Disclaimers: Don't own KHR or its characters.
Warnings: fluff, swearing, rape flashbacks.
Send some love to my darling beta, AmbiguousThoughts ;)
UN-BETA'ed FOR NOW.
Hotel, 4.01am
Yamamoto was talking to someone.
Hibari's eyes immediately flew wide open. He had always been a very shallow sleeper, waking up at every slightest click of the door. Drowsily, Hibari felt the mattress area beside him with his hand – it was empty but still warm from body heat. Yamamoto hadn't left for too long. Listening in closer, Hibari could hear Yamamoto mumbling urgently, the sound of his foot pacing across the hotel carpets evident.
Who is he talking to at this hour?
Hibari rolled over to get a better look – and immediately winced. He was sore. His muscles protested at every slight movement, his throat was dry, and his lips were tingling. But what bothered him the most was the soreness. Hibari moved again and – oh god, he really was sore. Especially down there.
...it's going to be hard to walk. Hibari realized. Tch.
Yamamoto, you better treat me well for this.
Narrowing his eyes to see through the darkness, Hibari saw that Yamamoto had his mobile with him, whispering into it and walking all over the room in an awkward hurried motion. A closer inspection made Hibari discover that Yamamoto was half-hopping because he was pulling his trousers on at the same time.
"...shit. Shit. Where is he?" Yamamoto's voice was distressed in a way that Hibari never heard before. His voice, even hushed as it was, was obviously full of emotion: anger? Fury? Fear? Sorrow? All of those combined? Hibari couldn't pin a point on it.
What the hell is going on?
Yamamoto was buttoning his shirt now, struggling to keep his mobile held between his ear and shoulders. "Are you- ? What about the others? ...got it. I'll be there right away."
Sensing that something had gone terribly wrong somewhere in the world, Hibari frowned and – with effort – pushed himself up into a sitting position, resisting the urge to groan.
"Yes. Yes. I'm leaving right now. I swear I'll get there as fast as I can." Yamamoto disconnected the line and headed towards the door.
By the time Hibari managed to get his throat working and call out loudly enough, Yamamoto's hand was already placed on the doorknob, ready to leave. "Yamamoto."
The young baseball ace froze and, as if remembering his presence for the first time, turned to look at Hibari. His hand, however, still gripped the handle. At any moment, Yamamoto would dash through that door – and the baseball player very much looked like he was dying to.
But the sophomore must've had some feeling of responsibility to Hibari, so he answered to him. Even in the darkness, Yamamoto's eyes showed visible panic. "Hibari."
Hibari waited. Yamamoto said nothing more.
The Skylark frowned.
That's it?
Aren't you going to explain why you're positioned at the door, so ready to leave? After what we did together last night, you're just going to up and out just like that? Without even saying two words to me?
...is that it?
"You're leaving," Hibari said, trying to appear calm and casual. But in his mind, he was yelling, 'Where the hell do you think you're going?'
Because even though he wanted nothing but to forget, Hibari couldn't help but be painfully reminded that this was exactly what happened one year ago. His lover sneaked away right after making love to him for the first time. The only differences being that last time, the guy didn't get caught, and instead of Yamamoto, it was Dino Cavallone.
What will I be left to hang on to this time? Hibari was frustrated – and bloody well-pissed off. Another stupid piece of note?
Yamamoto must've noticed Hibari's expression, so he turned around and bowed his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Hibari... I just- I have to go. I have to. I'm sorry."
Then, Yamamoto rushed out of the room.
SLAM.
The sound of the door slamming shut echoed all around Hibari.
...
What... the fuck?
Hibari was struck dumb. He felt lost. And Hibari hardly ever felt lost.
...what the fuck?
Five minutes later, the Skylark found himself staring at the closed door, trying – and failing – to figure out exactly what was going on. Yamamoto had left with such urgency he didn't even appear to have the time to explain. There was no clue, no inclination to give Hibari the slightest idea of the 'what's, 'why's, 'who's, 'how's, and 'when's. All he knew was that after sex with Yamamoto last night they fell asleep side by side. If there were any signs then, Hibari missed it. The phone call conversation Hibari half-overheard was no help either. All he could tell was that Yamamoto was in a tremendous rush to get somewhere, and that was just about it.
Why was he so desperate to get away? Who was on the phone? What the hell is going on?
Hibari hated this. He hated feeling clueless, left alone in the dark whilst the world moved on around and behind his back. He hated losing control – losing grasp of things that concerned him, and losing sense of reason. The Skylark worked logically – he liked relaying things in his mind in the form of cause and effect. Having the 'cause' information stripped away from him left Hibari wandering like a blinded man, and he hated it.
And all the time, Hibari felt a panging inside his chest – bleeping like an alarm – telling him that this was the exact same situation he was in, one year ago. Once again, Hibari was forced to stand in this pathetic clueless position, fumbling for leads which were nonexistent.
