Personal: Hn. Well, to write this songfic was a struggle between choosing 'Too Close to the Sun' by David Usher and 'Black-Eyed' by Placebo. Black-Eyed is one of my favourite songs--it always makes me sniff to hear it! It really fits Yuki down to a t. But... I didn't choose Too Close to the Sun because I guess I'm lazy. And I wanted to write a dark fic.

Everyone always writes about Yuki like he's an asshole by choice. they always just call him a bastard or something like that without considering what goes on in his head. I think he's fascinating, but...well, I always like characters like that. Zelgadiss from The Slayers, Yue from Card Captors, Kouji from Gawl, Setsuna from Angel Sanctuary...they're all awesome characters that a lot of people just write off as 'assholes' or 'mean'. But they're not!

I mean, yeesh. If you were raped by your teacher and a pack of sweaty guys, then you shot the teacher, I'm sure you wouldn't be a ray of sunshine, now would you? No. Or turned into a monster like Zelgadiss. Or find out that the girl you love is really your biological sister like Setsuna.

Anyways, listen to both songs. They're awesome. And David Usher is one talented writer and singer. Plus, he's really good looking. :p


Warnings: dark-fic. This one is pretty bad. Watch yer step, bay-bee.

Black Eyed

It was nearly three in the morning when Yuki's brain slipped down into the deepest stages of Stage Four sleep, punctuated by brief periods of hyper activity called sleep spindles. During this he would shift slightly, elbows and knees poking into the other person in his bed, another small sleeping form named Shuichi.

Shuichi's magenta hair was fanned out on the pillow as his chest rose and fell in the throes of a peaceful night's rest. He could fee the heat of Yuki beside him, more comforting than any kind of stuffed animal. The boy murmured something in his sleep, coming awake briefly as all people do half a dozen times each night. Of course, this is merely an evolutionary security measure, and Shuichi's dulled mind would wipe each wake clean for the next morning to provide the illusion of uninterrupted rest.

Even in a dead sleep, Shuichi couldn't be quiet.

But while Shuichi's mind was dulled and softened by sleep, Yuki's was rising from it's brief stint in the most restful stage and climbing to REM. He tossed his head to the side, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows.

Yuki dreamed.

I was never faithful,
And I was never one to trust.
Borderlining schizo
And guaranteed to cause a fuss.

In his dream, Yuki awoke in an empty bed, a peculiar wetness on his face. He blinked lightly coloured eyes into the consuming darkness of his bedroom. It seemed larger, somehow, as if he were sleeping in the middle of a cavern. His dream-breath rung loudly in his ears.

If I spoke, Yuki thought to himself, ears straining for the slightest noise, body tense with fear. My voice would echo. No, he wouldn't speak. He would be silent. Who knew what lurked in the darkness? There were dangers everywhere he knew instinctively. One set of his long fingers rose to slide through the moisture on his face while his other hand rustled through the cool sheets beside him.

Someone was supposed to be in bed beside him, but they weren't. Who was it? Who wasn't here?

He was alone.

Why was he alone?

The answer, he knew, lay inside him, but Yuki couldn't quite bring it into words. He was alone, because....

I was never grateful,
That's why I spend my days alone.
I'm forever black-eyed,
A product of a broken home .

There! He'd almost had it! The purpose of this dream! But it'd fled, jus as Yuki had begun to grasp the idea.

But that wetness was still there. No sense chasing after ghosts.

Was I weeping in my sleep? he wondered, letting the hand sink down to his pillow as his thoughts latched onto concrete matters. The writer started as the graceful digits encountered a wet pillow. Soaked, through and through. Soaked with what? Yuki didn't feel as if he'd been crying. His throat wasn't parched and his eyes didn't sting. So...what was it? The sheets rustled and fell about Yuki's middle as he abruptly sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

His feet felt so warm compared to the cool floor as he manoeuvred his way through his bedroom and down the long hall. When he reached the bathroom, Yuki flicked the light on.

Pulled in breath as his eyes widened in horror.

The answer was right there. Staring him in the eyes. Why he was alone.


The wetness had been blood. His own. Everywhere. The man gingerly touched his ruined features. His nose had been punched so brutally it lay almost sideways against his face, smushed into a barely recognizable form. His mouth leaked a mixture of saliva and crimson through empty spaces where teeth should have been and his lips were cut wide open. Yuki's left eye, the colour Shuichi had described once as 'delicate', was scarcely able to open through all the puffiness and black. Scabbed blood dotted at his hairline and stuck in his eyelashes.

Oh, my God... He thought, running his fingers over his features. Oh, my God. He wanted to run, screaming, from his own face. He was... hideous.

And that's how you're meant to be.

That voice from himself.

