Title: Sometimes, Maybe
Author: nishi_shinji
Universe: Gravitation
Characters: Yuki/Shuichi (cameo from Tatsuha)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine.

Summary: They'd been through situations like this before, though none of them had been quite this bad, and his reactions had ranged from angry lectures to outright yelling. But Yuki did none of those things.

Author's Notes: Requested by my darling usagixchan. Beta'ed by the beautiful ldybastet.


~YE~YE~YE~

Yuki knew something was wrong when he felt his mobile phone buzzing in his pocket. No one, not even Shuichi, dared to call him during a book signing unless it was an emergency. When he saw his brother's name flash on the the tiny screen, he hastily excused himself and ducked into the back room of the bookstore to answer the call.

Less than ten minutes later, he was in his car, having abandoned the book signing without a single word of explanation to his agent or the fans who had gathered to meet him. The drive to the hospital seemed to take forever, even with him pushing the engine of his prized Mercedes to the point that it whined and clinked in protest. Thankfully, there were no police in sight, even though it was Christmas Eve and the roadways were packed with drunken revelers on their way from one holiday party to another. But that was for the best because he was determined to neither slow nor stop until he reached his destination, and even then, they would have had to drag him away by force.

The emergency room was mostly empty and he went straight to the registration desk. A tired-looking nurse glanced up at him through her glasses and opened her mouth to speak, probably to deliver some standardized speech about signing in and waiting, but Yuki cut her off with a growled, "Shindou Shuichi. Where is he?"

After a terse argument, he was finally led through a series of glass doors and to a small, private room in the treatment area. Shuichi was sitting up in bed, sniffling and gesturing to the fresh cast on his leg while Tatsuha patted his hand. They both looked up when Yuki edged around the privacy curtain, at which point Tatsuha sighed with obvious relief and Shuichi burst into tears.

"Oh Yuki-- Yuki, I'm so sorry," Shuichi wailed. "I didn't-- I was just trying to do something nice and I messed it all up and I'm sorry."

Once he'd done a quick visual inspection of the brat who, despite his broken leg and apologetic sobbing, seemed to be in one piece, Yuki held up a hand and snapped, "Slow down. What happened?"

Shuichi sniffled again and wiped the back of his arm over his eyes. His voice sounded as miserable as he looked when he began to explain, "I was just trying to-- I thought-- last year, you said you missed the snow on Christmas and I was-- I didn't mean to--"

"What did you do?" Yuki asked with a twinge of panic.

"Shuichi thought it would be nice to surprise you with snow," Tatsuha explained in that aggravating, placating tone he used whenever he was trying to keep Yuki from getting upset about something. "But the fake snow was more slippery than he thought it would be, and he fell when he was--"

"Wait," Yuki interrupted, holding up his hand and narrowing his eyes at Shuichi. "Where did you put the fake snow?"

"I swear I didn't know it would--" Shuichi began.

"Where, Shuichi?" Yuki snapped.

Shuichi swallowed a few times and his big, violet eyes welled up with fresh tears. "In the living room-- oh, Yuki, it was so stupid! I'm so sorry, Yuki!"

Yuki was very quietly horrified. Not only had he just had new carpeting put down in the living room, there was no telling what kind of damage had been done to the leather sofa and loveseat by whatever chemicals were in the mess Shuichi had made. But more than any of that, he was struck by the terrible thought that a broken leg could easily have been something much worse and that Shuichi would have been alone until morning, when Yuki would inevitably stumble home still drunk from his own private post-signing celebration.

"I'm sorry," Shuichi whispered, hanging his head so that his bright pink hair swung forward into his eyes.

Yuki knew what his lover was expecting. They'd been through situations like this before, though none of them had been quite this bad, and his reactions had ranged from angry lectures to outright yelling. But Yuki did none of those things. What he actually did was pinch the bridge of his nose, sigh, and mutter, "Let's get your discharge papers and go home so I can clean the shit up."

Shuichi glanced up then, but the hopeful look on his face faded when Yuki scowled at him. With a quiet whimper, he looked down at his hands and nodded.


~SS~SS~SS~


Yuki's absolute silence on the drive home from the hospital was nothing short of torture.

Shuichi had expected to be yelled at, or at the very least, to have his lover storm out of the hospital and leave him to Tasuha's mercy. But Yuki had sat by his bedside while they waited for the doctor to sign the release forms, only speaking to answer the nurse's questions and to bid his brother a very curt good night. After they'd been told that Shuichi was forbidden to use the hospital-issued crutches until the next morning, once the plaster had completely set, Yuki had picked him up and carried him to the car.

And Shuichi had cried quietly in the passenger seat, all the way home.

Because in the four years they'd been together, he'd become an expert at reading his lover's moods, and every time those moods shifted, Yuki became a different person. The Yuki he saw most often was a brooding, melancholy man who shuffled through the apartment with a coffee cup in his hand and a frown on his face, lost in a world of his own making. Sometimes, their routine was broken by those rare, coveted moments when Yuki smiled at him-- however briefly-- and left him feeling warm and safe and cared for. But then something would go wrong, and that Yuki would be replaced with the Yuki who sneered and scowled and berated him for his stupidity.