At least Dino had the decency to leave a fucking note. Hibari thought, bitterly.
Comparing was inevitable. The two situations just paralleled one another so similarly it was impossible not to do so. It was as though someone was playing a sick joke on him – like someone was trying to send him some sort of message with such an almost-perfect replay of series of events.
Hibari clutched his head in one hand, gripping his hair. Why? Why does this keep happening?
Every time I let myself feel something, this shit happens. They fuck me and then they leave. Hibari gritted his teeth. Who the hell do they think they are? Treating me like some...
Hibari struggled to place the words.
Like some...
Some...
...some cheap whore.
"Fuck." Hibari swore. "...fuck."
Is there something wrong with me? What the hell did I do wrong?
Can't I just wake up and find that everything is, for once, right?
As equally as the act was a blow to Hibari's pride, deeper down, it cut Hibari that every single time he let his guard down, the person always seemed to use that opportunity to slap him in the face. It was hard enough for Hibari to trust anyone as it is...
...or am I not deserving of something so precious?
Well, that seems to be the case. Even my own damn father doesn't love me. So who would?
Why did I ever expect anyone would? How could I've been so stupid?
Hibari shook his head, not understanding and not even attempting to understand any longer. He was tired. He was tired of figuring out things that were impossible to figure out, tired of waiting for something that never came, tired of chasing after someone who was never there, and tired of trying so damn hard and never ever getting anything in return... he was just tired of everything.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
...I should've known better than to let history repeat itself. I'm better than that. I'm much better than that.
The Skylark buried his head between his knees, forcing himself to cut ties with all emotion. Without emotion, he could not be hurt – at least, not in this sick, horrible way. But even as he started, Hibari knew it wouldn't work. His plan was flawed. Because part of him was still wondering – and would always wonder...
Why...?
Why do people keep leaving?
...
...
...what the hell is wrong with me?
Namimori Hospital, 4.28am
Yamamoto wanted to kill someone. Anyone. Himself.
As he sprinted towards the ER, Yamamoto kept replaying Spanner's voice in his head.
[Gokudera was raped.]
Gokudera was raped.
Gokudera. Was. Raped.
...
Rape.
His Gokudera.
Raped.
'Takumi'. The name was all Yamamoto was given as information on the assailant, but Yamamoto had already decided well and clear – that asshole deserved worse than death for what he did. Even though he knew Lancia and Dynamite would get to that low-life sooner or later, Yamamoto still wanted to get some blood out of Takumi with his own hands. Yamamoto never thought of himself as anything even particularly close to a criminal, but if he had a knife right then he would not hesitate to stab the life out of that bastard Takumi.
And when he was done, he'd plunge the damn knife into his own throat.
I should've been there for him. I should never have let him get out of sight. I knew he was sick. I knew he was weak. I even knew he was in danger. I saw the finger marks around his neck, the broken look that always lingered in his eyes. I saw it all – so many hints to let me know there was something wrong going on in his life. I knew of the threat, and yet I left him at his most vulnerable moment.
And whilst Gokudera was suffering possibly the worst torture of his life I was- !
SLAM.
Yamamoto slammed his fist on the wall of the ER building. His body was heaving with heavy breaths and was so tense with fury it was trembling.
Calm down. Calm. Down.
It's no good for anyone if I go in like this.
Only Yamamoto's concern for Gokudera was holding him back from the edge of both murder and suicide. Gokudera was his priority right now.
Eventually, Yamamoto was able to compose himself enough to step into the ER waiting room. Inside, he saw Spanner, M.M., Skull and Lancia along with a few other Dynamite members he didn't recognize sitting together in a clump at a corner. The other patients' relatives in the room backed away from them like they had the plague, recognizing them as the notorious Dynamite color gang with their signature red scarves.
Lancia was the first to notice Yamamoto. With a grave expression, Lancia nodded to him in acknowledgement before he nudged Spanner with his foot to alert him. Spanner, who appeared previously frozen, came to life like a machine suddenly switched on. His head snapped up to look at Yamamoto, an empty lollipop stick caught between his teeth, dark circles beneath his eyes.
"Yamamoto Takeshi," Spanner walked up to him and gave a weak squeeze on his shoulders.
One simple motion and Yamamoto found himself all of a sudden on the verge of breakdown. Standing here, in front of the emergency room, with Dynamite members staring up at him made the situation all the more real. Spanner was very obviously worn out, M.M.'s eyes were red from forcing back tears, Skull and many younger members of Dynamite looked absolutely shattered, and Lancia had a gloominess looming over him that was darker and sadder than the usual aura of intimidation.
Bad. This is bad.
Afraid of the answer, Yamamoto feebly asked, "How is he?"
Spanner shook his head and sighed, "...not good. Unconscious."
Yamamoto paled.
