A/N: First Gravitation fic. It's a short drabble written impromptu, really.

An unbeta'd, third-person introspection from Shuichi about his abusive relationship with Yuki. The tense switch is intentional.

GRAVITY

He knows.

It was that feeling of nearly baseless attraction. Heady, dangerous, borne from childish insults and wounded pride… But at the same time, it was addictive.

Like the drag of a cigarette. Sweet. Fatal.

He wasn't that stupid, no matter how much Yuki said so or how much his coworkers joked. He'd been used—the entertainment business being as dirty as it was those days—and he knew when he was being treated badly. In their relationship, though he may not have been able to distinguish the exact landmarks where the infatuation ebbed into the hurt, or for what reasons, Shuichi knew it was there and knew it wasn't a good thing. The problem wasn't so much his ignorance.

It was a question of his willpower.

More than a few times, it had occurred to him that he deserved better or that he didn't need to feel the way he did. But it always seemed to be pushed out by that voice—the low, sultry tone in those rare moments of affection (or quite possibly, the voice of his own addiction)—which said, even if not implicitly stated,

"Perhaps he'll change for me if I love him enough."

And he'd stay, again and again, knowing all too well the risks.

He knows.

Even now as his cheek burns with a burgeoning bruise, and he looks blearily into the story of those hardened eyes; even as his chest aches when Yuki can only be standoffish; even as he hears cruel words meant to widen the distance, Shuichi waits. He waits for the realization to hit Yuki, the reluctant apology, the kiss…

No one needs to tell him he's wrong to think it's all worth it. He's just stopped fighting gravity. Hiroshi often warns him that he's falling and it might be the end of him, but Shuichi tells him to save his breath.

Because he already knows.