fourteen [fic] [KHR]
> fourteen
> mewling
> { KHR, M, mukutsuna, BL}
> { You were fourteen, then, bent backwards over a school desk, when Mukuro had wrapped his hands around your wrists, wrapped his illusions around your mind. [implied rape, kinda pedo? nothing explicit or glamorous] }
> { Proof of how easily I am influenced by doujinshi. Yes, I am aware of how bad this is. And I accept there are probably typos. No, I don't know what possessed me to write this. No, I didn't spend longer than an hour on it.}
i.
You were fourteen, then, bent backwards over a school desk, when Mukuro had wrapped his hands around your wrists, wrapped his illusions around your mind.
Fourteen: you hadn’t the breath to scream.
-
“Who--?!” Gokudera shouts, near tears. “Who did this to you?!”
Hands, fierce on your shoulders, fingertips digging into your flesh (it hurts). But, but he’s shaking, and you can feel it, feel it as it runs down from him to you ‘cause he’s scared and now you’re scared - the lie that trembles on your lip won’t fall out, and the tears you think you should cry don’t come, and the truth is buried, and you don’t want to think, don’t want to remember-
And all you’re able to say is “I’m sorry”, and that’s not right, that’s not what you need to say at all.
-
The pattern of the lights on the ceiling had swum just beyond the gauze of the mirage; you remember that. The sight of your ankles, knobbed, legs thrust in the air above you. They’d been sounds too, dull and disembodied.
His voice? Yeah, echoed against your neck.
-
Yamamoto says revenge, in this casual way, in his casual voice, with a casual swing of a bat.
So, the offer seems casual; but you know Yamamoto, and you know it’s anything but. So shake your head, and tell him no thanks. He’s much stronger, you know - tell him it’s okay, and that you’re okay. Tell him I don’t want you to get hurt.
And when he turns his head away to the place where he once tried to commit suicide, and says softly, “I wouldn’t mind” - tell him that you would.
But this isn’t about peace, is it? It’s about forgetting, and you’re not sure you know the difference anymore.
-
He’d called you Tsuna, smiled and saved you. More than once. And maybe you’d been nice too, ‘cause you couldn’t forget seeing him in that cold and lonely place, so far away from anything and everything. But it’s not - it’s not like you’d ever been close, so you couldn’t understand, you couldn’t understand at all -
Why you’d ended up there, spine ache and curve; hard wood, knock your head.
-
Summer slides over Namimori, sticky and heavy. Dino watches the fade of the bruise on your shoulder, slipping from the gape of your t-shirt.
Here’s the thing, though; he doesn’t say anything. But you can see it in his eyes, he knows, he can tell. Maybe not why, or even who, but Dino’s a smart boy- he’ll figure it out. In fact, he looks almost as if he’s gotten the final clue in some puzzle he’s been trying to solve for weeks now. Maybe he had.
“It’s nothing,” you start, but before you can finish, Dino interrupts (eyes warm, face hard) -
“Don’t carry this all by yourself, Tsuna.”
-
Fingers had curled at the base of your neck (remember?), almost trembled; his lips might have touched your ear. He listened to your heartbeat, you know, while you, drunk on hallucinations, lay there limp.
What was it you were seeing? Did you remember then, Reborn - he’d said, remember, “Don’t ever forget what he did to you”.
Funny thing is, now, you’d give anything to be able to.
-
Dying Will mode, now - power hums through your body; your fingertips burn.
You’re not perfect, you know that; but you’re trying to do your best. And so what, so what if you don’t always get it right? You just, you just want to be stronger.
Power, flares from your hands; raise them now, and don’t forget, don’t lose your conviction.
You want to be strong.
Don’t you?
(the screams: can you hear them?)
-
Mouth paper-dry, your voiceless cry rasped your throat. Legs bent backward; head, knocks the desk. His weight, heavy on your chest, as he leaned on you, over you, into you -
There was blood there, dripping onto the floor.