"But he's Smoking Bomb. He's strong..." Spanner went on – seemingly more for his own sake than to answer Yamamoto's question. "...he'll pull through."
No. He won't. Yamamoto kept yelling inside. How could he?
When he is already so broken inside, how could he handle this on top of everything?
...how could I have let this happen to him?
Hibari Clan, 5.07am
"Where the hell have you been?"
Hibari Kaien stood at the front door of his house, arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes narrowed at his only son, Hibari Kyouya. The younger Hibari had been absent throughout the entire night, and when he finally turned up at five in the morning, he was a mess. His hair was mussed up, unkempt, his clothes untidy, his walk an unsteady hobble, and his breath held the distinct smell of – Kaien could not believe it – alcohol.
Kyouya tried to brush past his father but was grabbed harshly by the collar of his school shirt.
"Don't you dare ignore me, Kyouya," Kaien growled low in his throat.
The Skylark shrugged uncaringly, not even attempting to escape. Instead, he turned his head sideways to deliberately avoid any eye contact with his father.
Kaien glared at him. "You stink of booze. How much have you been drinking?"
"...who knows," Hibari Kyouya slurred, before he began chuckling softly. Because what he said was funny – and it wasn't funny – and it didn't make sense – which made it funnier. "Heh..."
Who knows? Who cares?
"Wipe that bloody smile of your face, son. This is no laughing matter, do you understand? You are in serious trouble, I'm warning you," Kaien clenched his fists around his son's shirt, but it seemed to do little to dampen Kyouya's amusement.
Who the hell cares anyways?
"Hn... what? Are you going to ground me? Hit me?"
"Kyouya, this is my final-"
"Ah. Wait. I forgot you don't care enough. Only real fathers do." The Skylark nodded like it was just one of those little facts in life he had learnt to accept: water flowed downwards, tides followed the moon, apples were red, oranges were orange, his father didn't love him.
"Kyouya!" Kaien barked at him.
Kyouya only gave bitter, drunken smile.
Nobody cares.
They all leave in the end.
Kaien was about to go on, when suddenly, something caught his eye – something dark and red and imprinted on his son's pale neck. After that, it all clicked inside Kaien's mind.
"Have you been fooling around with some whore behind my back, son?" Kaien's voice was low and deep.
Whore. Kyouya felt like scoffing. Laughing. Making some sort of inappropriate noise. Oh, the irony. A bitter, drunken smirk tugged at the young Skylark's lips. "Nothing of the sort."
"Would you care to explain that bloody mark on your neck, then?"
If only you knew. Kyouya could already imagine the look on Kaien's face when his very own, perfect only son, heir to the Hibari clan, brought up with strict rules and regulations... what sort of expression would his father make when he found out that supposedly 'perfect' son had been having an intimate sexual affair all this time? Not to mention, with a man?
Then, suddenly, Kyouya felt a strange impulse come over him. Perhaps it was the alcohol he downed to numb out the ache. Perhaps it was the look on Kaien's face, so disgustingly dignified in his fatherly anger. But all of a sudden, Kyouya did want his father to know. He wanted to see that Hibari Kaien, the almighty head of the Hibari clan, completely shocked – pushed off his high horse, a King who sat and broke his throne.
Kaien had always been intent on raising his son to be the ideal heir. The one that graduated high school with top grades, the one that got into the best universities, the one that was the strongest, the one that will marry the most beautiful and most economically beneficial wife.
Kyouya had been told more than enough times that he was a disappointment. What's the harm with one more killing blow?
Leaning closer to his father and looking right into those dark, stern, eagle-like eyes that were very much like his own, Kyouya taunted, making sure Kaien could smell every single bit of the alcohol laced in his breath. "Do you really want to know, father?"
Kaien's frown deepened with the unfamiliar daring tone in his son's voice. Kyouya loved it. That invincible, omniscient Kaien who could do no wrong was now confused, and about to realise that he had – for the first time – failed. Not in business, oh no, but in something that would wound his pride much more than that. Something that would grab his pride by the balls and rip it right off.
"Listen carefully, dad..." Kyouya leaned closer, still, deliberately calling his father as he would when he was younger. It seemed to strike something within Kaien, and Kyouya grinned. The excitement and anxiety was brimming over the edge. If Kyouya was the sort of person who giggled, he would have. He wasn't, so he didn't. But oh, the Skylark was going to enjoy this – so much more than he was supposed to, so much more than he ever thought he would. And it was wrong, so wrong, with so many consequences.
Well. Nobody cares anyways.
"I fucked a man."
Namimori Hospital, 5.09am
The nurse told them that Gokudera had woken up.
Lancia, Spanner and Yamamoto were allowed to go in and visit him.
By this time, Yamamoto was feeling sick to his stomach. Would Gokudera be able to tell, just by looking at him, what he had been doing? Would it have been better if he knew? Yamamoto wouldn't know what to do if Gokudera was to look it over and never give him hell for it. Because Yamamoto deserved hell. He deserved every yell and scream and hit Gokudera would throw at him the moment he found out. He deserved feeling every awful, gut-wrenching bit of guilt.
