A/N: Welcome to Gasoline! This story was originally written by Ausare, but he allowed me to adopt it when he found himself unable to work on it any longer. These first three chapters are presented exactly as he wrote them, with the exception of this AN of course.

Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction.

I use characters that are licensed by a little man in Japan named Ken Akamatsu.

I use lyrics that are licensed by a big man in Germany named Till Lindemann.

I need time

Don't need heroin

Nor alcohol, nor nicotine

I don't need help

Nor caffeine

But I do need dynamite and turpentine

I need oil for petrol

Explosive like kerosene

With lots of octane and free of lead

A fuel like gasoline!

Benzin, by Rammstein. Translated from German by Jeremy Williams.

Gasoline

Everything blurred.

He was going so fast, it made him dizzy.

The lights, the colors, the sounds! So overwhelming! He had never felt so powerful. His whole body was simultaneously hot, cold, vibrating, and still.

He looked forward on his downhill path.

Grinning madly, he sped onward into darkness.

A shaft of pure fire blasted into Keitaro's eyes, forcing him awake. He jolted upright, only to disturb his aching head. The sun was rising and birds were chirping, signaling the start of another day on the idyllic Hinata Girl's Dormitory. The resident landlord was in no condition, however, to appreciate the winter morning as he usually did.

"Hey, ASSHOLE!" a voiced screamed from above. What an abso-fucking-lutely terrific way to start what promised to be another shitty day.

He looked up from his futon to see what could have been a beautiful face, if the scowl was removed, in the hole connecting Keitaro's room to that of his love, Narusegawa Naru.

"Where the hell were you? You were supposed to study with us!" she admonished him, referring to herself and Otohime Mutsumi, his fellow Tokyo University aspirants. Keitaro tried to apologize as usual, but a sudden stream of vomit prevented the words from making it out.

"And you're hung over? What is the matter with you? The next entrance exams occur in two weeks! I guess you're not going to bother, huh? You already know you're going to panic on the test like you always do, so you show up here hung over, expecting my pity! Well, FORGET IT!" she screeched, slamming the hatch shut.

"Good goddamned morning. I would try harder, but I'm too busy taking care of you fucking infants. And when did I show up expecting any pity? Or any help? Or any appreciation, for that matter?" He didn't dare voice this to Narusegawa, whom he knew to be too fragile to take such a verbal beating. She cried when he made a simple crack about her glasses, for Christ's sake. As much as Keitaro hated himself for it, part of him secretly enjoyed watching her cry. So why did he still care about her, or anyone?

It was because he was simply a good boy that was finally maturing into a good man. He was empathetic, gentle, and put the needs of others before his own, without considering getting anything in return. He loved everyone, no matter how much they hated him for it. To his sorrow, his infinite patience with the young women he held so dear was waning. It had gotten to the point where he lived for those little moments of joy he could give the girls, because they were the only thing worth living for.

Those little moments were becoming few and far between, though. Shinobu was so in love with him that his mere presence made her nervous and uncomfortable. Su and Sarah had grown tired of him, like a toy. He sometimes missed their kicks to the face that were their twisted sign of affection. Kitsune had dropped his status to plaything, and she had even grown bored of toying with him. Motoko, fighting mounting feelings for him, had earnestly restarted her campaign to drive him out of the house. And Narusegawa just hated him.

Who needed the study session he had planned with her? That fucking cow would just attack him again if he so much as dropped his pencil. He would fly out of the room, land on Shinobu, and get pummeled by Motoko as she "accidentally" passed by.

To hell with that. Forget Naru. As for his best friends Haitani and Shirai, however...those boys knew how to have a good time. Haitani had promised something that would help Keitaro kick back. That something was a little syringe filled with green liquid.

"Try this, man. It's so fucking chill."

"What is it?"

"This? He asks what this is! This, mi amigo, is your ticket to relaxation. Think hot springs - times a thousand. This, pal, is Gasoline."

"Why would I want to put gasoline in my body?"

"No, no, dumbass, that's just its nickname."

Try this, man. It's so fucking chill.

Chill was what Keitaro needed. The inn was in a fanancial crisis again because the tenants seemed to keep worming their way out of their bills. He needed money, fast. First, though, he needed some Keitaro-time, and there was no other way to get it. With a certain amount of apprehension, he injected the contents of the needle into his arm and watched his troubles slide away.

That was last night.

He had no recollection of what happened. His memories went from taking to Haitani in a dark, loud club, to a green needle, to waking up at 4:30 in the morning laying on the kitchen floor back at Hinata Inn. And that was when...

His heart jolted, and he began sweating as he thought back to what happened. And then, sitting on the cold kitchen floor, he had reached into his pocket and drawn a large, bloody knife that he had never seen before. He had frantically washed it and snuck to his room, where he hid the knife behind his bookshelf.

He looked at that bookshelf now.

Trembling, he got up and approached it. He prayed to every god he knew of to somehow make last night a void. He wished that it had all just been a bad dream. With a deep breath, he reached behind the bookshelf.

He felt a large knife, still sitting in its hiding place.

"Oh, Christ. Oh, Jesus, please tell me I never left the house, and there isn't a knife back there, and it wasn't covered in..." He withdrew his fingers and looked at them. There was a very small spot of blood, from some part of the knife he had not cleaned.

He gazed at the blood for a long time.

A noise shook him out of his thoughts. "Hurry up, Shinobu says breakfast is ready." Another noise, and Narusegawa's sweet voice was gone.

A strange feeling took hold of him. He reached back, grabbed the knife, and looked it over. He somehow knew how to operate the mechanism, because in a flash, he had closed the switchblade. He stowed the weapon in his pocket - the same one he had first found it in.

Whistling, he went to breakfast.

Okay, guys. I was looking at the translated lyrics to the song above and felt a strong urge to write this. I got hung up by work, however, and someone beat me to posting a story where our favorite kanrinnin gets into drugs. So, this is slightly unoriginal. Sorry. I'm trying to keep it in character for this one: I think I'm doing a pretty good job of depicting how Keitaro-abuse going on too long would affect the Hinata-sou. Of course, this is my own spin on how these characters would behave. Only Kenny A knows for sure. ; )

Another thing. I plan to keep this one very short -about five chapters, all around this size. There won't be any OC's or singing characters. And this could go grim or good. I want to do a happy ending, or at least a hopeful one, because I don't want this thing to be a downer. But seeing as drugs are bad, we'll see.

The story I'm writing with my friend, Garby, is still underway. It's the total opposite of what you see here: it's really stupid and funny, and OC's abound. It's called Hinata Brigade, and the author I.D. is "Garby." We'd much appreciate it if you'd check that out.

Please review. I'd like to know how entertaining this is. I love flames: they tell me that someone read the story.