Impossible

By Xara

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Yuki/Shuuichi

Summery: If I’m not
made for you, then why does my heart tell me that I am?

Yuki and Shuuichi,
dancing and romance, and dedicated to Midori.

Authors Note: It
should be officially illegal for me to listen to ‘If you’re not the one’ by
Daniel Bedingfield. Blame my friend Claire. This is also the very first time
I’ve written a sweet and sappy fic for any Fandom, and that includes Trigun. I
don’t seem to write fics that involve emotion; usually they involve mindless,
pointless lust, and/or alcohol. Or negative emotion. So I tell people that I’ve
written fluff, and they just stop talking, gob smacked. So lets see if my first
foray into the realm of “love” is worthwhile.

It usually isn’t this
way. By now, the famous Yuki Eiri, writer of novels, mysterious stranger, lover
of men and women would be in another meaningless, fragile week long ‘relationship’
and getting the same self hating satisfaction from using another body.

This is defiantly not
the way that Yuki Eiri acts. Maybe Uesugi Eiri, a child with the
capability to love, shackled and restrained by guilt and feelings of betrayal.
Yuki Eiri is the big, bad seme, he uses and loses, he fucks and forgets.

He does not
stand in front of a mirror, after 6 months of dating someone who is younger,
simpler, kinder and sexier than anyone he’s ever dated before, planning his
declaration of love.

Love. It’s a simple
word, four letters, a mere description of something that varies in intensity.
You can love god, love chocolate, love your cat, love your boyfriend. Some are
interchangeable, some barely qualify, and some don’t qualify at all. Very few
people love their cat in the way they love their boyfriend, and very few love
their boyfriend in the way they love chocolate. Each love is separate,
different, wonderful. Truly the way that the world should work.

The problem with love
and me is that I don’t usually believe in it. For someone who writes love
novels, it seems absurd. But what I deal with between the pages is completely
different, the kind of love that no one ever finds, princes and princesses,
soul mates and violins. Love in that sense is nothing more than words and
actions, its never feelings. If you love someone you have to know them inside
and out, within body and soul. Real love isn’t something you read about. Real
love isn’t pretty, it isn’t white picket fences or pretty houses or log fires.
Real love is all about belonging, about co-existing. Many people rush into
marriage while the love is still lust. Lust is different. Lust is the kind of
thing you run into when people are attracted to the bodies that people live in.
You think you see love between the middle class couple who work all day and spend weekends together, and
stay together for years until they actually find out who the other person is.
You find love between the people who are so intertwined the name of the other
runs through their veins. It could happen to anyone.

And it’s happened to
me.

I always used to live
my life by the rule that Opposites don’t attract, because Physics isn’t
chemistry. That is why I dated the tall, sophisticated and rich end of society,
the impeccably beautiful and tailored. They complimented my personality and we
were like carbon copies of each other. Then I met Shuuichi, and my life fell
apart.

Shuuichi is an
incredibly complex soul in a simple mind. And he’s very, very smart, but never
shows it. And he’s beautiful in a Shoujo-manga kind of way, long limbed yet
delicate. He’s the complete opposite to what I usually look for in a man. My
ideal man would be someone tall and strong, manly and hairy and maleness personified.

So what draws me to
him? I think its because we both needed something to hold on to, to use and
abuse while holding on for dear life. With Shuuichi, I can be myself. I don’t
have to be strong or aloof, in fact I can be a nervous wreck around him and
he’d still love me.

For ages I thought
that Shuuichi knew nothing of love, and then I realised that it was me who knew
nothing. Love is a fickle bitch, some people fall in love in a matter of hours,
months. For some it takes years of gentle introduction for people to realise
that they need each other to survive.

I’m twenty-two. If my
parents had had their way, I would be married by now, living in a loveless
marriage that I’d never be able to escape. Since my relationship with Shuuichi
became public, we’ve had a mutual communications silence. They blame my
American education; I blame their rigid religious fervor when it comes to
marriage, and their desire for me to carry on the Uesugi name. They refuse to
talk to me, and instead send Mika to give me pain and guilt.

It’s almost five, and
soon Shuuichi will return from wherever he goes during the day. I still haven’t
worked out how exactly I’m going to tell him that I’ve finally realised that I
love him. I’ve been sitting here contemplating my life for god knows how long,
at least two hours, telling myself that everything will be fine.

The telltale bang of
the door alerts me that it’s Showtime. No going back, this time everything will
be real. No more staring into the mirror, no more Freudian slips in the heat of
passion. No alcohol, no asking, no regrets. I love him. Shuuichi, I love you. I
need you.

I step out into the
lounge, and watch him throw his bag on the floor and run into the kitchen for a
drink. I watch him emerge and throw himself on the couch, spilling his juice
because he forgot the simple laws of physics. It’s now or never.

“Oi, Shuu. Gravity
doesn’t make exceptions because you’re famous”

He looks up, smiling that huge smile at me.
He invites me over, and I sit down on the soggy leather, pulling him close to
me, relishing his warmth. We spend most of the rest of the afternoon and
twilight like this, just being next to each other, wordlessly loving each other
without sex, something I never would have thought was possible.

We break this quiet solitude to eat,
listening to music and having a conversation, bringing soul and life into a
room that is sterile usually. A room that has seen break-ups, tantrums, sex but
never love. This entire apartment is loveless, something that saddens me.

I can tell that Shuuichi suspects
something. I haven’t shouted at him, haven’t mentioned myself, haven’t called
him an idiot since he came home.

We finish eating, and I take his hands and
hold him close, moving ever so slightly to the music playing in the background.
He sighs into the crease of my neck, out cheeks pressed together as we sway as
many couples have before us to the music made for lovers. His hands don’t roam
and neither do mine, together we grasp each other’s clothing and skin, holding
onto each other for dear life as we lose ourselves in each other way past the
point where the music stops, just living on, existing as one in the silence.

I always thought I would just instinctively
know when the time would be right. My heroines always do, telling their princes
that they love them the night before they go into battle, or right before their
amour is to be married to the evil woman-of-convenience. It’s a common
theme, from Concubine Stella to Mrs Takeda, which I play on because I never
thought I’d witness the moment when your heart seems to be hanging on a thread.
But for Shuuichi and I, there isn’t a pre determined ‘right time’, because
neither of us is going anywhere. Neither of us is dying, and we will most
likely be here tomorrow. But here in the silent twilight, the last fingers of
sunset disappearing, it’s arrived.

I pull away from Shuuichi, holding him
directly in front of me, not letting go and taking a deep breath. Shuuichi
looks quizzical, and I silence him with a look. Just let me do this.

Hours of flowery and beautiful prose floats
through my brain, everything just like one of my heroines would want to hear
from her prince charming. What do the women say now? Give up, because Prince
charming is living with Mr Right. Shuuichi isn’t a woman though; he doesn't
grow up wanting this moment when he finds out that he's loved. Most likely he
doesn't know what’s coming. What he needs is truthfulness, frankness. He
doesn't need explanation.

“I love you”.

And I know in the aftermath that that is
all that he ever really needed. It may not be the fairytales, but its good
enough for real life.

The End.

Closing A/N: That took ages to write, but I
like it. I haven’t reread it, but I very rarely do. I just hope its ok.