A/N: I'm so happy! I just read Gravitation number 4! And Tokyopop rules for bringing it out in the US. *does the I'm-finally-reading-the-manga-behind- the-ultimate-yaoi-fluff-anime dance* Reviews make me happy too, my friends! Though I've been getting lots of nice reviews on this story. And I think I'm gonna illustrate it, too. But later. In the meantime, my chapters are getting shorter and shorter, but more frequent. Having fun at the edge of your seats, my friends?

Yuki popped a couple of fairly potent painkillers, both for his arm and conscience, and shut off the computer. Having left Yutaka sobbing at Shunichi's bedside somewhere in the depths of his hard drive, and rather envying his protagonist's freedom of emotion, Yuki lowered himself into bed, careful of the bad arm. It felt so empty. Which didn't make any sense, since Shuichi'd been banned from the bedroom for a week.

"God... I'm really a complete bastard, aren't I?" Yuki was slightly taken aback, not even realizing he'd spoken aloud (and eliciting a smug eyebrow from Mika, who'd picked the lock and set herself up in the abandoned living room for easy ambush). He'd known for most of his life he wasn't a likeable character, as a general rule, but there'd been a certain amount of wry satisfaction in the knowledge. Being a bastard kept people away from him. Except Shuichi, of course, but even as he'd felt the resolute façade of his stoic existence collapsing around him, it hadn't occurred to him that the mask he'd forgotten wasn't his face might be due to come off.

That meant he wouldn't even have a last night with his Shu-chan to look back on. He'd been working hard and barely noticed Shuichi coming home the night before the accident. They ate their instant ramen at opposite ends of the house, and Shuichi's good night hug/last ditch attempt to win his way back into the bed had been met only with a grunt and some second-hand smoke. Yuki couldn't even remember why he'd banished Shuichi to the sofa.

He tried to remember something, anything, that might mean he wasn't quite that bad. Something nice he'd done for his little lover, or anybody. Defending Shuichi from ASK? ...That's right. A random act of kindness indeed, mauling a moderately innocent bystander to teach his bandmate a lesson for having your boyfriend gangbanged after the fact.

Deciding he wouldn't escape being a bastard by any definition, Yuki let his mind wander. Over the course of that sleepless, miserable night, he reworked a thousand ways the accident could have gone.

The first thing he envisioned, of course, was a simple swerve to the right, where it was Yuki now lying comatose, causing nothing but five-minute fits to legions of girls who'd very soon find someone new to obsess over. That simple answer was ruined by the image of Shuichi, spilling a fountain of tears into Yuki's hair, falling into deep depression, and six months later drowning himself half-by accident while trying to collect his thoughts near a lake. There were times an author's imagination was a curse.

Yuki readily condemned himself for selfishness at being glad this wasn't the case, not consciously recognizing what might be a hint he wasn't a complete bastard. He knew Shuichi would rather loose his life than his Yuki.

In the second version, Yuki slammed desperately on the breaks, and the car screamed to a halt, crushing the fender and hood but leaving both passengers protected behind the airbags. Shuichi came away unscathed, though Yuki, taller, knocked his head a little roughly. Shuichi squealed and clung to his arm, though half-buried in the airbags. Yuki took him home on the bus, calmed him down, and set him gently into bed with a cup of tea and a massage. The fantasy lasted until a squeak from the floor jarred him back awake and into actuality.

As his slightly drugged mind slipped further towards much-needed sleep, the scenarios became more elaborate. Instead of snapping at Shuichi on the way home, he slowed down, stopped for sushi, and took a route that didn't involve slick roads or stalled cars. Strange for an imagination like his, that was rejected outright.

~~~

Yutaka stared sullenly into space, avoiding Shunichi's blank face. Whatever the doctors might say, he knew there was no soul left in his lover's pathetic corpse. "Appreciable hope of recovery" was a terrible cover up anyway.

Yuki paced restlessly through the house. There were times, probably due in a large part to steadily increasing doses of industrial-strength painkillers and binge drinking, when the line blurred between himself and Yutaka. He was often surprised to find blond hair falling in his eyes, and sometimes even forgot for a moment whether it was Shun- or Shu-chan that was causing him such agony.

It was three days since the accident. He hadn't changed or shaved in the time, and was re-developing a habit that had sprung up when he was sixteen of humming nervously and looking over his shoulder a lot. The coffee pot was always going, though he mixed the stuff with beer so freely exactly what effect either beverage had was up for dispute. He'd also stained or burned holes in the rugs and furniture, careless with cigarettes and food alike.

Absentmindedly, over his half-cooked instant ramen and three or four Budweisers,* he switched on the radio.

Something frightening attracts my gaze

An irritating desire spit out by the wanton wind In a widening crack on the road The lights of signals melt Leaving only a scar Before that dozing noise erases tomorrow My footsteps echo as I pursue my ambition. I will not stop for anything Any unsatisfying emotion I will just ignore And move beyond Shivering, shyly, I took aim For the gap in my world Following it I arrived at a new place I want new world. My guilty feelings combine to form The tears that carve into the main streets Distorting the sound of my footsteps even now I will not stop for anything

Any unsatisfying emotion I will just ignore

And move beyond Shivering, shyly, I took aim For the gap in my world Following it I arrived at a new place I want new world

Yuki was surprised to hear his own voice (a rather off-key tenor) stumbling along brokenly with Shuichi's. His throat caught every few notes. Feeling a sort of vague sympathy for his many characters, and sensing Yutaka rising to the surface again, he stumbled to the bathroom, clutching the half a can of beer he had left.

Slurring badly, Yuki let his one gift, elocution, take over. "I was never strong like him. I was never the kind of person with any capacity for pain." Without hesitation, he tipped half a bottle of his prescription down his throat, washing it down with what remained of the beer.

*I swear, he's drinking Bud at at least one point in the anime.