the night (beginning of the morning?) when he had to work tomorrow?


He didn't know. He really didn't.

*I wonder what time it is in Japan. Midmorning? Afternoon, maybe?*

Well dammit all. He didn't know that either.

But then again, he had never been one for numbers or math.

A writer, after all. As far as he was concerned, numbers were the work of the devil and people who had no creative imaginations. Or couldn't afford to have their own accountant do the finances.

Put that wasn't the point. The point was…

…he didn't care in the first place. He didn't care what time it was in a country half a world away, even if he professed to live there most of the time. Not really, anyway. He wasn't in Japan, after all, was he? So what did it matter?

*Maybe it's around lunchtime…*

Catching the tail end of that involuntary thought, he mentally slapped it away. He shouldn't be thinking about that because, well, because it was just another stupid digression. Which had no basis. None at all. Who gave a fuck about the time in Japan anyway?

What the real, true, unequivocal point of the matter was, it was 1:30 in the morning.

Well, 1:31 now, technically.

And he couldn't sleep.


As in, for the fourth (fifth?) time in a row.


Well, that was simple.

He told himself it was the residual dirty feelings in the pit of his soul left over from today's arduous book signings for the American fan girls who were rediscovering their Japanese roots after atrophying for most of their lives in this godforsaken country. Apparently they saw cultural salvation by way of 'kawaii!!-Japanese-author-guy'. Yup. That was what was keeping him up.

That was definitely it.

On the dot.

Who wouldn't feel dirty by the sheer presence of fan-girl Japanese, right?

He'd never been 'squeeeeeed!' at so many times in his life. Ever.

Well, except after that one time Shuichi had gotten into some weird aphrodisiacs and…

Yuki cursed and doused his cigarette.

Who was he kidding?

It wasn't the stain of fan-girls haunting his memory.

Well, it mostly wasn't. Though they still made him twitch in the eye involuntarily (and rather unattractively) whenever he thought about it.

What it mostly was on the other hand was…

Sex deprivation.

Yes. He couldn't sleep because of...

…raging sex deprivation.

He'd been fine the first night, of course. He remembered feeling jetlagged to all hell and Shuichi's last, tear-filled, screeching goodbye had still been ringing in his ears like fire alarms.

And he hadn't had a day of hand-cramping, picture-taking, forced-smiling work before he'd collapsed on the oversized bed and sunk into unconsciousness until just after 9:30 in the morning, when he'd received the wakeup call from a too-cheery, vapid concierge downstairs informing him that his limousine was on its way to pick him up promptly at 10.

Which was going to take him to said day of hand-cramping, picture-taking, forced-smiling work.

From that point on, life had just gone completely downhill.

Not that it had been a cake walk before, mind you.

It was just… now it involved American fan girls.


That compiled with about a week of abstinence was hell on his tenuous equilibrium.

And while he was griping…

…American beer did taste like the proverbial horse piss the Germans were always bitching about and the local food or culture wasn't much better. The Television shows had been universally horrible, the people as unwelcoming as he remembered, and the weather sucked.

And what the hell was with the smell? One of the wealthiest countries in the world and one would think they'd work on getting the smell of sewage and rot out of the air. It'd been cleaner last time around, he was sure. There hadn't been the lingering haze of bad-fish smell as he'd walked down the streets. The thick fog of pollution had seemed nonexistent back then, the traffic less noisy.

Then again, he might have been a bit biased as a bright-eyed kid with a crush.

But then again, maybe the city had just learned to suck that much more since he'd been gone.

*Where was I going with this? Eh. Forget it.*

Yuki tended to gripe about as many things as possible whenever he got started. It was just more efficient that way. And it made him feel a little bit better about life when he could deride it mercilessly.

But he was too tired to do a good job of it tonight, and running back what he'd brought up in his head, he deemed that sufficient for the time being.

The real crux of the matter was…why start griping in the first place?

He sighed.

Why indeed?


…because he needed sex.

Yuki Eiri was a creature of habit, dammit. He needed his cigarettes. He needed his Japanese beer, food that didn't suck, and his Sh…er…his sex.


His sex.

That was exactly what he needed. And not anything else. Not anyone else.

Just the sex.

