Yeah, the next one-shot should be lighter with Ryoma/OC and Ryoma/Jiroh in the mix.

Sorry for this.

Warnings: Self-harm. Language. Drug abuse/use. Language.

Note: Ryoma was undoubtedly taking Ecstasy but people who take the drug tend to either use Heroin or Cocaine for the after feel. Cocaine doesn't have as bad withdrawal symptoms as Heroin so I had to choose Heroin.

Blegh.

Ryoma was dimmer, was what Yukimura realized.

That unpredictable friction, the roaring fire that had attracted them, had died down to a dull spark.

They waited. Ryoma would inevitably stumble in during the middle of the day with unfocused eyes and a hazy expression. And Tezuka or Sanada would take Ryoma upstairs and stay with him until he fell asleep. Fuji would disappear into some part of the world were they did not exist. All of it did not exist. Atobe would make a disparaging comment in hopes that nobody would see how upset it made him. But he could see it. They watched months go by in a pattern of days that felt the same as all the others.

And they waited.

Yukimura was the kind of person to take action. If something was broken he would fix it, not let it stay broken. But this wasn't something he could rip apart and get working again. Ryoma was a human being.

There was no discussing it. By some silent agreement unless Ryoma brought it up (Which he never did) they wouldn't bring it up. It felt untouchable. What could they do? What they could say?

He snuck into Ryoma's room after Tezuka had left to find his lover spread out, limbs hanging over the bed. The younger man was staring at his fingers, fascinated. Then Yukimura's presence was noticed. "Sei. Come lay down with me."

Sometimes when Ryoma was on a particular drug, he's do anything for contact. For a light kiss, for anything. It made him feel dirty whenever he gave in. Like he was taking advantage. But, then, they never said anything about that either.

He rolled unto the bed softly and pulled the younger man closer so he was clutched around him. Yukimura flinched when he felt the sharpness of bones. It was so rare to see him eating anything anymore.

"Why do you do it?" The chances of incoherency were great, but screw statistics. He'd never been fond of Inui or Yanagi's work.

At first, Ryoma just kept playing with his fingers, brushing them together as if he was a newborn baby seeing himself for the first time, then his head turned and he was there. Alive in his own body. Breathing soul into the skin he now seemed to wear because he had no other choice.

Yukimura felt hazel stroking his cheeks like lithe fingers. "It's a nice night."

He sucked the words in, turning to look up at the window where light was streaming though. He almost didn't want to understand. Was it supposed to hurt so much?

When Ryoma finally dozed off after random streaks of conversations, Yukimura cried.

Off- Drugs Ryoma didn't speak. He sat at the table and listened to quiet. And if there was a question, something that had to be more then a yes or no, he stared. Off-Drugs Ryoma couldn't stand the word tennis. His hand would drift absentmindedly to stroke his shoulder, trying to rub away the residue of memories that had never been cleansed.

On- Drugs Ryoma was a child that breathed the air of innocence.

"I don't understand what's wrong with you. You come home and you're like this and I- I can't even hope to comprehend who you are anymore. Don't you care at all?" Atobe's voice was raised, glaring at a Ryoma that had feet on the ground and a head in the sky.

Fuji watched Yukimura hunch over on the couch. Tezuka put a hand on Atobe's shoulders and it was shaken off, exchanging the unspoken chastisement for the chance to leave the room. Sanada went after him. He could already hear the usually rough tone settle into a gentle hush.

Ryoma was shaking, his body flushed. Guilt looked to be seeping itself into his frame like a tea bag into hot water. Wasn't it a little too late for guilt? "I do, though."

Tezuka paused in guiding him to his room. "What?"

"I care."

"I don't think that's enough." Tezuka said slowly, re-adjusting his glasses. It was such a familiar move that he twisted his lips into a smile. Ryoma didn't say anything else before he left. Fuji stared over at Yukimura's slightly buoyant expression and he thought-

But maybe it was a start.

He paid Akutsu a visit. Though, the man had never directly given his lover any thing, he had been the one to introduce him to the state of mind. To the scene. When the door swung open, Fuji pushed the man against the door none to gently. That was, if the wince he was gifted with was any indication.

"I thought this would be a lovely time to have a nice talk. So let's. Don't hang around Ryoma anymore."

Akutsu hissed, trying to shove him back unsuccessfully. There was another groan when he was slammed into the door heavily. "Why? Jealous?"

Fuji shoved his knee into the man's crotch. Hard. He laughed when Akutsu sunk down, rolling in the doorway with a strangled noise. He had the irresistible urge to break some skin, but he reined the bloodlust in and crouched in front of him.

"I have no qualms about your body being found in an alley way somewhere horrifyingly mutilated. But, oddly enough, Ryoma likes you. So don't come near him. And you'd do well to spread that around to certain friends."

"I didn't make the kid take the fucking drugs."

"No. But you didn't care enough to intervene either." Fuji glanced around the apartment, stepping on Akutsu fingers casually in the process. He waved a hand and closed the door behind himself. "Well, take care."

When he got into the car Sanada gave him a searching look, taking in his wide grin. "You didn't kill him, I hope?"

He hadn't had fun like that in such a long time. He sighed and patted his lover's arm then fingered the muscles there appreciatively. Violence made him crave physical contact immensely. Sanada rolled his eyes like he knew what he was thinking, but didn't pull away. "So much to learn. I'm not a murderer. That would take the pleasure out of seeing the person suffer."

