Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh.

Warning: Character death, may contain disturbing themes. Rating will change.

Her Sweetness: Wow, I'm so happy you guys liked it! I got a great turn out and it really made me want to do this more! So, this is for all who enjoyed and reviewed!

— A Few Small Repairs—

Headaches:

I… do dream of Death…

I know.

P-Please… Please help me stop it.

And why would I do that?

W… Why…?

I like it when you dream of me. I like it a lot.

--

His eyelids drifted shut and he turned his head into the table, letting out a small breath before a timid smile graced his lips.

"Oh rain… Rain, I-I want to help you… I need to help you clear this world… t-this disgusting world of everything. I have learned, however… that there are some things rain cannot do… And there are some things that we must work together on…" His small smile turned back to a frown and he lifted his hand to his knee, rubbing it vigorously and anxiously. After a moment, he stood from his chair and walked up to the window, looking out with his never changing, stoic eyes.

The rain had tapered off since his walk home and was now a measly drizzle. But, for him, it was enough. It was always enough just to see rain's smile. That's what he referred to it as. A small smile. When there wasn't much rain, it was a small smile from rain to him and he would always smile back.

But he wasn't smiling now.

"Rain…" He muttered through trembling lips. His voice was low but it rose as he continued to look out of the window and, unknowingly, continued to speak, "Rain, be my partner. I have no idea what I must do but I know that if I follow my motions I won't do anything… I have always been too weak to…"

A clap of thunder in the distance opened his eyes and ears and resounded throughout the house, coming right back to him, holding him in place. Making his body perfectly rigid and still. Making his body a rain droplet on its own accord. For a moment, he stood still and for a moment he was reverted back to his true innocence. Soft chocolate eyes looked up into nothing and he smiled again. That smile took his moment away as he took a step away from the window and then another, smiling as he went out of the small dining room and into another section of the kitchen.

This kitchen was small, but it served for all his needs. Stove, dishwasher, sinks and cupboards. All the necessary appliances for a necessary house. A necessary street. A necessary life.

He crouched down in front of the sink and opened the cabinet below it. Spiders scurried away from the intruding light and pale hands as he reached around for something. Finally finding it, he took out an orange toolbox and used both arms to lift it out, carry it to his kitchen table and plunk it down, shaking the not-so-sturdy wooden table beneath it.

He kicked the chair out of the way and it crashed into his garbage can, knocking the papers that resided inside onto the floor in a scattered mess. He didn't care. He took in a small breath before proceeding to open the latch on the box. It had been a while since he'd seen the contents of this box. The last time was when his father had fixed the heater in the middle of winter. But that was a while ago. His father had always told him not to touch his tools. That they were dangerous. That they could hurt him, hurt someone else.

"It's alright." He muttered to himself as he continued to pry open the box with his forefinger and thumb, "It's alright."

It finally popped open and revealed its contents to him. It wasn't exactly how he'd remembered. The hammer was rather rusty and the screwdriver was even worse. All the same, he picked up that screwdriver, rust and all. He held the yellow and black-striped handle in his hand, felt the weight, the heft of it. It felt rather good.

"Ah…"

The screwdriver fell to the floor.

His hands trembled as he laid them flat on the table's surface and starred back out of the window, eyes shaking slightly in his head. He took in a few quick breaths and cringed, drooping his head and catching his breath before bending down and feeling around the tiled floor for his fallen tool.

He felt it and let his finger tips stroke the tip for a moment before standing with it and placing it back into the toolbox.

"T-That… it hurt… This time, it hurt…" He whispered, wincing as a bit of the pain came back. It slowly crept throughout his mind and swelled around his temples. Jarring him in all lobes of his brain, the pain came back tenfold and he fell to his knees, screaming and holding his head with both hands placed firmly on his ears, elbows elevated and panting heavily.

His eyes widened radically, his chocolate orbs dilating for a moment. He cried out, "I didn't do anything!"

The pain lessened just a bit. Just enough to where he could see shapes form in front of his eyes again. His breathing continued hard as his eyes darted around the room. The screwdriver was by his foot, innocently rolling from side to side, as a result of his episode. His heart sped up as he reached for it, taking it and clutching it to his chest, closing his eyes, he whispered, "I-I… didn't do anything…"

You were about to.

His eyes flew open again. It was him. The one who brought him headaches… The one who spoke to him in dreams. The one whose voice used to calm him when he gave birth to thoughts of destruction and misery. The voice was hot. Very hot and steamy and sounded as if it was always right in his ear, breathing down his neck and even though that voice sometimes offered playful words or information about things that confused him, the voice reminded him of a sweltering and stifling day.