Because Yuki Eiri was a creature of habit. And those were the basic tenants of his human needs. Food, drink, tobacco (?), and sex.

And currently, he had access to most of those things. The thing that was admirable about America was that the country knew it sucked at various things and thus, decided to bring them in from places that didn't suck as much to placate the citizens who were forced to live in this cesspool of human civilization every day.

Imported Japanese beer, for example.

Food from countries that didn't mash cows up and stick them between bread was to be found, if one knew where to look. Or who to threaten. He'd actually had palatable sushi delivered to his room via an alarmed looking bellhop earlier this evening. He was sure the generous tip made up for any fear-for-one's-immortal-soul the boy had experienced.

And on the plus side, cigarettes were particularly abundant in the country and he surmised it was from the depressed populace's inherent need to shorten their own lives and get the hell out of here without actually having to do anything painfully honorable like seppuku.

So in short, he had access to most everything he needed.

There was just the one…

Well, when he thought about it, it wasn't like there was a lack of it here. In fact, it was rather prolific if the numerous solicitations he'd received from the fan girls were any indication.

Hell, he could probably find sex on any disreputable street corner in the city if he was so inclined to go out and look for it.

But he was too lazy.

Yeah. Lazy.

Besides, he was the kind of guy that didn't look for sex. It came to him. He'd never been one to go snooping about for it. Usually just a smoldering look, a couple of drinks and a flash of that cool, aloof attitude had the girls trailing after him, wanting his looks, his money, and most importantly of all, to change him. Make him cuddly. Reach the poetic, tortured sentimental being lurking in the deep, dark pits of his soul and coax it out with their love. Funny things like that which he secretly mocked them for as he handed them their clothes in the morning and led them to the door.

Yuki paused in his slightly addled musings. What had he been getting at again?

Oh yeah.

Sex came to him. And even if he did need it right now, he wasn't about to break tradition and go poking around for it. Especially at one-and-a-half in the morning. If it were to show up on its own, well that would be a totally different situation…

He furrowed his brow.

*So does that mean, if some cute thing were to get lost and somehow end up knocking on my door, would I…*

Suddenly uncomfortable, he squirmed slightly in his chair.

*Nah. Of course not.*

First off, if any girl were to happen to do that, she was probably some psychopathic stalker who had cut his head out of numerous magazines and pasted them next to pictures of her in intimate positions on the corkboard hidden in the back of her closet.

Second, it wouldn't be worth it because…

…well, you know.

It was too late now. And he had to get up early for work tomorrow.


That was it.

Eiri glowered to himself. He was so immature sometimes. And the sad thing was, he knew it. It didn't mean he was going to change. But he knew it. He was just so immature sometimes.


… well, he should have been in bed hours ago.

Since he had to get up early for work tomorrow.

Not for any other reason, of course. One was enough, wasn't it?

He was a working man, after all. He had a job to do tomorrow. It wouldn't do for him to be mindlessly exhausted all day, would it?

And besides… Shuichi would probably call at some god forsaken time like four am because the little idiot had waited until he thought it was a convenient New York hour and had somehow completely screwed over the calculations so as to call 30 minutes after Yuki had finally managed to fall asleep.

Yuki looked at the empty bed.

He should at least try to get some sleep.

Because the baka would probably call at four am. And Yuki had to be up at 9:30. Again. To face the fan-girls.


He stared at the empty bed a while longer.

Well, maybe he didn't have to worry so much about the idiot back home calling. He'd done that the second night and Yuki had yelled at him enough that he hadn't called again since then.

So maybe he didn't have to go to sleep now because Shuichi wouldn't wake him up at four am like he thought he would.

Because Shuichi wasn't going to call.

Just as Yuki had told him, in a particularly vicious manner, not to.

And lo and behold, the little brat had listened.

He hadn't called Yuki in four days. He probably wouldn't call tonight, the night that marked the near-end of his first week in America, either.

Well, good.

Better than good.

Great, even.

Shuichi was actually listening to what was being said now. Big improvement on the boy's part.


And Yuki had to work tomorrow, so he couldn't be bothered at some ridiculous hour like four in the morning in the first place.

It was great that Shuichi was listening to him.



