A/N: I do not own any of the Vocaloids.

AU. Angst-y plot. I was a bit emotional when I wrote this, so please excuse any overly dramatic writing.

Summary - Len is a teenage boy. On a severely depressing day, he inadvertantly finds the Vocaloids on his computer, and immediately feels a connection. His life starts to spiral out of control, and he becomes dependant on the android's voices, his only lifeline to sanity. But he fixates on the blue Vocaloid most of all...

Kaito/Len. Strictly shonen-ai, in the very end. If you don't support yaoi, I suppose you could squint and just see them as really good friends.

Suicidal themes.

Chapter 1

Today is a new day. Today is not like yesterday. I will not remember yesterday. Yesterday did not happen.

Today is a new day.

I pull the covers down from over my ears, allowing myself to breathe freely once again. The stale air under the blankets had been stifling. I inhale and exhale a few times, in an effort to calm my fraying nerves. My eyes are puffy and red. I don't even need a mirror to see them. I can just tell.

I slide my feet out from under the blankets, rubbing the tiredness from my eyes. I comb my hair down with my fingers. The absurdly blonde locks stick up at angles I didn't even think possible, refusing to tone down in even the slightest bit. Stupid hair.

I yank at a particularly unruly piece, nearly tearing the hair out of my skull. The pain makes me wince. I look around my tiny room, and my eyes fall on a pair of scissors.

Stupid, stupid hair.

I contemplate cutting it all off. My hair, one of the only things people like about me. One of the only things good.

I raise the scissor blades.

But what would people say? Would they be mad? Would they try to make me grow it back? Would they push and shove me, and call me names?

I lower the scissor blades to my throat.

My voice can't grow back. I could punish them, I could take away my dumb singing ability, make it so they never heard me again.

I press the scissors to my soft flesh. The blade is freezing, like ice, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I slowly slide the metal across my skin, tearing a line down porcelin flesh, the sting making my eyes water.

I deserve this.

I'm doing them a favor.

I'm getting rid of myself before they do.

Worthless.

Stupid.

Faggot.

The blade slices open another thin line, deeper. Blood begins to flow freely. I don't even move to catch the liquid, letting it drip to the carpet. Staining it red.

I begin to cry. Heavy, racking sobs, that my entire body surrenders to.

I'm going to die here. In this room. Before they get me. Before the pain gets worse.

I'm going to die.

The inevitable darkness around me seems to fade for a second. A light shines in my face, and I recoil, pain searing through me as my neck jerks backwards and tears the broken skin further. The bleeding is worse. I feel the warmth of the blood going down me. A memory begins to kick in, showing through the light. But this is no warm, inviting sunlight. No, this is a cold and foreboding light, one that makes you want to squeeze your eyes tight and curl up into a ball. It's so bright that I have to squint my eyes, even though I know I'm hallucinating. The memory plays itself, dancing in front of my eyes, toying with my sanity.

My face is shoved into a concrete wall. I hadn't enough time to brace myself, or even turn my head, so my nose dug straight into the hard surface. I could feel it break, it had shattered, I felt like my entire head had exploded open and spilled to the floor. I heard a deep, throaty laugh, one that made needles run up and down my spine. I grunted and raised my head, trying to catch the blood draining out of my nose, but I felt resistance. His boot was pressed on my back. He put his weight on that foot, and I struggled to breathe. A small noise invaded my ears, clawing at my mind, forcing me to recognize the voice. My old friend stood there, not five feet from where I lay, staring at me with horror and disgust. The boot on my back pressed me further into the ground. I gasped, and my friend shrunk back. I feel pain in the back of my head, so powerful that it tears me from conciousness. My last sight is my friend, glaring at me. His eyes smoulder with hatred. And I didn't blame him. I still don't. What kind of friend allows another friend see his father beat him?

The scissors press deeper, threateningly close to it's goal. I must get to it, my voice, must pull that stupid thing out of my body. Three cuts, each one deeper than the next, line my neck, spilling fresh blood. I start to feel faint. The next cut will do it.

I don't notice as my bedroom door is flung open. I don't hear my mother's scream. I don't react when she runs over, don't react when she tries to shake me awake. I stay in my trance. No one can find me here, in my wonderland. No one will hurt me when I'm dead.

My mother takes the scissors from me, and I'm yanked from my world. I begin to scream, at her, at them, at myself. I tell her to let me die. I feel her palm strike my face, I hear her yell. She says to stop being such a spoiled brat.

Of course. I have a family, a roof over my head, food, clean water... This sadness is unjustified, in so many ways. It still hurts, and the hurt is as real as the fresh cuts to my throat. The pain is there. And it won't go away. I want to die.

My mother takes my scissors. She slams the door, cursing at me. I curl up into a ball. My throat is still bleeding. But it's not enough. The cuts aren't deep enough, and no matter how long I let them go unchecked, I still won't bleed out. I know that. And it hurts, hurts more than the wounds, hurts more than death itself.

A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short. I just needed to publish something, otherwise I never would.

Review, please! This is my very first fan-fic; I need help improving...