As He Lay Dying

He lay on the floor, bleeding, the words that he so desperately wanted to say stuck in his throat. His eyes filled with tears, making his vision blurry. Completely helpless, he surveyed his situation.

His mind screamed for his lover, the blonde, cold-hearted bastard that would use him only for a quick fuck whenever he felt like it. If anyone could save him, it would be the novelist, the fictional romanticist who was in fact quite unromantic in all other respects of his life. He couldn’t help but love the man. It wasn’t his choice to fall for him, there was no conscious decision to become enamored with such a person. It just happened.

But now, as he lay dying, he wondered if he had even gotten through to the man. For years they’d been lovers, and rarely was his affection returned. There were tender moments, there had to be, but they were so rare that he could count them on one hand, and tell you the exact details of each occurrence. He wondered if Yuki noticed that he wasn’t trying to talk to him, if he even realized that the now black-haired man had been lying on the tiled bathroom floor for nearly fifteen minutes without so much as making a sound.

He turned his attention to the large gashes. Each was bleeding, though it had been slowing after so much time. They crossed his chest, over his heart, on his stomach. They were his last resort, these nasty red lines marring his otherwise perfect body. Painting him red, a hateful color, bright and eerily beautiful as it ran down his torso, over his lap and onto the floor to pool under him. If he’d been standing, he’d have passed out already, he mused. He glanced at his wrist watch. Two more minutes now. He looked at the broken razor blade laying near his hand. It hadn’t worked, and he’d resorted to breaking off the towel bar, using the sharp corners to open his flesh.

Shuichi started to feel a bit light headed. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the cold tile wall. He loved Yuki, he really did, but he couldn’t stand the man not loving him back anymore. He almost felt guilty, taking himself away, making his lover lose someone else after Kitazawa. But then he remembered that Yuki didn’t love him, only used him, and that it was nothing like when Kitazawa died. The only similarity, he figured, was that Yuki would be alone again. But he could handle that, all he needed to do was pick up those hookers that lived near their apartment, he’d done it before, even when he was with Shuichi.

The tile floor, usually hard and uncomfortable, began to feel very welcoming to the hemorrhaging body sitting on it. Shuichi felt as though he could almost feel himself sinking into the pristinely white ceramic tile, become one with the floor and the wall as he melted into a pool of his own blood. He thought one last time about his beautiful lover, the one he cared more about than anyone in the world, and a stray tear rolled down his face as the bathroom door was forced open.

The last thing Shuichi saw was Yuki crying over him, pleading with him not to give up, to not let go of his life, telling him he loved him and all of the things he’d wanted to hear so many times before. All Shuichi did was smile apologetically, before he lost consciousness.

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A/N: I don’t know where this came from. Personally, I’m all for a happy ending between Shuichi and Yuki – but I guess I wasn’t in a happy ending mood today. R&R, please!

Also, I suppose I could continue, if people feel that they'd like that better.