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

Prompt: Hiro's thoughts of anger and guilt after the attack.

Rating: T for dark thoughts and other mature content.

pristine

It's wrong, the things we ask of him. What we expect from him. So selfish and inconsiderate, that we push for a certain attitude, for precision. That we demand of him what we cannot be ourselves, that we grow angry when he cannot be what we want. That we desire from him … perfection, and settle for nothing less. No matter the cost to him.

He's anything but perfect now, as he clings to me so desperately. My best friend, whom I've sworn to protect for the rest of his life, from anything and everything but himself. Now huddled against my shirt as he sobs tears that are useless in the rain. Bruises shine in the street lights, glittering on his skin that was flawless mere hours before, testaments of my failure by him. Whimpers of pain occasionally bring a break in his crying, and I know that he had not been lying when he said he couldn't move anymore.

I could break something, kill something.

I ask him a simple, but painful question.

He gives me a simple, but heart wrenching answer.

"Yes."

I could hurt someone.

There's no hospital. He begs me for the safety of my studio, and I cannot deny him. He tells me things on the way, small things, but vital. And though my heart rips at each sliver of detail that escapes, I say nothing. He spends forever in the shower, and each minute that passes is another tear to my heart. I imagine him on the other side of the thin door, his tears still flowing as he runs a washcloth over his scrapes. There's a pool of blood at his feet, never washed away because the blood flow is never ending. I see his knees shaking as he struggles to keep standing; his teeth digging into his lips as he bites them to keep from crying out. His eyes … they're haunted. Dead. Because he believes no one cares for him anymore. Because …

He's out now, and I waste no time in ushering him to the bed. I pretend not to notice the violent flinch away from me as my hand accidentally brushes against his back. He's still wet, but I say nothing, because I think it was probably too painful for him to try to dry off. I lay the covers over him as he presses gingerly into pillows – it hurts to see the pain in his red-rimmed eyes. He never expected this. We never let him believe in the possibility.

"Hiro?" His voice is still low as he speaks, raspy from the abuse and the outcry on the street. I say nothing, simply meeting his wandering, wounded gaze with my own. "Stay … stay with me, please? Just until I … I go to sleep?"

I'm still silent, but I grasp his hand tightly in mine, rubbing soothing circles over torn knuckles as his eyes drift closed in reluctant exhaustion.

My list of pain is short, but harsh. Tachi Aizawa has been killed seventy-five different ways in my head in the past ten seconds, all painful and drawn out and … unpleasant. I close my eyes against the assault of guilt – I knew how much the older man loathed Shuichi, and how Shuichi loved to bait him. There was something about the ASK front man that just rubbed me wrong, something dark, and dangerous. But I had not warned my friend.

The hand in my own clenches suddenly, and I look to see a flicker of fear and hurt wash over the slumbering face, before they both disappear in an instant.

"…Yuki. Ple-please. Please help me. Yuki."

I yearn to bestow the same punishments on Eiri Yuki. Bastard. I warned him – I warned him! The injuries I had planned on bestowing upon him when he threw Shuichi out are nothing compared to what I have in mind for him now.

I look at my best friend once more, cringing when he moans as he shifts to his side. Gently, I release his hand, leaning forward enough to brush a kiss against his head before standing.

We have hurt him bad enough, by not letting him hurt enough. I pause at the door, and look at him again. I too, though I swore otherwise, have added to this pain. I have my expectations of him, things I ask of him. I demanded that he be my salvation. I have never turned away from him, but I have questioned him. Endlessly. Sometimes … even harshly.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Shuichi," I repeat my earlier vow quietly. "Nothing."

I can't hurt him again. I won't kill his lover.

I step out the door.

But maybe his lover can kill Aizawa.

Maybe then we will all be a little more worthy of the forgiveness we will no doubt receive.

I'm honestly thinking of a more indepth version of this one ... I think it could be better. But this is the original prompt submission, so there you are. ;)

Please let me know what you're thinking! :)