Shuichi was movement. Hyper and awkward to the point where he could easily trip over his own two feet and yet, he still managed to be seductive in his own innocent way.
Shuichi was sound. At times Yuki was certain that he’d never shut up. Be it idle chatter, his songs, or sounds during sex, it seemed that Shuichi was always making noise.
Shuichi was warmth, to his touch and to his soul.
Shuichi was not lying still, silent and cold on a table, covered in a paper sheet.
Shuichi was not dead. He couldn’t be.
Shuichi was his life.