And then there was the Yuki who sat beside him on the ride home from the hospital: silent, and distant, and cold.

Shuichi was terrified. By the time he was lifted out of the car and cradled against Yuki's chest, he was a trembling, sobbing mess. And when Yuki pushed open the door of the apartment and let out a quiet sigh, Shuichi had to press a hand against his mouth and close his eyes to keep his nausea at bay. Because he knew this version of Yuki far too well, and he'd hoped to heaven they would never have to meet again.

"I'm so sorry," Shuichi whispered as he was carried into the bedroom and placed, very carefully, in the center of Yuki's enormous bed.

Yuki sighed and looked away before muttering, "Go to sleep."

Shuichi bit back a sob and threw an arm over his eyes, only to fling it away again when he heard the bedroom door creak. Yuki was silhouetted by the light from the hallway, but Shuichi didn't need to see his lover's face to recognize the exhausted way Yuki carried himself. Twisting his fingers in the sheets, Shuichi whispered, "I love you, Yuki."

There was no reply; Yuki just stood there for a moment before slipping out of the room and closing the door behind him with a quiet click. For Shuichi, the sound may as well have been the slamming of a gavel, passing judgment on his naive stupidity, and he buried his face in the pillows to cry himself to sleep.



When Shuichi woke the next morning, the apartment was still and silent. A surge of panic welled up inside him and he stifled a quiet whimper when he opened his eyes and found himself alone in the bed. All of his fears from the night before weighed down on him, making his throat tighten and his heart stop beating for a moment before he forced himself to take a gasping breath.

Needing to see for himself whether or not Yuki was actually gone, he slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The cast banged against the bedframe and he winced as he reached for the crutches that were propped against the nightstand. Finding them there made him smile humorlessly; if he had, in fact, been abandoned by his lover, then at least he would have the means to hobble his way to Yuki's closet, where he would inevitably curl up with one of Yuki's shirts and sob until K or Tatsuha came by and found him.

Eventually, he managed to heft himself onto his one good foot and, with the help of the crutches, he carefully made his way out into the hall. Before he even set foot into the living room, he knew something had changed, but it wasn't the kind of change he'd been expecting. The apartment smelled different. There was the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and aftershave that had always clung to Yuki's hair and skin, but there was something else now: something crisp and fresh that reminded him of warm apple cider and Christmas mornings at home with his mother.

When he rounded the corner into the living room, the sight that greeted him was so shocking that it made him stumble and put a hand against the wall to steady himself.

An enormous fir tree dominated the far corner of the room, decked in blinking fairy lights and multicolored glass bulbs that reflected little dots of color onto the white walls. Pine garlands were strung up along the tops of the windows and a sprig of mistletoe hung in the doorway that led to the kitchen. Every trace of fake snow had been cleaned from the floor and coffee table, both of which were now strewn with bits of blue wrapping paper and scraps of pink ribbon.

And amidst all of this, curled into a tiny ball in the corner of the couch and fast asleep, was Yuki.

Shuichi could feel his eyes stinging as he hobbled over and perched on the edge of the couch, and when he reached out to brush the hair away from Yuki's forehead, the tears spilled over and trickled down his cheeks. When Yuki made a quiet humming sound in his sleep, Shuichi swallowed around the tight ache in his throat and cupped the side of his lover's face in his palm.

"Mm, Shu?" Yuki mumbled and stirred a little in response to the touch.

"Baka, you're going to catch a cold, sleeping out here," Shuichi whispered with a soft, choked laugh. And though there were times when he thought he'd give anything to be able to hold back his tears, this wasn't one of them. What was happening between them, at that very moment, was so subtly yet deeply important that he thought it deserved to have one of them show a little emotion.

Then Yuki murmured something unintelligible and reached up to pull Shuichi down beside him, and the stillness of the moment was broken. Shuichi's leg bumped into the coffee table and he squeaked, which was followed by a few minutes of twisting and grumbling from both of them before he finally managed to rearrange himself so that the cast was out of the way.

"Sorry, I forgot you're a gimp now," Yuki muttered as he uncurled to make more room for Shuichi, then pulled him close.

Shuichi laughed again and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand before whispering, "You have tinsel in your hair."

Yuki huffed and pushed a hand up underneath the back of Shuichi's shirt.

Not very long ago at all, Shuichi would have asked why: why they hadn't fought about the disaster from the night before, why Yuki had stayed up all night decorating the apartment, why Yuki's hand was pressed against the small of his back, keeping him close. But now, after all the times they'd hurt each other and all the times they'd held the pieces of one another's hearts in their hands, he found, suddenly, that he didn't need to ask; he already knew. And Yuki would never say it, not really, but he'd think it-- and every once in awhile, maybe, he'd show it. That was good enough for Shuichi.

So Shuichi just smiled, feeling warm and safe for what he thought might really be the first time in his life, and nuzzled his cheek against his lover's chest. "Merry Christmas, Yuki."

There was a pause, then Yuki sighed and whispered, "Merry Christmas, brat."