On the other hand, if Gokudera cried, Yamamoto wouldn't know what to do. It wouldn't matter whether Gokudera cried from what he'd been through or from knowing of Yamamoto's affair. Gokudera's tears always had been Yamamoto's weakness – since the very beginning of their relationship. The first time Yamamoto kissed him, Gokudera had been in tears then as well. Gokudera's vulnerability always reduced Yamamoto to a state of utter helplessness. If he walked in and saw Gokudera crying, Yamamoto wouldn't know what to say, how to act, or even how to breathe...
But Gokudera didn't cry. Not even a single drop of tear was seen.
But somehow, that was worse.
The sickly blue of the hospital gown was an unusual color on Gokudera. Yamamoto was so accustomed to seeing Gokudera in dark tones that the pale clothes made him look alien – too frail and too blanched. It was as though someone stuck a needle in Gokudera and drained all the life out of him.
Spanner was not exaggerating when he said Gokudera's state was 'not good'. Gokudera had bruises everywhere visible and most likely under his clothes and the blanket as well – there was one particularly deep and dark bruise spread across his left cheek. His lips were darkened with dried blood, and split at the left corner and in the middle. His left eye was so swollen it was almost sealed shut. His left brow was stitched up. There were deep bruises in shape on fingers around his neck. His wrists had raging rope burns, one hooked on to an IV bag, his index finger trapped in a small clip-like object which seemed to be taking his pulse and showing it up on the electrocardiogram. On one open palm of his hand there was a mark Yamamoto could not imagine was anything else but a burn.
Yamamoto couldn't move. He wanted to hold Gokudera close and tight, he wanted to tell him he was there for him and that he was so, so sorry he wasn't before, he wanted to kiss the pain away, he wanted to rewind time, and he wanted to kill, kill, kill that motherfucking bastard Takumi if it was the last thing he did. But Yamamoto couldn't move.
Those eyes paralyzed him. Those emerald green eyes which he used to love so well, right now, were more or less... dead. They were looking at him with no light, no spark, not even brokenness. Just empty. Dead.
"Not so pretty now, eh?" Gokudera croaked, his throat struggling to produce the sound with an underlying high-pitched wheezing sound.
Yamamoto was still frozen. What was he supposed to say? What was the right thing to say? Was there even a right thing to say?
Spanner was the first one to approach Gokudera's bed, before he rested a hand on Gokudera's shoulder. "...how're you feeling, man?"
"Marvelous," Gokudera rasped sarcastically.
Spanner tugged Gokudera's hair, "Not funny."
"Ow," Gokudera mumbled, his face completely expressionless.
Lancia also moved in and ruffled Gokudera's hair in a somewhat brotherly – maybe even fatherly – way. "Hey, kiddo."
"Yo." Gokudera's face hadn't changed once ever since Yamamoto first saw him today. It was the same still, stiff and emotionless look that Yamamoto found out he rather... hated on Gokudera.
"When do I get out of here, Lancia?" Gokudera looked up at his senior.
Lancia sighed, "Not soon. They're admitting you."
"Damn," Gokudera turned to Spanner, "So when are you breaking me out?"
Spanner shook his head, "Sorry, dude, not this time."
"What?" Gokudera looked back at Lancia, "You serious? You can't be serious."
"You're staying," Lancia confirmed.
"Well, fuck." Gokudera muttered, "Why do you guys have to make it such a big deal? I got hurt worse with Varia before – I wasn't in hospital that time."
"You know that's not the same," Spanner said.
"The fuck it isn't. I want to be out of here. You know I bloody hate hospitals." Gokudera was getting more annoyed.
That was good. At least an annoyed Gokudera was a Gokudera that Yamamoto could recognize.
"I know, kid. But you're staying until you get better," Lancia wasn't going to give in.
"I am well. I'm fine. This is nothing." Gokudera assured in his croaky voice.
Spanner and Lancia only looked at him, unconvinced.
Gokudera frowned, "Don't look at me like that. I said I'm fine – isn't that supposed to be a good thing? You don't have to waste our budget on stupid medical bills, I'm perfectly fine."
The two Dynamite members remained silent. It was obvious they were not going to budge, and Gokudera, having known both of them for so long, understood this immediately.
"You know what? Fuck you. Fuck both of you. This is retarded," Still getting no actual response from his gang members, the silvernette growled. "Go away. If you're gonna keep looking at me like that, get out. I don't want your goddamn pity."
Lancia, looking like he expected this, simply nodded, ruffled Gokudera's hair once more, and left. Spanner shrugged, telling Gokudera he would return to visit after he picked up Shouichi, and followed Lancia out of the ER as well. The only person left standing there was Yamamoto, who had not moved an inch or uttered a single word ever since he caught sight of Gokudera.
