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

A/N: 50-word challenge drabble 1 sentence … thing. What are these things called?

Rating: M. For sexual situations, humor, implied character deaths, and dark material (including implied rape and suicidal actions) and other various things you might not be comfortable reading. Don't say I didn't say anything. :P



Shuichi loved peaches, even if they were more expensive than oranges and not as fun to eat, simply because that was the only fruit Yuki had ever kept in his fridge.


Alone in his apartment, he has the television on and programmed to the raunchy Pop station he used to loathe, promising himself he'll forever deny it even as he lets his lover's music wash across his body and remind him that this solitude, for once, is only temporary.


He doesn't know this guy, hasn't seen him more than twice, but he's pressed between him and the floor, shivering and wanting, but with no experience, which the man seems to know even as he removes the last bit of clothing. "It's okay."


"Damn it!" Eiri scowled down at the little toy in his hand, golden eyes twitching as the screen blinked up at him in wicked triumph. "Brat! Catch your own damn Pokemon."


He's certain that, if they had met at a later time, or if the universe had been a little different, he'd call Yuki "brother" instead of "lover", because no matter what, that bond would still be there.


"I can't breathe. Yuki. Yuki. I can't-I can't breathe. I can't breathe." Strong, familiar hands just held him tighter as Shuichi curled up on the bathroom floor, trying to forget a time when different hands were wrapped around his neck.


Times like this, he allows himself to feel affectionate, tucked safely into the corner of the couch with his pink-haired lover sleeping against him; allows his fingers to brush over pale skin and wonder about what might have been.


"You're teasing me. I don't appreciate it." Shuichi only giggles as he slowly continues to unbutton his shirt, amethyst eyes darkened as he performs for the golden-haired man on the bed.


Eiri will have to stop running one day, because knows his demons aren't going to leave, and that Shuichi won't always stay.


He screams, something gut-wrenching and horrific and blood-bringing, falling to his knees on the hard cement with only the stars as his witnesses, Yuki's blood on his broken hands.


There used to be a time when Eiri's hands were as clean as Shuichi's - he barely remembers it, but he knows it's true.


"You're not the only one with a past, Yuki," Shuichi whispers, and it hurts that he knows that.


They move together, silently, the Moon bathing them in silver light, to erase what is permanently there.


Snow's supposed to be magical, Shuichi thought as he watched Yuki huddle in the graveyard, but it's only a horror to you, isn't it?


"I'm not playing this game with you, Yuki. Not today, not ever." Eiri only nods, and kisses him again for the first time in five years - he can handle that.


Sometimes, when he wakes up, he's still in the apartment, cold on the floor and trying not to move as once kind hands press violently against his shoulders; other times, he's wrapped in arms touched but not tainted by that poison.


The electricity's been cut for years, but he's sitting on borrowed carpet, against borrowed walls, using a not so borrowed candle's flame to read the letter written on Panda-white stationary, and it's the first time this borrowed cursed apartment has seen his smile since the electricity went away.


Sometimes - sometimes - Eiri wants to crush every piece of story-littered paper that covers his desk and toss it at his lover's head - fucking Writer's Block and sugar do not mix.


"I love you," Eiri says firmly, molten gaze momentarily fixated on Shuichi before he moves away, the younger man oblivious to the heartfelt, breaking words as music blares over his headphones.


They're laughing - because they're drunk or high or who even knows what - but they're laughing, Yuki's laughing, as they roll on the soft white plush carpet, party momentarily forgotten.


"My dad hit my mom one day, and then he left," Shuichi answered with a shrug, looking Eiri in the eye with a seriousness rarely shown. "I made sure."


Chocolate bars seemed to be the only thing Shuichi could use to drag his writer away from the computer - the man's only weakness.


He sits on the edge and kicks the water with his feet, scowling darkly at both it and his traitorous reflection that seems to enjoy the ripples, and whispers to both, "No."


Shuichi's shaking as he clutches Yuki's hand under the table as his mom serves them dinner while going on about her baby and his celebrity friends - Yuki lets him.


Sometimes, there's no sex, and sometimes, there's no words - just Eiri wrapped around his sleeping boyfriend on the sheets, sharp chin resting on a thin bare shoulder, stanzas of flowery words of real racing through his head.


"He doesn't know you," Mika snarled, and though her words weren't meant to be vicious, weren't meant to be hurtful, Eiri nodded to their truth anyway.