Yuki promptly directed his glare to the phone.

In his vivid writer's imagination, he pictured it whimpering and crawling under the bed, where he wouldn't have to look at it anymore. That's what it got for defying him!

Well, not defying him. Annoying him. For ringing at four am that one day. And at 9:30 am every other day.

Annoying him.

He'd have thrown it across the room at this point in time, except the damn thing was chained to the nightstand. As was the clock.

Apparently, America was facing a rash of hotel telephone theft.


He paused suddenly and rewound every thought that had flashed through his head in the last—what time was it? 1:36 am?—five minutes.

*What the fuck is wrong with me?*

He chuckled to himself self-deprecatingly. He must really be sleep deprived, because none of that shit had made any sense at all when he went back over it.

Wait… he wasn't supposed to be self deprecating. That was uncoo.l He was supposed to be bitching about how he needed sex, wasn't he?

He blinked.

Yeah, he was.

Or, something like that.

He stopped glaring at the phone and turned back to his study of the bed.

Big bed. Perfect for both sleep and sex. The two things he wasn't getting any of right now.

And it wasn't an uncomfortable bed to boot. Actually quite soft. The kind you sort of just sunk into and fell into sweet, dreamless slumber after you're stupid boyfriend had called you at four in the morning and you were exhausted from yelling at him and thus could sleep peacefully.

Because you'd used up all of your remaining energy to yell at him when he called.

Part of Yuki's subconscious decided to chime in and mock him as he thought those last few words, but he quickly and efficiently slammed a lid on it and kicked it out the window of the high-rise hotel.

*No, stupid subconscious. I was able to sleep not because he called, but because I was tired. From yelling. Ha.*

And so he very successfully shut that small part of his mind up.

Very successfully.


He stared at the bed some more.

Well, he sort of squinted at it. The effectiveness of his glare was directly proportional to the amount of sleep he was not getting.

Effectiveness as of now…

…zero percent.

But he would keep glaring anyway.

It was what he did, after all.


…it wasn't like he didn't have a reason in the first place.

He still wasn't getting any.

Sleep, that is.



Lost in a haze of mental ramblings, the writer sat, staring at the bed, the nightstand, the lamp, the clock, anything, trying to find purchase of his thoughts, trying to find some sort of reprieve from the constant bombardment of point and counter point. He needed to find his internal haven to stop this ridiculousness, some place he could focus and regain his senses…

His hand twitched involuntarily. And not for a cigarette.

To his absolute, complete and utter horror…

…it moved towards the phone.

He grabbed his wrist with his other hand and pinned his arm to his side, wondering where the hell that had come from.

He wasn't.

He wouldn't.



Even if it probably was a good time to call Japan. He doubted it was the middle of the night. Or morning, depending on how you looked at it.

Because he had no reason to call Japan!

No reason whatsoever.

He didn't even know…he didn't even know why the hell he'd started to do that. It was complete foolishness! It was not his happy place! He was Yuki Eiri! He had no happy place!

Leaning backwards in a useless attempt to calm down, the blonde tried to relax his obviously over-worked, over-strained, under-rested body. This was insanity.

It wasn't right.

He was Yuki Eiri, dammit.

He was a mean son of a bitch who gloried in having his sweet, weepy boyfriend anxious and worried back home, wondering about his health and his activities and if he had had a good day or not.

He wasn't the one who called first.

He didn't get homesick.

In fact, he didn't even have a home.

Just an apartment.

That was kind of cold. And empty most of the time.

Except for a Pochacco cup covered in little blue hearts and flowers sitting in his cabinet.

And the ten varieties of Pocky currently amassed in the cupboard.

And a thin blanket and a fluffy pillow on a leather couch that would also inevitably hold…

… the TV remote.

The goddamn, fucking TV REMOTE, dammit!


Yuki growled as the image of Shuichi in one of those ridiculous costumes of his (did he even have a remote control costume?) popped into his head. Pinching the bridge of his nose in between his fingers, the writer willed his stupid vivid imagination to leave him the fuck alone.

This was all too ridiculous! The sleep deprivation was slowly eating away at what was left of his sanity.

Dammit, it was destroying his super coolness.

That was just…




And really disgustingly sappy.