Gokudera glanced at him, "Haven't you looked at me enough, baseball idiot?"
Yamamoto felt himself release a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It was a relief to hear Gokudera call him 'baseball idiot' once again. It showed Yamamoto that at least some part of Gokudera was still the same. But Yamamoto knew better than to expect all of the Gokudera he fell in love with to return. Gokudera could never be the same. Not after what he'd been through.
Spanner and Lancia seemed to have known exactly what to say to Gokudera. They didn't mention the assault, didn't ask him for the details of the event, and didn't reopen any mental wounds that had been inflicted onto him. They didn't mention Takumi's name. They didn't tell Gokudera they were on the verge of murdering the man. They didn't try to tell Gokudera that 'everything is going to be alright' – and, apparently, Gokudera didn't need to hear it.
Yamamoto did not have the same casual smoothness Lancia and Spanner managed. His face, for one, had probably already betrayed him and had shown Gokudera the horror he felt at seeing Gokudera's state. Yamamoto took a seat beside the bed and tried not to meet the silvernette's eyes – but he was right, Gokudera did see the expression, and he did understand it for what it was.
"Don't look so awful, idiot, everything's fine," Gokudera flicked at Yamamoto's forehead with his free hand.
Yamamoto grabbed the hand, "Stop saying that."
"What?" Gokudera raised the un-stitched eyebrow.
"Stop acting like you're okay. You don't have to do that in front of me," Yamamoto gripped his hands tighter.
"Tch, moron. I am fine. I am perfectly-" Gokudera's eyes met Yamamoto's, and he paused. Somehow, those dark chocolate eyes seemed to be able to look through him. When Yamamoto talked to him, it was like he wasn't only talking to Gokudera, but he was also seeing the young, little Hayato who was scared of the smell of alcohol and sound of breaking bottles – the little Hayato who cowered under the bed with hands covering both ears when his father came looking for him. The same little Hayato who hopelessly reached out for help when there was no one there.
There was no way Yamamoto could've known that, though. Gokudera had thought of telling him once, but they were interrupted before he got the chance. Yet, still, every time Gokudera looked into Yamamoto's eyes, he could've sworn Yamamoto saw right through him to his core. And at this moment it both terrified and settled Gokudera at the same time.
Clearly, Yamamoto wasn't buying the 'I'm okay' act. But, of course, Gokudera knew nobody did. "What do you want me to say, then? Huh, idiot? Do you want me to tell you all the things he did to me? How painful it was? How I felt like he was tearing me in half? How many times he hit me?"
Yamamoto shook his head, gripping Gokudera's hand, but the silvernette went on.
"How many times he fucked me? In how many positions? But I guess I can't answer that because even I don't fucking remember. Or do you want me to describe the taste of his cock when he shoved it into my mouth?"
"Gokudera-"
The continuous beep of Gokudera' pulse on the electrocardiogram was noticeably getting faster.
"He strangled me so I would take him deeper – do you want to know about that too? I choked on him, see, so he hit me. Again and again. Then he said he would punish me. So he fucked me. For the – who knows – tenth? Twentieth time? Even more?"
"Stop, Gokudera."
"Apparently I wasn't screaming loud enough. So he brought out his cigarette, lit it up until it was all glowing red and hot, and then he-"
"Gokudera, shut up." Yamamoto had raised his voice without intending to. He also did not realize he had clutched onto Gokudera's wrist so tightly his hand was turning white from lack of circulation.
Gokudera chuckled – an awful, bitter sound in his sandpaper throat. He whistled, "Chill."
"Why do you do that? Talking like that..." Yamamoto didn't understand. Doesn't it hurt? Digging salted fingers into your own wounds?
Gokudera shrugged uncaringly, "Just thought you wanted to know. Because idiots like you seem to think that talking about that shit would make it any better. As if it would make the bruises go away. As if it would hurt any less. As if talking about it would magically remove it from history, like all of it never happened."
The beeping of the electrocardiogram was quite rapid now. Gokudera finally noticed it and yanked the sensor off from his index finger. The jaggy lines on the monitor went still and horizontal.
"Let go of my wrist." Gokudera ordered, frowning.
Yamamoto suddenly remembered the rope burns on those slim wrists and let go of his iron-grip immediately, a guilty look on his face. Gokudera didn't bother to tell Yamamoto that it didn't hurt, because he couldn't feel them anyway – his wrists, hands, feet, and most of his limbs had felt numb ever since he woke up. Gokudera clicked his tongue and rubbed his fingers over the red burns, stretching his hand out and fisting it to get the blood running again. Still, he couldn't feel much.
"I'm sorry," Yamamoto said, his eyes staring at the cigarette burn on Gokudera's palm, stretched out before him.
