Warnings: None
Pairings: Irrelevant
Disclaimer: Gravitation and it’s characters belong to Murakami Maki.
A/N: Hey everyone, I’m back^^ I am currently extremely stressed out because of finals and I was starting to feel homicidal, so I wrote this little piece to soothe my nerves~ It was written in about a half-hour, and it is just a small one-shot that I could see happening^^ Enjoy~
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Purple and Gold
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“Hey Yuki?”
“…What?”
“How come you’re never romantic?”
A long suffering sigh, and then the sound of a book being slammed shut perhaps a little too forcibly.
“What is the point of you asking this?”
“Well, I was talking to Maiko today on the phone, and she asked me what it was like to live with a romance novelist. So I said it was like living with any other guy, except your like…10 times bitchier ‘cuz you stay up ‘til four in the morning writing. And then she got upset because she said she wanted to brag to all her friends that I live with Yuki Eiri, and I ruined everything because I have no cute stories about you being romantic.”
“Well I guess your sister and her inane friends are just going to have to get love lives of their own, if that’s even possible.”
“Hey! My sister can get any guy she wants; she’s pretty. *And* she’s a Shindou!” A triumphant whoop followed that statement, right before a slight, androgynous figure with pink hair bounds into the room.
“I see…and is that supposed to be a point in her favor?”
“See, that’s what I mean! If you were *really* romantic, you would say that um….you would say that she’s got my genes and can melt any guy’s heart!”
“Maybe I’d say that if I wanted to lie.”
“Ugh, you are the complete *opposite* of romantic!”
“You know where the door is.”
“I’m not giving you the satisfaction of me leaving!” An animated face, ever changing to fit its owner’s mercurial moods, invades the blonde’s personal space. Long, skinny arms are placed on either side of the lounging man, a fruity scent soon follows and permeates the air around the couple.
“Pity. Now would you leave me alone? In case you didn’t notice, I’m trying to read. Now I know you’ve picked up a book maybe twice your whole life, but I think you know that in order to read, one needs *silence*.”
“Yuki, that’s not fair! I read too~”
“You ‘read’ manga. That is not reading. That is drooling over the ridiculous actions of impossibly good looking, smooth-chested, pink-haired freaks like yourself. Now get out of my face.” A shove follows, and with a yelp, the younger man is on the floor, rubbing the back of his sore head.
Silence follows, and against his better judgment, the novelist peeks over his book. His eyes narrow at the frowning figure on the floor. Clearly, the emaciated boy is trying to work through some random problem that just entered his brain. Pale eyes retreat behind the book again.
“YUKI! You do love me, and you can be romantic, I knew it!” In the space of a second, the silent man’s personal space is once again a memory. Uncovered legs and arms wind around his torso and a small, pointy nose tries to bury itself in the space where his collarbone meets his neck.
“What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t even say anything!”
“No~ you said that mangas are all about *good looking* freaks like me!” The arms tighten convulsively and the pink-haired boy’s cheeks are distorted as he presses the side of his face against the broad shoulder of his lover.
A curse escapes the novelists mouth—he does not usually allow such slips to occur.
“Yuki, say something else, pleeeeeeeeease?”
“No. You’ve had enough ego stroking for one night. Now leave me the hell alone.”
“Yuki, please just say something *really* romantic~ Just so I can hear it once, please? Tell me something nice, like….like how my eyes remind you of something beautiful. Say something about my eyes, Yuki!”
Elegant hands; pale and long-boned, rise slowly and encircle the pink haired boy’s neck. They clench for a moment, satisfying whatever fantasy flitted through the blonde’s mind before they drop into his lap.
“Fine, but if I say something about your eyes, you have to promise to leave me alone and stay quiet for the rest of the night.”
“Deal!” Excitement dances in those purple eyes as the reluctant blonde turns and faces his lover. His left arm moves to drape itself over the back of the couch and his leg curls underneath him for better support. His lover awaits anxiously, on his hands and knees— his position causes deep indentations in the soft cushions.
A deep, resonant voice begins softly…
“…Shuichi, your eyes are like two, beautiful, purple—” A small patch of discolored skin catches the attention of the blonde and forces him to rephrase his simile. “…bruises.”
“Wha—”
A smirk then nothing more. The smaller boy is once again dismissed. Thin fingers rise and the blonde pushes his glasses up further, then opens his book.
“But Yuki…*bruises*???”
“That is not the sound of silence.”
“Aw hell…well you know what? Your eyes look like pee-pee.”
A glare animates the novelist’s eyes in warning.
“Oh fine. See you later, piss face.”
Eyes that are no longer glaring follow the stiff figure as he walks into the bedroom and slams the door behind him. They return to the book in front of him, but only for a moment. They examine the door again.
A hand rakes through his pallid hair, and his right leg crosses over his left. A minute passes and the leg returns to its original position. His mind notes that his lover more than likely will not be coming out of the bedroom tonight.
Quietly, he gets up and takes his glasses off, then folds them carefully and places them on top of the closed book. His fingers brush the spot where he was just sitting, absorbing the warmth his body left behind before he nonchalantly walks into the bathroom, shutting the door before flipping on the light.
He washes his hands, eyes remaining on his reflection the entire time.
Task done, he begins to walk towards the door, stopping momentarily to pass one parting glance towards his likeness. A relieved smile and then,
“Tsh…my eyes do *not* look like piss.”
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End^^ |