Yuki slouched and glowered at nothing in particular this time.

He used to be such a badass.

Now what?

Now… now he was…

…sitting up in the middle of the night, er…morning… sulking to himself because…well, because he needed…

…he needed…

*Dammit, just say it!*


Yeah. He fucking needed sleep!

This was really ridiculously stupid.

He'd finally turned into the main characters of his entire romance series. The horror.

Thoughtful, Eiri moved onto the bed itself. He needed to calm down and think about this rationally.

Maybe he was anxious because he'd forgotten to mail a bill out or something. Or he'd left the stove on.

Yeah. He'd left the stove on. A week ago.

Well, it was possible, wasn't it?

Of course it was.


…it would be best just to make sure, right?


…plus the odds that Shuichi had done something stupid and life-threatening were always there, unquestionably.

Really, Yuki couldn't conceive of a reason why Shuichi hadn't called. It wasn't like he ever listened to Yuki about anything, ever. So…the only reason why he hadn't called had to mean…

He swallowed apprehensively.

No. He didn't.

He growled.

In annoyance.

What had that idiot done now?!

He better not have…he better not have…

…done anything stupid.

He better not have done anything stupid! Because that would make Yuki really…well, that would make him…

…really annoyed.

He would be…



Yuki grabbed the phone.

Holding it to his ear with his shoulder, he brushed the overflowing ashtray to the side with one hand and dialed the number without looking with the other.

He sighed in relief when he heard the phone on the other end of the line begin to ring.

That meant…

…that he…

…hadn't left the stove on.

Since the building was still standing.

Well…good. That was good.

Impatiently, Yuki waited for the idiot to pick up the phone. Really…it shouldn't have taken longer than the first ring, considering how Shuichi launched himself from some invisible cannon whenever the phone rang.

But nevertheless, Yuki was waiting.

And waiting.

Where the hell was the idiot?

Work, maybe? Maybe he was at work. That was why he wasn't picking up.

Yuki hung up. Yeah. The idiot was at work. It was daytime in Japan after all (wasn't it?), so that just made the most sense.

He picked up the phone again, more reluctantly this time, and slowly dialed Shuichi's cell.

Slowly because…

…well, he didn't know the number all that well.

Since he never called it.

It had a seven in it, didn't it?


Well, it was ringing. That was…


Well, it was good for a while. By the third ring, Yuki started to get really irritated. Where the hell was Shuichi? What could he possibly be doing that meant he couldn't answer his cell phone promptly? That's what the damn thing was for, wasn't it?


Well, finally.

"We're sorry, but this number is currently out of…"

"Fuck!" Yuki snarled out loud and slammed the phone down.

Not the voice he wanted to hear.

Not that he wanted to hear a particular voice or anything.

But that voice was definitely worse than the idiot's…

…what the hell did it mean 'out of service'?!

That had to mean…


…that meant…

…Shuichi needed to switch providers, because whatever he currently had sucked.

It sucked.

That was all. Everything else must be fine.


Why the hell couldn't he get a hold of the idiot!?

Yuki scowled fantastically.

Because he was angry.



Didn't the idiot know how to work a cell phone?!

Because the only reason that it could possibly not be working was…


…because the brat didn't know how to work it.

The right way.

Not because he might be laying face down in a ditch somewhere, ravaged and murdered by some psychotic fan-girl not unlike the one he was thinking about earlier with the pictures and the corkboard…

…not because of anything like that.


Shuichi didn't have fan-girls anyway.

Not with those idiotic, zero-talent lyrics he was always spouting.

Totally inconceivable.

The brat was fine.



Incredibly stupid. Didn't know how to use a cell phone, or something like that.

The writer ran a hand through his hair and really felt the need for a beer.

And sleep.

To quell his damn paranoia.

Why the hell couldn't he sleep!?

Why couldn't he…



"Shit!!" the writer erupted, nearly dying of a coronary when he heard something banging against his door.

Hand over his chest and the rapid pounding of his poor overworked heart, he stared wide-eyed at the locked portal for a little while. What the hell?




…was a knock, wasn't it?

Well, he thought it was a knock. In his current state of dishevelment, it could just be some strange ringing in his ear caused by the sleep/sex deprivation he'd recently been contemplating.