"No big deal. I'm fine." Gokudera didn't glance in his direction. "It's okay, I'm-"
"No." Yamamoto interrupted him. "It's not okay. It is not okay, Gokudera. Nothing about this is okay."
"What-" Gokudera was taken by surprise by Yamamoto's darkened expression. It intrigued him enough to keep him quiet and listen to what Yamamoto had to say.
Yamamoto looked up into Gokudera's eyes, completely serious. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry for not being there. I'm sorry I didn't come through for you."
Gokudera averted his gaze. There Yamamoto went again, seeing through him to the young, scared little child Gokudera had come to hate for existing – for still existing after all this time.
Yamamoto took Gokudera's hand into his clasp. Those hands were as warm as they always had been, and the familiarity evoked an aching in Gokudera's chest. "I will never forgive myself for letting this happen to you."
"...'s not your goddamn fault," Gokudera muttered, unable to look at Yamamoto. "Stop making it such a big fucking deal-"
"You didn't deserve that, Gokudera," Yamamoto continued as though he hadn't heard a word Gokudera had said. "You don't deserve any of it. Things like that – horrible things like that should never have happened to you. You didn't do anything wrong – you were a complete victim. There was absolutely no reason for it, whatsoever. Because it shouldn't have happened. Someone should've been there. Someone should've stopped him. And I'm so sorry that I wasn't that 'someone' for you. I should have been. I wish I had been. I screwed up. I'm sorry."
Gokudera's head was turned away from Yamamoto completely. He didn't want to hear this – whilst at the same time, he was deeply aware that he needed to. The child within him needed to; the child who still did not understand why terrible things kept happening to him – why terrible things never stopped happening to him.
"You did everything you could. You are sick. You were very weak. It was not your fault that you couldn't stop him. You tried – I know you tried. I know you tried so hard. And I am so sorry, Gokudera. So, so sorry I didn't make it. So sorry I didn't know. So sorry I didn't come..."
When Gokudera was very young, his father – his strong, brave father – would chase away monsters of the night, whilst his beautiful mother kissed him a sweet dream. Dreams of warmth and laughter and days spent at the beach bathing in bright sunshine and swimming around in pools of melted chocolate with an endless cheerful piano melody playing in the background. Gokudera did not know when his father turned into the monster himself, his drunken laughter chased away only by Bianchi's disgusting midnight snacks and courageous sneak-outs and epic stories of heroes battling dragons and conquering lands. When Bianchi left, the monster got scarier. Gokudera had no one but himself to rely on – and he turned to violence, shedding blood and shattering glass to make him forget. He wore the red scarf, and he got real good, but never good enough to stop the monster. More often than not, his nights were haunted with nightmares of empty bottles and smell of vomit. The few good dreams he had – once used to be so idealistic and full of life – were now simply of Bianchi's smile as she left, and of his mother's hair.
But recently, someone new had been able to chase his monster away – albeit temporarily, but it was better than nothing – someone who was warmer and had a smile brighter than the sun. Whose eyes were akin to dark pools of molten chocolate. Whose laughter was joyfully melodic. Who filled Gokudera's nights with dreams of laughing in shallow seas, driving through winds, and rolling around in soft beds which smelled like shampoo.
He was the personification of everything Gokudera's childhood dream stood for. Gokudera was sure that if that person belonged to him, completely and fully, he would be invincible. No monster – not even his father – would be able to touch him.
But Yamamoto never did come through.
And Gokudera didn't know whether it was too late.
Because Gokudera knew a different monster now; a creepier, freakier one that lingered in shadows with echoes of hysterical laughter that kept commanding for a louder scream. And Gokudera knew that even Yamamoto – wonderful, warm and shining Yamamoto – could not chase this one away.
The damage had already been done. A vampire once invited could always return. A glass once shattered would never look the same. And Yamamoto was-
"...I was too late, wasn't I?" Yamamoto whispered, as though he could read Gokudera's mind. Maybe he really could. Gokudera just didn't know anymore. He wondered whether he even cared.
"I know you'd hate me for saying this, but..." Yamamoto pressed a kiss to the back of Gokudera's hand. Gokudera couldn't feel it – and because he wasn't looking, he didn't know it happened. "...I thought that, somehow, I was saving you from something."
You were. But it wasn't enough. Gokudera could feel his eyes prickling, and his nose burning. And now it'll never be enough.
"I guess I was being arrogant, trying to be your hero and all that," Yamamoto murmured bitterly as he gingerly traced Gokudera's rope burn, "But in the end, I was only stupid and greedy and selfish. I took things for granted. I threw away so many chances with you."
Yamamoto paused, remembering the look on Hibari's face when he left the hotel. "...I think I threw away a lot of my chances with him, too. Maybe there isn't any left. Not wanting to hurt you, not wanting to hurt him – but I guess I ended up really hurting both of you, didn't I?"
