Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.

All drabbles and what-ifs will center around the Tachi Aizawa incident. They will variate in length (anywhere from 200-20,000 words) and involve most characters.

There will be mentions of rape, but there will not be any graphic rape scene. Please expect foul language, scenes of revenge, dark themes, and (as always) K's trusted guns. :)

Prompt: But that's okay, because Yuki's safe.

Rating: M, for memories of rape and dark thoughts.

Gomen, Yuki

"Damn it."

I can't hold the washcloth -- my hands won't stop shaking. The water simply drips away and down my leg uselessly, taunting as it gently travels the same path as the fingers from before. Each drop is like a fresh touch, and I can clearly hear the accompanying words.

(What a good little boy.)

(God, you're so beautiful.)

A loose cry pulls from my aching throat as the soaking washcloth is finally shaken from my grasp, and I flinch as it falls to the bathroom floor with a damp thud. I can feel their breaths on the back of my neck, and my spine tingles at the battered memory. Their laughter, the feel of hands roaming my body, kicks to my stomach, painful caresses to my face. Tachi kneeling in front of me as my tears slip, wiping up each one. He's my friend, my friend, and yet all he does as he comforts my pain is whisper again and again the threats to Yuki.


My knees give out, my weak grasp to the sink the only thing that keeps my head from slamming into the floor. Pain flares through my bones in endless deep surges -- I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but the pain only increases. I had forgotten they were raw.

Flashes. Bright flashes, the endless clicks of a disposable camera. A promise, a threat, a reason for my pain. Me, in exchange for him.


I'm so cold, but I don't want to put those clothes on again. I don't want them on me anymore. They got what they wanted. He will get what he wants.

"You're safe. You're safe. Yuki." I can't move, and I'm crying again. Tachi loves my tears -- he took so many pictures of them. I love them too. They keep Yuki safe.

"Yuki, gomen." I can almost see him in front of me, the same look of disdain on his face. That look used to crush me, but now I'd be happy to see it. Happy, because that means Yuki's okay. He's safe. I long for him to reach out a hand, to caress my bruised face, to wipe away my tears and kiss away the trails of loathing and hurt. But I also want him to turn away -- walk away. Far away from me. Safe.

There's a gentle knock on the door, and just like that Yuki's image disappears before it can make any sort of movement. Hiro's calling for me, softly, like they did. They'll be back. Back to make sure I haven't forgotten.

(Remember, Shindou.)

And I will.

I say nothing to Hiro, and simply sag against the chilled wall. I see the washcloth on the ground, resting in a puddle of blood-tainted water. I will remember.

"Gomen, Yuki."

Please let me know what you are thinking.