You were only fourteen.
> mewling
> { KHR, M, mukutsuna, BL}
> { You were fourteen, then, bent backwards over a school desk, when Mukuro had wrapped his hands around your wrists, wrapped his illusions around your mind. [implied rape, kinda pedo? nothing explicit or glamorous] }
> { Proof of how easily I am influenced by doujinshi. Yes, I am aware of how bad this is. And I accept there are probably typos. No, I don't know what possessed me to write this. No, I didn't spend longer than an hour on it.}
i.
You were fourteen, then, bent backwards over a school desk, when Mukuro had wrapped his hands around your wrists, wrapped his illusions around your mind.
Fourteen: you hadn’t the breath to scream.
-
“Who--?!” Gokudera shouts, near tears. “Who did this to you?!”
Hands, fierce on your shoulders, fingertips digging into your flesh (it hurts). But, but he’s shaking, and you can feel it, feel it as it runs down from him to you ‘cause he’s scared and now you’re scared - the lie that trembles on your lip won’t fall out, and the tears you think you should cry don’t come, and the truth is buried, and you don’t want to think, don’t want to remember-
And all you’re able to say is “I’m sorry”, and that’s not right, that’s not what you need to say at all.
-
The pattern of the lights on the ceiling had swum just beyond the gauze of the mirage; you remember that. The sight of your ankles, knobbed, legs thrust in the air above you. They’d been sounds too, dull and disembodied.
His voice? Yeah, echoed against your neck.
-
Yamamoto says revenge, in this casual way, in his casual voice, with a casual swing of a bat.
So, the offer seems casual; but you know Yamamoto, and you know it’s anything but. So shake your head, and tell him no thanks. He’s much stronger, you know - tell him it’s okay, and that you’re okay. Tell him I don’t want you to get hurt.
And when he turns his head away to the place where he once tried to commit suicide, and says softly, “I wouldn’t mind” - tell him that you would.
But this isn’t about peace, is it? It’s about forgetting, and you’re not sure you know the difference anymore.
-
He’d called you Tsuna, smiled and saved you. More than once. And maybe you’d been nice too, ‘cause you couldn’t forget seeing him in that cold and lonely place, so far away from anything and everything. But it’s not - it’s not like you’d ever been close, so you couldn’t understand, you couldn’t understand at all -
Why you’d ended up there, spine ache and curve; hard wood, knock your head.
-
Summer slides over Namimori, sticky and heavy. Dino watches the fade of the bruise on your shoulder, slipping from the gape of your t-shirt.
Here’s the thing, though; he doesn’t say anything. But you can see it in his eyes, he knows, he can tell. Maybe not why, or even who, but Dino’s a smart boy- he’ll figure it out. In fact, he looks almost as if he’s gotten the final clue in some puzzle he’s been trying to solve for weeks now. Maybe he had.
“It’s nothing,” you start, but before you can finish, Dino interrupts (eyes warm, face hard) -
“Don’t carry this all by yourself, Tsuna.”
-
Fingers had curled at the base of your neck (remember?), almost trembled; his lips might have touched your ear. He listened to your heartbeat, you know, while you, drunk on hallucinations, lay there limp.
What was it you were seeing? Did you remember then, Reborn - he’d said, remember, “Don’t ever forget what he did to you”.
Funny thing is, now, you’d give anything to be able to.
-
Dying Will mode, now - power hums through your body; your fingertips burn.
You’re not perfect, you know that; but you’re trying to do your best. And so what, so what if you don’t always get it right? You just, you just want to be stronger.
Power, flares from your hands; raise them now, and don’t forget, don’t lose your conviction.
You want to be strong.
Don’t you?
(the screams: can you hear them?)
-
Mouth paper-dry, your voiceless cry rasped your throat. Legs bent backward; head, knocks the desk. His weight, heavy on your chest, as he leaned on you, over you, into you -
There was blood there, dripping onto the floor.
You were only fourteen.