Either that or some ridiculously big cockroaches.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, concentrating really hard on determining whether what he heard was real or not.



There it was again.

It seemed real enough.

But Eiri was really fucking screwed up tonight, so that didn't say a lot.

He listened harder.

He wasn't quite sure how one listens harder per se, but he tried anyway.



Heard it again.

Must be real.

Squinting, he really hoped it wasn't that psychotic stalker fan-girl he had been thinking about earlier. The one with the corkboard in her closet that might have killed Shuichi and left him face down in a ditch somewhere and dear God....

'Cuz that would just make the night fucking perfect.

He decided to ignore it.

Might not be real after all anyway.




He heard that, this time.

He distinctly heard…

…didn't he?

Was that…

…could it…

"Yuki? Are you asleep? Ne…let me in, please?"

Unconsciously, he began moving towards the door, not realizing that he should be worried about a crazy stalker fan-girl that did a really good impression of…

…he swung the door open wide without hesitating.

And there he was.

In Yuki's doorway.

Staring up at him with half-lidded yet still, somehow, luminescent eyes.

The blonde didn't know what to say.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

His reflexive response to surprise… born without brain-to-mouth communication on his part. Ten points for being able to maintain that in his current mental state.

Shuichi just smiled tiredly at the question, not offended at the offensive tone in the least. "I came to see Yuki," he murmured in simple response, trying to sound more energetic about his surprise visit than he was in his current state of jetlag.

Yuki stared at him incredulously a little longer. Maybe he was hallucinating.

Really, really hallucinating now, instead of just wondering about hallucinating like earlier.

Maybe that American sushi hadn't been a good idea after all.

Or maybe he'd finally fallen asleep and this was a weird, weird dream…

As he stood, gawking, Shuichi stumbled in to the room, hand rubbing wearily at one eye. "I'm sorry I didn't call, I really, really would have but K-san promised me that if we finished all our work for the rest of the month by the end of this week I could come see Yuki and I really wanted to see Yuki so I worked really, really hard and I haven't slept since I called you last, but I didn't think you'd mind since you told me you didn't want me to call you anymore, so I thought I'd work really hard and finish everything and get to see Yuki…" the singer blabbered, only half-conscious and all-exhausted as he fumbled into Yuki's arms, closing his eyes and burying his head into the writer's chest, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent that clung to the other man. "I'm glad I get to see Yuki…" he sighed dreamily, finally content. "I missed you."

Yuki stared a little while longer, feeling Shuichi's breathing on his skin through his shirt.

Tentatively, he poked at what he thought was his hallucination. It gave a little but was otherwise solid, and Shuichi murmured tiredly, something that sounded a lot like, "Yuuuki, don't be mean…"

"Idiot," the writer muttered, feeling the body against his beginning to go slack.

Before the singer fell, Yuki scooped him up and carried him to the bed.

Looked like it wasn't a dream after all.

Because Yuki hoped that if he did manage to have a dream, there would be more sex involved and less drooling on his shirt.

Muttering darkly to himself, he laid the shorter boy onto his bed and began to pull his shoes off,imagining the several ways he was going to kill the idiot for his stupidity in the morning.

He struggled with Shuichi's jacket for a bit, but managed to wrangle it off and toss it into the corner as his boyfriend slept on, oblivious to the fact that his mere presence was causing Yuki trouble.

And making him sleepy.

Eyelids suddenly heavy, he decided to forgo stripping the idiot's pants off and crawled onto the bed next to him, feeling…


Really irritated.

The brat had worked himself silly just to get to come over here to see Yuki and he wasn't even going to get any sex.

Lashes fluttering so that it was getting hard to see, Yuki cursed wearily to himself. Next time, if Shuichi was going to put them both through so much trouble…

…he'd better get some sex.

Even if he did have to get up early the next day.

For work.

Yuki collapsed on the bed and shut his eyes, murmuring in annoyance as Shuichi sighed in his sleep and curled up against the writer's side.

After all…the whole dearth of sex was what had been keeping him up in the first place.


That was it.

Yuki snorted derisively and buried his face into the pillow.

He'd yell at the idiot tomorrow…

…after he woke up.