"Shuichi, if you call me one more fucking time before I'm even on the fucking plane, I will fucking stay in New York."


When Shuichi says, "I understand you better now," the bruises on his neck bright as he reads the book, Eiri bites his tongue until his tastes that blood.


"Do you want me to stop calling you Yuki?"


It burns his eyes, burns his tongue, burns his throat, burns his lungs - Shuichi tosses Yuki's stolen cigarette off the balcony in disgust. "Gross."


The eternal symbol of romance, love, passion - but five years has aged them wrong, and they both acknowledge the flowers as "ugly" and move on.


Shuichi's not in his bed, but Eiri sleeps next to a photo of him - hundreds of miles away, Shuichi is curled up in sleep on a motel bed, Eiri's picture pressed to his chest.


"It's called bisexual," Eiri snaps to the reporter's question at the same time Shuichi says, "It's not about gender. It's about the soul inside."


"Hi, I'm Shuichi," the rose-haired man smiles brilliantly as Eiri rolls his eyes, but plays along.


He stutters "Sorry" as he reaches out, catching his lover as the older man crumbles to the ground in sobs, "I'm so sorry I didn't see, Eiri. I'm sorry."


It's handcrafted, original, thoughtful - and Eiri wears it under his shirt, against his skin where not even the brat who made it can see it.


"Sometimes I think you love this thing more than you love me," Shuichi accused with a scowl as Eiri lightly caressed the obsidian hood - a scowl that deepened when Eiri smirked.


"Rain-washed demons down," Shuichi whispered the lyrics as he stroked his fingers through sweaty blond locks - anniversaries be damned. "Send them all down, away from me. Please, away from me. I'm here, I'm here for you."


"It's nothing bad. Trust me, Hiro," Shuichi almost giggled as he covered the mark that drew his friend's attention. "There are some things you don't want to know."


"This is where I used to go. After." Yuki held the door open for Shuichi, gripping his arm but letting him enter the club first. "When I needed ... something to take me away." The grip tightened. "But you stay with me."


The car pulled up the shrine with little announcement, but Shuichi's eyes were were wide as Yuki announced "This is ... my home," noticing the hesitation.


He's alone, the cell screen is white and blank, the television raves its hysteria of the violent crash, and please all Eiri wants is a phone call letting him know it's a different fucking plane.


"What are you doing to me?" Eiri demands harshly against Shuichi's lips, but doesn't leave a chance for an answer.

Call (2)

He sits on the floor, against the couch, a bottle of Whiskey in one hand, his cellphone in the other - dialing over and over and over again to have ten seconds of rewoned life as the message plays his only way to ever hear that voice again, "Hey, it's Shuichi! I'm on tour right now, so I probably can't answer, but I'll get back at you! And if this is Yuki, I knew it! I knew you missed me! I promise I'll be home soon. I love you!"


"Don't you dare!" Shuichi growls at Touma and Mika as move toward the shaking Yuki, his grip tightening around his breaking love. "You've done enough, you always do enough." His eyes flash. "Now stay the fuck away from him, or I will make you regret it."


"If they ever do a biography on me, or if they make some ... I don't know ... show based off my life, they're going to gloss over what happened to me. No one will actually every know." "And does that bother you?" "...Yeah. A little. But it's torture and lies, right, Yuki? Just like you said."


"Dance with me," Yuki orders softly, more of an urging, banishing Tachi's face from Shuichi's mind with the strange word choice as they finally - finally - begin to move together on the bed.


"It's different here," Shuichi whispers lowly as they walk down the crowded streets of New York, pressing closer to Yuki's side as his boyfriend agrees with the addition "It's darker here."


"Damn it, Touma, don't you get it? Don't you understand?" Eiri stalked around the office, laughing bitterly as his brother-in-law watched in disbelief that matched his own. "He ... he cares about me."


It's been four years, three months, and five days, but they're both here, on some island they've never been on before, completely alone, pressed against it each other in non-sexual frenzy, shirts gone and hands wandering, lips kissing and incredulous lost smiles on their faces, Shuichi shaking as Yuki - Eiri - breathes a carefree but firm "I love you."

These things are so much harder than they look. But now I'm intrigued by Future Eiri/Shuichi. Hmm...

Let me know what you thought, please? :)