A/N: Hello, and welcome to Yuki's inner monologue. Yuki is one of my favorite characters and I love trying to get inside of his head, so here it is. It's just a fluffy little Shuichi/Yuki one-shot, for your enjoyment.
Disclaimer: The only things that are mine are the grammatical errors, unfortunately.
There is a pink-haired freak in bed next to me.
He barely moves as I roll out of bed, just shifts a bit, pulls his pillow closer, makes a little incoherent sound in the back of his throat, snuggles a bit closer to the part of the bed I was just occupying.
I stare at him for a moment, perched on the edge of the bed, my feet skimming the top of the carpet. His bright hair is less vibrant in the darkness, his skin pale and smooth, the lines of his face untroubled, angelic, innocent.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection. The lines of my face are harsher, harder. My blonde hair is still light and unnatural; my golden eyes nowhere near innocent.
Sometimes I don't know why he loves me.
I stand, grabbing the package of cigarettes and the lighter from the nightstand. I exit the room silently, heading towards the living room where the acrid smell of smoke will not wake him. I don't turn on the light; just sit on the black leather couch, staring at the blank television screen. The cigarette dangles from my lips, dull embers burning as I inhale, smoke curling in tendrils around me.
We have little in common.
He's vibrant and vivacious, bouncy, hyper, as lively as his hair.
I'm cool and calm, pessimistic, bad-tempered, as harsh as the smell of cigarette smoke.
Maybe opposites attract, but there is no reasoning that says opposites should stay together. They should attract and then ultimately repel, the magnetism wearing off, reversing. Opposites can't mesh well, can't coexist like this.
I don't want to let him go.
That scares me.
When I roll over on those nights when he is traveling and he's not there I wake, even from my deepest sleep, coming to awareness with the knowledge that something is wrong, something is missing, something is incomplete. When I open my eyes and no shock of highlighter pink greets me I blink and wonder where it is and what I've done to drive it away.
I don't like to be without him.
I'm not used to attachment.
He comes up behind me, his bare feet nearly silent on the carpet. "Yuki, what are you doing?" I turn. He stands there, rubbing his eyes, suppressing a yawn, looking at me expectantly. He expects me next to him just as much as I expect him.
I stub out my cigarette.
I stand, shaking loose the kinks, and follow him back into the bedroom. He doesn't spoon against me as we slip under the covers, just falls back into a nearly identical position as before. He smiles sleepily at me.
I don't say it back, just give a little smile.
I don't say it often, only when I have no other option.
But I think he can see it in my eyes.
Maybe that's why he loves me.
Because he can read it in my eyes.
I close my eyes, pull him a little closer, match my breathing to his. Even, slow, in and out, rise and fall.
My heartbeat taps out the words I do not say.
I love you.