Smashed A 'Gravitation' vignette Sephy Nobody knows me, no one will ever see The distance between what is and what will never be A bird will break his wings Like a heart will cut her strings And there isn't anything to comfort me. --Gasoline, Jann Arden 'This is not happening.' The words have been chasing around in his head since they left the stadium and try as he might, Shuuichi knows that it is happening, the stark hospital corridors too antiseptic and sterile to be anything but real. This is real and it's happening and he should have known really. /Eiri-san is in the hospital./ The words hurt and he flinches in spite of himself, angry that they could still provoke such a reaction. He's heard them twice already, and they weren't any easier the second time around than the first but at least the second time around there was Tatsuha's dumbstruck reaction to cling to and focus on. But it wasn't enough, nothing would ever be enough to stop this -- churning, this storm inside, battering at the numbness. He wants to throw up, vomit all over these nice sparkling floors, sickness finding a music of its own, loud and noisy and maybe they would take him away and refuse to let him see Yuki. He's afraid and he doesn't want to see what he's going to find and maybe more important, he doesn't want to know what that's going to make him feel. He's afraid, yes. But not of Yuki. He's afraid of himself, afraid of what will happen if he should see and if Yuki should try and pretend that this doesn't matter. His lover has been cutting him out for days now and had he an inkling of sense, he would have pursued matters, would have pushed and poked until -- Should have. Could have. Would have. Too fucking late. Shuuichi stops, leaning against the wall, free hand clenching as his throat bobs, vision blurring. It's hard to breathe now that he's away from prying eyes, Mika-san's practiced poise near daring him to make a scene. And he wants to, part of him wants to so fucking bad they'll throw him right out of the building. Only he doesn't because he wants to see Yuki, wants to make sure he's alive. He /needs/ it, needs to touch and to run his hands over golden locks always tousled no matter how often they're combed through, fierce eyes hawk-gold and always piercing him to the core. Maybe that's what he's afraid of -- that he'll walk right in that door, look at Eiri, and won't be able to not forgive him for this. He's not strong like Yuki is, can't take all his resentments and rages and roll them up into a hard, cold ball of sullen disinterest. He's not strong enough to pretend that it doesn't matter, that they don't matter, and that he couldn't care less that his lover is lying in a hospital bed because he tried to kill himself. Except no one is talking about that yet but he knows. Shuuichi knows. He's been watching the man teeter for days, too indecisive and stupidly helpless to do anything about it. And he doesn't understand why. Why any of this, why now, why he did it? Doesn't know what he did, if he did anything to prompt it. 'Stupid Shuuichi, it's not all about you.' The thought makes him feel worse because he knows it isn't goddamn all about him but everything feels so personal right now, cutting already thin skin and shredding him like so much used rice paper. "Sir? Are you all right?" He jerks, startling the friendly face so close to his, a nurse, young and in stained scrubs, wisps of dark hair escaping a tight ponytail. He stares at those dark spots, her clothing too dark to discern what they might be and for a moment, he imagines it's blood. Yuki's blood, thick and bright and all over -- No, that's not right. Yuki didn't cut himself, didn't hurt himself like that. Only now that he thinks of Yuki possibly being dead, his mind keeps racing from scenario to scenario. "Sir?" He manages a smile but it feels more like a grimace of pain and just nods at her, not even remembering the question. He's dawdling now and that's not going to help. Nothing will help. Shuuichi skitters forward again, feeling like he's hobbling, aged and broken before his time. He can feel her eyes on his back and wonders what he might see if he turned around. And then he doesn't and can only feel grateful she didn't recognize him, not as Shindou Shuuichi, frontman of Bad Luck and Yuki Eiri's lover. He doesn't like that Shuuichi right now. That Shuuichi wails and he cries and he spazzes because it's expected of him. He can see it in Tatsuha's eyes, the other mentally picking him apart, wondering when it was going to happen. But he can't. He can't do it here, not here, he doesn't want to do it because he's afraid if he starts crying this time the tears won't stop and they'll never stop and he can't breathe God why can't he breathe-- His body knows where to go even if his mind is fighting every step of the way and it's a shock when his hand closes around the silver latch, the icy surface burning across his palm as it easily gives way. It swings inward and he follows, small hesitant steps because what he really wants is to turn around and walk away -- right out of this place, right out of Tokyo, and keep walking until he can't remember anything anymore. Not who he is, not Bad Luck, and not Yuki Eiri. Because those are the things that hurt him the most and he wonders if he's finally found his breaking point, if this is where it's all going to end because he's not sure he can take anymore. The door clicks shut behind him and the room is quiet, dim and submerged, murky as a cave, the weird blue-green flickering of the monitors phosphorescent lichen, reflecting off the walls and the bed. Shuuichi keeps his eyes focused on the foot of that bed, the swell of feet tucked in tight covers. The world is falling down, turning upside down on itself and there's nothing left but it keeps asking for more, keeps demanding more, when all he wants is just to lay down and not move again. He goes over it again in his mind, the months preceding this moment, all those times when Yuki was out of sorts, distant, and shutting Shuuichi down when he tried to ask, to beg to be allowed in. He wondered if the others knew, that he and Yuki haven't really touched beyond perfunctory cold motions for the last month. Everything on the