Sanada repeated dully, "You didn't kill him, I hope?"

Fuji just laughed.

"Ryoma." He called, walking into his lover's room. Everyone else was out playing tennis. There was soft moan and he stilled and turned back when he realized it was coming from the bathroom down the hall.

There was no bathroom in Ryoma room. The younger man had never done anything, but, that didn't mean they wanted to chance it.

Fuji turned the knob only to find it locked. Worry bloomed and he cleared his throat. "Open the door."

"No."

"So help me God, Ryoma, if you don't open this door-"

He heard the soft click and pushed the door, holding his breath when he saw Ryoma's head lying against the wooden cabinets. His sleeve was rolled up to his elbow and Fuji winced. Tiny slits were weeping blood onto the floor. The knife used was poised in his lover's hand loosely, like he was seconds away from dropping it.

He steadied himself on the counter. Ryoma's eyes weren't dilated. There were no jittery knees, or itchy skin. This was Off-Drugs Ryoma. That made it even more frightening.

"Put it down."

Slowly, the younger man sat the knife down on the floor gingerly and stared at his skin. So captivated. Why was he so captivated? "It hurts."

"Oh," Fuji breathed and he couldn't fathom how he was doing so when there was no oxygen. He wrapped his arms around his lover, being careful of the wounds he could see and the one's he could not. There was a tentative pressure that was returned. "Why would you- Ryoma, why would you?"

Ryoma said it again, his mouth cool against Fuji's neck, "It hurts."

Then, he understood. Pain was feeling. It was living. It was dying. It was being something that existed. He inhaled. The blood smelled like different seasons of hope.

Atobe could hear it. The disgusting sounds of retching. Slight pauses and tiny tunes of encouragement. He could even hear Ryoma throwing back an occasional Fuck you, I'm not a seven year old playing sports for the first time. The rare occurrence of strained laughter if someone told a bad joke. Ryoma said he felt like his insides were dying.

But, for some reason, he didn't seem to mind. Well, as much as you couldn't mind when you were dying from the inside out.

Tezuka was giving him the kind of stare that was usually accompanied by a lecture and he straightened up for it.

"He's doing it for himself."

Atobe nodded. "Yes."

"He's doing it for us, also."

Tezuka flipped the page of his book and didn't speak again. Because that was all he needed to say. It was a smack on the head, a shove toward the right direction. He had been the only one who hadn't taken a turn, when he'd always been the one most vocally upset. Atobe wanted this for Ryoma. But, selfishly, he wanted it for himself more.

He loved them. Every bit of them that was angry and cruel and screwed apart. He found Fuji's penchant for violence insanely attractive. Tezuka's awkward confidence interesting. Yukimura's selflessness awe-inspiring. Sanada's protectiveness hilarious. They were a comforter that he blanketed his body with when no other warmth would do.

But Ryoma was something he coveted, couldn't let go of. Atobe didn't love him more, he needed him more. It was a sentiment he'd learned not to feel guilty about. The rest of his lovers felt the same. He stood up with a sigh and headed to the bathroom.

Atobe watched as Yukimura left with a lingering kiss for both of them. Ryoma was resting on the toilet, shivering violently. He could clearly see the goose bumps running down his arms. The cuts decorated on his wrists were healing over into dark scars.

He was graced with a tiny smirk. It screamed of trying. "Come to see the prince, Monkey King?"

Ryoma couldn't sleep. So they gathered into the kitchen and cooked. Tezuka wouldn't let anybody touch anything without his distinct permission. Fuji made some comment about the former captain being dominant in all aspects of life and Sanada snorted into his cup of tea.

It'd been a little tense, at first, because he'd thrown something out there about playing tennis to keep Ryoma's mind off of things (which meant drugs) and the younger man had snapped. "Yes, because tennis is what everyone going through withdrawal wants to do when their head isn't in the fucking toilet."

But Yukimura had broken it up, strolling through the room with an oblivious, "I'm hungry."

They helped the best that they could with the scary control monster that was Tezuka and ended up getting kicked out when Fuji and Yukimura started a childish food fight. The food turned out as well as could be expected from someone who wasn't a professional. He thoroughly enjoyed throwing the thought out unto the table. Tezuka's tiny bristle was entertaining.

"Why?" He asked Ryoma when it had gotten late enough that everyone was sound asleep. The younger man was having trouble, but he was starting to look exhausted enough to take some rest.

There was no need to ask what he meant. "I just wanted to feel something."

After I stopped playing, was what he didn't say. Atobe pressed a kiss into the flushed forehead. He understood that it wasn't going to be perfect, Ryoma had a drug problem. There was a chance that in the future he'd have to enter some sort of rehab facility if they couldn't shake him of the need on their own. There were circumstances, people, places, he couldn't be exposed to, words that couldn't be said.

Ryoma was a determined person, though. If he wanted to get better, then he would get better. And none of them would stop being there. No matter what.

People forgot; love was a drug, as well.

The original version had Sanada being with Fuji during the rough stuff but it reminded me too much of the gang AU I have in my pile of post-it ideas where Fuji and Ryoma are on one side of the turf and Rikkaidai on the other. I laugh every time I try to write it. Picture Yanagi in a gang.

I cry.