"No," he whispered, though he knew the real answer should have been 'yes'. "No..." How could Shuichi bear to be with him if he was so...monstrous?

He's not 'with' you at all. He's gone.

The empty bedroom.

He grasped the edge of the sink and stared into the mirror. "No," he whispered again, but it was weak and ineffectual. The voice laughed.

I was never faithful,
And I was never one to trust.
Borderlining schizo,
And guaranteed to cause a fuss.

I'm forever black-eyed,

A product of a broken home.


In the real world, he tossed his head from side to side on the pillow, small noises escaping his throat. Shuichi, still dazed, began to truly awaken at these sounds.

"Yuki?" he murmured, and reached out his small hand to touch his lover's face. No response.

Yuki moaned lightly in fear, and flinched.


I was never faithful,
And I was never one to trust.
Borderlining schizo,
And guaranteed to cause a fuss.

The laughter grew ever louder. It was out of his chest now, and in Yuki's apartment. The writer could hear it bouncing down the darkened halls, maniacal in its ecstasy of his pain. Yuki wanted to banish it away. He knew he had the power.

But instead he could only stare at his reflection in the mirror, ruined beyond any kind of repair. "I'm...sickening."

The malevolent, twisted laughter gained new life, and shrieked in hurtful delight at Yuki's latest realisation.

Yes, you are!

"Yes, I am." The man murmured, feeling something like a tear well up in his good eye. He didn't understand why there was no pain from his injuries. "Shouldn't this hurt?"

The voice stopped, right outside the bathroom door. Yuki closed his eye in fright. Lurking and gloating, it gently, lovingly, ran a ripping dark claw down the side of his face. Skin tore before it like the sea parting for a Messiah.

Doesn't this hurt, Yuki? Doesn't it?

"Yes," he whispered, as more of that wetness splashed down onto the collar of his shirt. "Oh, yes." But not where it should. It was his heart that ached. There was some small screw in his breast bone that turned tighter day after day. He didn't understand it, didn't know how to live with it. But this pain...the pain from his flesh--it was less than any internal pain could ever be.

But you're not fighting.


I was never faithful,
And I was never one to trust.
Borderline bipolar,
Forever biting on your nuts.

"Because I deserve this."

Because you deserve this. Echoed the darkness in agreement, and lovingly began to tear his child limb from limb.


Shuichi started as the moonlight from the window reflected from a tear that appeared from underneath Yuki's right eye and crawled down his face to the pillow. It was shocking. He'd only seen Yuki cry once before, ever before.

"This is far enough," the boy whispered to the night, and gently began to shake Yuki awake. "Yuki," he said insistently. "Yuki, wake up." Shake, shake, shake. He swallowed with his fear for Yuki. What was wrong? "Yuki!"

An eye cracked open, tiger-like and painfully intense. Shuichi breathed a sigh of relief and flopped his arm across the blonde's chest. "You were having a nightmare," he mumbled. "I was so worried."

"Sh-shuichi," whispered Yuki. "Am I bleeding?"

The singer blinked and looked at Yuki. "No, silly," he answered, taking Yuki's larger hand in his own and bringing it to the man's cheek. "You're crying." Yuki seemed to almost visibly relax from his wire-tight tension, before he spoke with the drop of moisture caught on his fingers. His eyes met Shuichi's.

"What's the difference?"

Shuichi, for a moment, couldn't answer. He just stopped and stared at Yuki. His breath, for some reason, couldn't quite seem to leave his throat, and his arms seemed glued to the spot, buried as they were in bedding. There was something...dangerous about Yuki's question. Something dark and hidden within his lover that Shuichi was only catching a glimpse of tonight

Something that made him afraid.

"Nothing, I guess," he said, and pulled himself up beside Yuki to wrap his arms around the writer securely. He wanted to go back to sleep, to forget this night ever happened. Just...sleep, Yuki. Let everything settle down. Shuichi absently stroked a bare patch of Yuki's skin he found. Go to sleep.

"Yuki.." Shuichi eased. "You're beautiful."

He breathed a sigh of relief as Yuki eased one arm around Shuichi and settled back against the headboard. Shuichi returned again to his sleep of nothingness and peace. Yuki remained awake and stared out the window to where the white moon lay, bathed in the glow of it's own perfection.

I'm forever black-eyed,
A product of a broken home

(Broken home)

Black eyed.

Black eyed.



Yuki sat and stroked Shuichi gently, and ached on the inside for the drip and splatter of blood.

He say's I'm beautiful.

All I know is... The writer ooked down on Shuichi's sleeping face. I'm dead.

Personal Two: Eh. Well, reading this thing a few days later I still don't really like it. What do you guys think? Should I scrap it? Keep it up? Opinions?