Gokudera waited for the painful stab he always felt when Yamamoto mentioned Hibari. But it never came. All he felt was... numb. And he wasn't sure whether this should terrify him.
But, Gokudera knew he must obviously be hurting somewhere, because tears stung his eyes. Somewhere inside, somewhere Gokudera no longer felt, there was a place in him that was aching so hard his hands were unconsciously shaking.
Yamamoto grabbed hold of one firmly as he continued, "I know it's too late to save you now – and I know you might never have wanted to be saved, or protected, or recued in the first place. You always took pride in standing on your own feet. But if you'd let me..."
If Yamamoto didn't know Gokudera was crying before, he did now. Gokduera's face was still determinedly turned away from Yamamoto, but his shoulders were shuddering with hitched breaths. And as always, it tugged violently at Yamamoto's heartstrings, making him a boneless lump.
As he was about to word the request, Yamamoto felt like a completely pathetic, hypocritical jerk. How could I even ask for such a privilege? Of such a chance? When all I've been doing up until now – even just recently – had done nothing but cause him pain? When all I've been doing had done nothing but hurt the two people I cared most about. The two people I loved. The two people I still love – perhaps even more so, now.
How could I ask him this when the last thing I did was making love to another man? When I know damn well I still love both him and Gokudera all the same...
But because Yamamoto did love Gokudera, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did not propose this request. Even if it did make him a terrible hypocrite and a downright, textbook, asshole.
"If you'd let me..." Yamamoto pressed another fervent kiss onto Gokudera's palm, "...I would- I promise I would – no, I swear – I will try my best to... fix you."
Fix. Gokudera thought it was an odd choice of words, but it seemed to fit perfectly into their situation. Because a toppled vase could not be 'saved' or 'rescued' or 'protected' anymore – what was broken could only be 'fixed'. And Gokudera was broken. And he would never be the same. But that was fine with Yamamoto. Gokudera, on the other hand, did not know how he felt about it.
Was it even possible? Was Gokudera setting himself up for failure – knowing Yamamoto may well be the one who would crush him down in the future? The risk was too great. And as long as Hibari was there, so was the possibility of Gokudera's downfall.
But then again, Gokudera was already such a wreck that it no longer mattered to him. He was torn up to bits and pieces anyway, what harm could a few more rips really do?
After what I've been through, there's hardly anything else you can destroy.
Memories of the past night suddenly flooded into him. Gokudera wasn't expecting it. He was still awake. It was morning, not night. This shouldn't be happening – not yet. Daytime was supposed to be his safe hiding place. This wasn't supposed to happen. But the visions and voices came like a tidal wave, and Gokudera was powerless to stop them.
"-yeah, scream for me, bitch. Louder! I can't fucking hear you! LOUDER! Or do I have to fuck you harder you bloody slut? Eh?"
Gokudera remembered himself bleeding. There was so much blood. He remembered his throat ripping apart as his vocal chords failed to screech out.
"Suck it in, long and deep, baby. And if I feel even the tiniest graze of those teeth of yours I swear I'll pull 'em all out! You got that, Haya-chan? And don't you dare choke! I SAID you're not allowed to choke! Are you bloody retarded? There! Open up your throat, right here! You feel that, where I'm squeezing? STOP CHOKING, I SAID! Fucking useless whore..."
Gokudera remembered gasping for air when that disgusting thing was stuffed down his throat. His neck was clamped tight with two strong hands that closed up his airways. He remembered tears leaking from his eyes when he thought he was dying, his vision being filled with dark spots as his hands desperately scrambled in last attempt.
"OhhhgodYES, that was a good one... see, Haya-chan? You can do it if you really put in the effort. Now, seeing as you enjoyed that so damn much, well, shall we try doing it somewhere more – sensitive? Heh..."
"-What's that? I can't hear you! Oh, I see, your greedy little ass wants more, doesn't it? Doesn't it, you cheap fucking whore? Well, well, I guess I'll be nice... I heard these things are real popular in Nami right now. Tonfas, I think they're called. Now aren't you a lucky boy, Hayato-kun? You'll be trying them out for yourself! So you better scream loudly this time or I swear I'll shove BOTH of the damn things AND my dick in if I have to... you hear me? Alright, then scream, you fucking bitch, SCREAM! LOUDER!"
Gokudera had not told Yamamoto everything in his earlier description of the assault. He wasn't completely honest with what he did tell, either. Because Gokudera did, in fact, remember how many times he'd been raped. And he did not think he'd ever forget. How could he possibly? Seventeen. Takumi precisely chose that number because it was either the age Gokudera was at or was about to turn. When he informed Gokudera of this, he had spent the next drill of torture singing the most twisted version of 'Happy Birthday' as he thrusted madly into Gokudera and forced him to sing along as loudly as he could manage, choking him when he paused to gasp in pain, and making him start all over again. Gokudera didn't tell Yamamoto this. He didn't tell him how he would never be able to sing that song again, either. And he didn't tell him the cigarette burn was not only on his palm. There were more – a lot more – beneath his shirt. And because of them, Gokudera probably wouldn't smoke again in his life. Gokudera didn't tell Yamamoto any of this – especially not how he would never be able to look at tonfas again without getting nightmares.
