"Thanks for the ride, Yuki!"
"It's easier than having you dash into the house wet and sobbing because I forgot," the writer grunted, next best thing to ignoring his obnoxious little lover. "If you start crying you walk."
Shuichi snapped a hand over his trembling lower lip. It was pouring, dark, and windy. Besides, anyone who can turn on the waterworks so easily can also shut them off in a second, if need be.
Yuki, for once, had an excuse for his crabbiness. His latest novel was six weeks late, and he wasn't sure about it anyway. Having his own real romance had made him rather tired of writing idealistic fairy tales of other—heterosexual—couples. This new book was a thriller/tragedy based largely in his own diaries and with each chapter headed by a quote from a Bad Luck song. (The latter embarrassed him deeply, but the look he envisioned on Shu-chan's adoring face made it worth it.) He was far more deeply involved with the semi-autobiographical work than anything he'd ever written, but