A REALLY LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE THAT YOU REALLY SHOULD READ:
This community was so kind to me concerning my first-ever Vocaloid fanfic (it's called "Like a Rainbow" and this story is its sequel, so if you haven't read it, you might want to before you read this) that I decided to delve deeper and try to write a full-length story, centering mostly around the relationship between Kaito and Len, but with other Vocaloids included as well.
This is rated T mostly for random bursts of profanity. Sometimes I felt it was necessary to tell the story realistically and dramatically. I've tried my best to refrain from going overboard with it, or using it to make up for bad writing (one of my pet peeves). Please review so that I know you're reading and will continue to write.
I'd like to thank Suki Doll for her especially abundant encouragement on my last Kaito/Len fic, and to all of my dear readers, I present "17"—this is for you. Let me know how you like it and review, okay? I'll try to upload at least one new chapter each week, and they won't always be as short as this one.
Overwhelming heat filled Len Kagamine's face, like a blush but worse because it didn't stop there. He felt it seeping into other parts of his body; something in him loosened as it overtook him completely. His vision blurred and his own knees, pulled close to his chest, became soft blobs of color, along with the rest of his surroundings.
There was no stinging in his eyes, just an aching, hot hole in the center of his chest as he allowed the tears to pool until there grew too many and they spilled from him. He blinked them from myriad blonde eyelashes and the clear liquid streamed over his smooth skin, down the sides of his nose to pool at the tip of his chin.
He leaned his head down to rest it on his knees, not bothering to wipe his face. The heat had condensed itself, aching terribly in the center of his chest, and his breath was coming in little pants. He longed to let himself go and just sob, but knew that if he started he wouldn't be able to stop. It would only make his sides sore and his voice hoarse, and he'd probably attract somebody's attention, anyway. So he breathed in silence, trying not to think about the way his throat felt swollen and the seemingly never-ending sorrow.
Not on my birthday, he thought in despair. Not on what was supposed to be our beginning, the best day of my life . . .
It had been a mistake to allow himself to think of how stupidly hopeful and happy he had been only moments before, for it only magnified his present misery. "Bastard," he whispered, his voice venomous even as he curled in on himself, longing for a tall man with a deceptively serious face to come in silence, drop to his knees and twine his arms gently around his waist . . . talk him through these tears with the rise and fall of the deep, tender tones of his voice. A sob swelled out of him, and he gulped and clenched his mouth shut, weeping bitterly now—and not at Kaito, but at himself! He growled fiercely; how he hated himself for needing that man!