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

Sweet Dreams

Memories are not the locks on the doors of the paths to sanity.

They are the walls which envelope the rest of your mind, imprinted in crisscross like unhealing scars still wet and swollen to the touch.

Eiri Uesugi picks at each and every one of his bare, letting the sticky scabbing fall to the floor - gathers the puss and blood and infection onto his fingers and paints the gore onto the pages people have deemed and celebrated as romance.

Shuichi Shindou lets his puff up, but never cover - his scars bleed as freely as the night they were callously carved by the hands of a friend. Crimson drops fall at his feet to puddle, spelling out lyrics that he repeats on stage in song to fans who dance and smile with joy under their rain.

After, when the pain has overwhelmed and the words are numbed, they'll tangle together and fall and cover each other in blood and regret and bitterness they breathe, caressing scars and not saying a word.