[ A/N: Hi, Britni here! Since Emi and I are still working on our SolKar roleplay-turned-fanfiction, I figured I would go ahead and put something up (so our page-thing isn't quite so empty and lonely-looking)!

It's short, but I'll try and make the chapters a little longer as I get more into the story. Read on and enjoy!

Pairings: Past Gamzee/Tavros, Gamzee/Karkat, One-sided Sollux/Karkat

Disclaimers: Homestuck and all of its characters belong to Andrew Hussie. I in no way, shape, or form claim ownership of any of them (even though they're awesome). ]

It was dark.

As though every single bit of light had absconded from his hive, shadows spread from every single darkened corner of the room, overtaking his once bright and cheerful living space. The power was out- at least, that's how it would appear. In truth, the light fixtures had all been broken. The shattered remains of light bulbs lay scattered across the floors in every single room, littering the carpet with the glittering shards, when there was sunlight to shine upon them. But clouds overtook the sky, and thunder in the distance promised rain, the sky lightened for only a few instances by a flash of lightning. It cut across the sky like a white knife slitting grey flesh, revealing for that instant the navy blue sky beyond the clouds.

It reminded him of his friend, Equius. The memory made him cringe, and he turned away from the window, shattered outwards by a juggling club weeks before. He shivered as the breeze's icy cold tendrils brushed past his skin and into his hive, allowing themself entry when he had not granted it. The thought angered him, and he drew his fist back turning on the window with a glare, then stopped. He lowered his shaking fist and sighed, turning on his heel and walking away. Powerful as he was, there was no way he could ever defeat the wind.

He slowly made his way through the empty halls and corridors of his hive, looking around at all of the miraculous artwork he'd decorated the space with. Indigo "paint" littered the walls, clown faces and 'honks' written on every available surface. Sticking out of the walls were knives or other such sharp objects, where he had thrown them in a fit of fury. Looking at them now only brought shame, and regret. And guilt.

So much motherfucking guilt.

One spot in particular he would forever avoid. The front entryway to his hive. Steeling his nerve, he forced his feet to move in that direction, down the hallway that he knew led there. Halfway there, though, he stopped. He was close enough to see it. He didn't need to get any closer.

The spots of brown blood on the welcome mat.

"Tavros..." a voice whispered, dull and empty-sounding, coming from a face with no expression. Like a blank mask. Or... no. The mask was gone, for the moment. That's why it was so expressionless. So empty. A choked sound escaped his throat, and he stumbled into the nutrition block, over to the sink. His nutrition sac heaved and his throat lurched as he retched, but nothing came of it. Nothing had for the past week. He had long lost the desire to eat anything, since all it usually resulted in was making him sick anyhow. Shakily, he ran water through the sink, washing away something that was never there in the first place, and made his way up the stairs. His respite block had an attached hygiene block, which he made sure to use on a daily basis, at least. It wasn't that he ever went out and got that dirty, or that he gave a shit about his personal hygiene at this point. You don't tend to care about things like that when you're not bothering to eat or drink.

He did so because he felt compelled to wash the blood away.

It wasn't as though there was really anything there. His hands were the same grey as they had always been, perfectly clean. Whenever he looked down at them, though, he saw differently. Coated in a rainbow of hues, his fingers felt slick with blood, the substance dripping half-congealed from his palms. Whenever he looked at his reflection, he saw the same. Blood pouring from his eyes and ears, and dripping from his fangs. It wasn't real, but to him it was. This was the reality he'd grown accustomed to.

He peeled off his shirt, growling as they came un-stuck from cuts and wounds along his torso, tearing off the scabbed-over skin and making them bleed anew. They went ignored, though, as did the ones on his legs when his pants came off, next. Both were dropped onto the floor, forgotten, as he stepped into the abulation trap. The water was turned on, and he hissed as the first sprays of cold water hit his flesh. It took only a few moments before it began to warm, and soon enough the water was spraying out at near-scalding temperatures. It burned in his wounds, and he watched as the streams of indigo were washed away, vanishing into the drain beneath his feet. 'So much blood...' His head spun, and he had to brace himself against the tile wall as he retched again, eyes and throat burning as what little stomach acid he felt he had left came up.

He was dying. And that was perfectly okay with him.

He took up a washrag and scrubbed at his skin until it was raw and bleeding, soap burning in the open cuts and making his eyes water. He felt a sob working up out of his throat, and he sent his fist into the tile wall of the shower. He didn't deserve to cry, so he didn't allow himself to.

Not after what he'd done- or, nearly done.

Nearly half a sweep now, since he'd locked himself away in isolation. Half a sweep since he had nearly killed his own matesprit. Half a sweep since he had allowed himself any contact with anybody. Half a sweep since he had hurt anyone else. He looked down at his hand, knuckles now cracked and bleeding, and he gave a weary smile. 'At least this way I'm only hurting myself...' He didn't know when it had happened, but he soon found himself leaning against the wall for support, legs shaking. The pain had become nearly too much to bear, and that was when it was time to get out. The water was shut off, and he stumbled out to wrap a towel around his waist. He ignored the drops of water and blood lingering behind him as he headed up to his respite block, ignored the pain as he pulled on a clean pair of pants. The last pair he had that weren't caked in dried blood, or torn to shreds. He tied the drawstring of the black and indigo polka-dot pajama bottoms and noticed that he'd gotten smaller. His ribs and hip bones were visible to a degree, but his blood made sure he was still strong. Even like this, he could still be a threat to somebody.

So he submit himself to his own hell, toiling away the days until his death in the confines of isolation within his own hive. As much as he wanted to be able to scream, and apologize, and cry for the things he'd done, that wouldn't fix anything. "Not a damn thing..." he murmured, before he collapsed onto the floor, lying on his back to stare up at the ceiling. It was painted to resemble the night sky, stars dotting the dark blue canvas. Maybe it was delusional, but he could have sworn he saw them shining. A soft glow of hope in the darkness of the night sky. 'Wonder where my motherfuckin' star is...' he mused, before chuckling bitterly, and closing his eyes. If he were lucky, then he wouldn't reopen them. But he knew better than to expect that. The scars along his arms and littering his torso were proof that he didn't die easily. In his unconsciousness, a single, indigo-tinted droplet fell from his closed eyes and traced down his cheek. A flash of lightning illuminated his broken frame, and as promised, the rain began to fall outside, drowning out his moans of pain and anguish in his sleep-filled state.

[ A/N: And thus ends the first chapter. It could stand alone as a one-shot, but I'm going to give making it a multi-chapter story a try.

Please please PLEASE leave me a review to let me now what you think of it, and if you have any suggestions for my writing and/or characterization. Thank you! ]