surface just the same as always, Yuki's dislike of public displays the perfect excuse and screen but Shuuichi knows that too. They haven't had sex in weeks now and he can feel the not so subtle flinch whenever he touches the man, be it to try and kiss him or to simply hold his hand. Yuki knows it too, Shuuichi remembers the dark contemplation usually followed by some rough motion, a rude kiss or touch as if Yuki thought to prove to the both of them that he still could. But that's the problem. He can't and they can't and so they've lived together, not really speaking, Yuki pulling farther and farther away until he can feel the cords between them stretched, snapping and he wonders if they do, will he still love Eiri anymore? Or will that go away and leave him with nothing but the same bitterness Yuki feels every day of his life? Maybe if it comes to that Shuuichi should kill himself too, because he doesn't want to live that way. Shuuichi lifts his eyes until he can see Yuki's chest, still not daring to look all the way, eyes fumbling until he finds the plastic chair beside the bed and he ambles over to it, awkward and rubbery and feeling more ill than ever, his stomach threatening to make a searing march up his throat. The sound of his sitting is heavy, as if he's fallen, the plastic groaning in muffled protest, metal crackling. His hands grope, finding his knees and gripping them, unable to look past the edge of the bed, at that familiar hand, big-boned and so fair, the same one that had traced and molded every curve and muscle of his body, that could type off a best-seller with elegant ease. And suddenly he can't cry, feels his eyes dry right up and the ache in his chest grow in proportion to it. He can't cry and there's nothing left to do but lift his head and look, make this nightmare a reality and let it play out. But he's so fucking afraid-- "Shuuichi." He almost doesn't recognize the voice, hoarse and querulous, completely devoid of anything remotely resembling emotion -- not love or hate or even his characteristic disdain. And he looks in spite of himself, the taste of bile raw in the back of his throat as tired golden eyes meet his, reflecting nothing at all but weariness and grief so deep that he feels himself drowning in it. 'I can't handle this.' The urge to run is stronger than ever and he actually rises to his feet. He thinks Yuki knows what's going through his head as well because his lover's eyes shutter and his head turns away from Shuuichi, jaw clenching. The IV cord beside the bed is trembling and for an instant, Shuuichi wonders if Yuki is afraid and if he is, what is he afraid of? Then he stops wondering and sits down on the bed, each motion stiff and jerky, as if someone is pulling his strings all the wrong way. Yuki's eyes flicker back at him though he hasn't exactly turned his head but Shuuichi looks away, lowering his face to rest against the outside of Yuki's shoulder. He just needs -- to stop here, to not move for a little while. There are pieces of himself strewn all over and he can't speak, can't tell anyone that because he's afraid that as soon as he opens his mouth he'll start screaming. For a moment, he can't remember being in love with this man, can't remember anything beyond the heavy drag of his body and the frog lodged in his throat. "Shuuichi," He can feel Yuki trying to wriggle, to bring his hand around but Shuuichi doesn't think he can bear that now and he bounds to his feet, ignoring the slight widening of tawny orbs. "Mika-san! She's outside and Tatsuha-kun and Touma-san," The words babble for themselves, his tongue tripping, desperate and pathetic. He can't stop himself, inching towards the door, backing up until he can feel the knob poking into his back, Yuki's eyes boring into his, searching for -- Shuuichi doesn't know what and he lowers his chin, so that a fringe of hair covers his eyes. "They're dy--" And he stops himself, feeling a tremor run through him. Dying to see you. Dying. Yuki and dying. He wonders if the color had totally left his face because Yuki is trying to rise against his pillow. "I'm gonna...get them. They want to see you," he finishes lamely. "What about you? Do you want to see me?" "I did," He curses himself, for that slip of the tongue, for that truth that should have gone unspoken. There's a pause. "Did?" There's a strange hitch to Eiri's voice, a prickle of pain that Shuuichi can feel as keenly as his own. "Do," Shuuichi offered. But it's not exactly the truth. He doesn't want to be here now, not feeling so raw and exposed, every truth he'd ever held to taken from him with a bottle of pills and Touma's calm voice. /Eiri-san is in the hospital./ "Shuuichi... do you still--do you--" Yuki flushes, a rise of color flooding across his brow and cheeks. He grips the latch, his voice small. "I think I do," his voice seems to find itself again. "I do. I just...I can't be here now. I can't let you touch me. And I don't think I can talk about -- this now. Because if I do, then it'll all be okay. Because I'll let you make me believe it is and this is not okay, Yuki." "Sh--" "I'm going now," And his head feels very light as he says the words, completely disconnected so maybe he isn't saying them, maybe this is all a dream and he'll open his eyes and will find Yuki beside him and everything will be okay again. Except it won't and Shuuichi isn't sure it ever will be again. "They'll want to see you. They're your family," The words are cruel in their truthfulness. He's here because Touma and Mika and Tatsuha were kind enough to allow it but he's not Yuki's family, has never been given that right, has never heard those words pass from his lover's lips and he's left wondering how much of their life was the product of his own mind, filling in those blanks he wanted so desperately filled. "I--I'll come back." "You don't have to." The skin on Yuki's face seems stretched as he says the words, a death mask and Shuuichi shudders, against the image and the rage and the words. "I'll come back," Shuuichi repeats and wonders who he's trying to convince of that here. He doesn't wait for the response, just a simple yank-pull and the door opens, white light blossoming across his vision. ***End return to splash page