The irony of it all was so apparent that it wasn't even funny: Tonfas and Hibari. The relation between the two was simply natural, and thus, completely sickening. Gokudera supposed that now, even more so than before, he would never be able to stand the head prefect of Nami High. It would be difficult to look at him without wincing or breaking down in a fit of terrors knowing what he carried around. Knowing what those things were capable of.
"Gokudera...!" Yamamoto's voice sliced through the imagery, bringing the silvernette back to reality. And Gokudera finally noticed that his entire body was trembling as though he was going through a small-scale seizure. He was also breathing frightfully hard.
'What's wrong, Haya-chan? Aw, tired already? Well, guess what, this is only the fucking beginning so you better-'
"Get out." Gokudera suddenly demanded.
"What?" Yamamoto was confused.
'Ohhh motherfuck-hell- FUCK Haya-chan, you're so damn tight...'
"Get. Out. Idiot." Gokudera grounded the words out as he struggled to sit up. "Now."
Yamamoto was concerned, "Gokudera, what's wrong?"
"Yamamoto! Get out!" Gokudera was yelling now with his croaked voice, before he added in a thin whisper, "...please."
'Holy shit, fuckFUCK I'm coming! Better swallow it all down, slut! Argh- FUCK!'
Yamamoto didn't go anywhere, but Gokudera couldn't hold it any longer. Desperately and almost frantically, he reached out for the closest empty plastic bag in sight. Then, shocking Yamamoto to the bones, Gokudera threw up violently, his body shuddering all the way through his spine. The sounds his throat made were disturbing. It sounded like a very hoarse, very dry scream – but so much worse. Yamamoto feared that Gokudera's voice box was going to splurge out along with the vomit at the rate he was going.
What was worse was that the process visibly tormented Gokudera. Yamamoto could see it on his face, the way his back quivered, the small drops of tears that leaked out of the corner of his eyes. Thus, even though Yamamoto was scared of what was happening to Gokudera, he still calmly stood up and rubbed Gokudera's back. Gently, caringly – exactly the way he always did everything.
A nurse came around to help, but Yamamoto stood firm on his ground. One hand held up Gokudera's hair away from his face, whilst the other continued to rub Gokudera's trembling back. Gokudera was sweating and panting in exhaustion by the time the first long round was over.
"Fuck... don't look..." Gokudera gasped, his eyes red and teary. "I'm fine..."
"I know," Yamamoto nodded, going along with whatever Gokudera wanted to hear. "I'm not looking."
But Yamamoto was looking. And Gokudera knew it, too.
Then, the second round came along – and before Yamamoto knew it, the third and then the fourth as well. The tiny breaks in between gave Gokudera no room to regain his breath, and by the time it was all over and the nurse had cleared away the mess and Yamamoto had wiped off Gokudera's face and lips, Gokudera had fallen asleep, drops of tears still wet on his eyelashes.
Later, the doctor came in along with Lancia and Spanner to explain complex PTSD and Rape Trauma Syndrome and how Gokudera's behavior is 'completely expected' as a 'controlled' response from a rape victim. The doctor then talked about how to handle it correctly. Yamamoto listened in close, all the while not letting go of Gokudera's hand.
I promise... I swear, this time I won't fail you.
...
But Yamamoto had been making a lot of promises lately, and he wasn't becoming known for keeping any of them.
A/N: Let's not beat around the bush... this update was way too slow. And maybe not even worth the wait – because this one was filled with stack-loads of depressing dumplings. :/ WHERE IS THE FLUFF? WHERE DID IT ALL GO?
As a fellow fic-reader, I empathize completely with your frustrations, and I do apologize. But please understand that I only update chapters when I believe they are worth reading. I refuse to feed you guys crap I didn't give my full effort into. I do try to make up for lost time with longer chapters. It's just... harder to write parts like this. Parts where the lovely characters aren't flirting and teasing and making eyes at each other... I really do miss writing that. (Although it was rather satisfying to have Kyouya smack Kaien in the face once in a while.)
But hey, guess what, FLUFF WILL RETURN! YAOI WILL RETURN! Soon. I promise ;)
I will also confess right now to being a bit of a brat. So here's how it works:
Few reviews = SLOW updates.
And by slow, I mean REAL SLOW. Take this update, for instance. Because a reviewed melonnaise is an inspired melonnaise, and an inspired melonnaise can write a chapter in 4 days – an uninspired melonnaise, however, writes a paragraph a week. So if you don't want that again, REVIEW! :D You will also get lots of crazy mad love from me if you do.
Until next time my lovelies! ;D *cuddles*