But now all it did was hurt him. Hurt him on the inside, give him headaches, telling him things. Telling him lots of things. They were things that he could control. They were things he could listen to or ignore. But he couldn't ignore the pain from the headaches. He couldn't ignore the pain from the…

"I-I haven't done anything..." He said, now sitting, propped up by the table's leg and still clutching his screwdriver. "Leave."

You know what might happen if I leave.

"Nothing will happen. Leave. Now."

You know what might happen if I leave.

"N-No… I don't…" He fought the dull throbs left as he found the strength to rise and stand up, back facing down at his toolbox. He kept the screwdriver in his hand and reset the chair back in its earlier position. Taking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly. "P-Please, leave… I-I haven't done anything…"

Is something the matter?

"I…" Shaking his head, he turned on his heel, screwdriver clutched firmly in both hands and held to the center of his chest. He said no more. Neither did the voice. The heat was gone and, for some reason, the house seemed to cool down.

The door opened in front of him as his hand had turned the knob and his legs carried him down the steps and out into the streets. The rain had stopped now altogether and this annoyed him more than anything at the moment. His friend, his partner, his lover was gone and this was a crucial moment. He needed guidance. He needed something to tell him what he was doing.

What was he doing?

He had opened his father's toolbox, stolen a screwdriver and was out of the house without the protection of his lover. He was exposed to all the others. Because his lover had gone for the time being, all these sickening people had come out and were bouncing around, playing and free-spirited. Unaware. Frighteningly unaware that he was out of his house, had stolen from his father's toolbox, had a screwdriver and felt insecure without his lover to guard him, to blind them all to his presence.

His motions, his footsteps, carried him through the neighborhood of happy children playing on the street, down the road where teenage boys threw footballs on the street and whores stood in open doorways.

He clutched his utensil tighter, wincing at their filthy existence.

'Go away…' He thought, growling under his breath and halting whenever one of them came too close to him. He continued walking and turned again, 'Go away, I can't… I can't stand it… Not anymore… Y-You've polluted this world for so long! All of you have clouded up the earth with your terrible acts and all I want is to be cleansed… All I want is…'

His motions stopped and he looked up at a house. A beautiful, white home. A beautiful, white home with green, springy grass and the clean air moving throughout the open windows on the sides of the house, white curtains blowing and whispering, sounds of grace and happiness.

How do you feel?

"B-Bad…"

He tucked the screwdriver in his back pocket and his motions carried him up the sidewalk and passed the front door. He made his way to the side yard, to one of the open windows. He stopped in his tracks and held his head still for a moment, before turning it rigidly to the side; upon doing so, he witnessed a girl. A girl, in her beautiful home, beautiful room, dancing in front of her mirror. He leant his head on the windowsill quietly, chocolate eyes intensifying with each move she made, scrutinizing her body. Her short, brown hair glistening from sweat, her azure blue eyes starring at her own reflection as she moved.

His beautiful, friendly, horrible, disgusting classmate.

The music she danced to was quiet, coming from a stereo in the corner of the room. But, as quiet as it was, it made him upset, mad, angry. It was a disgusting song, a horrid, sexual song. His eye twitched. He let out a small breath.

She twirled again and stopped on her right foot, starring out of the window with wide, worried and questioning eyes. She starred right out into his eyes and he looked back. He looked at her sadly before hopping up and over the windowsill, landing on the cream colored carpet with his muddy shoes and, turning around slowly to her, he kept his right hand placed on his hip, close to his back pocket.

"R-Ry—!"

"Don't! D-Don't say my name…" He turned his head away, taking another step towards her. She didn't move but flinched as he reached out his hand and moved it to grazing hers very swiftly, her body still immobilized from shock. He smiled, "I-Is it okay if I touch you?"

"… Yes…"

His eyes never left hers as he took her hand in his. Her breathing was still coming fast but she tried to hide it, tried to hold her body and organs and functions still. She opened her opened her mouth as he tightened his grip on her hand and used his other to massage her wrist. Her eyes darted around, "W-What are you doing here? Were you out there long?"

"No…" He smiled again and took a few steps back, never letting her arm go and thus pulling her with him. She parted her pink lips again, to speak, maybe to object, maybe to ask a question, but she parted them and, whatever she was about to say, those words didn't make it out into the air. Instead, a startled yelp came from her throat as she found herself pushed and pinned down onto her bed. He held her arms down and was directly over her, the tips of his pale hair inches away from her face.

She cried out, "What do you think you're doing?"

He nodded, eyes blank and starring down at her. He spoke without realizing it, "I know what I'm doing…" Reaching back with one hand, he felt around and found his screwdriver in his back pocket and slid it up her torso, barely letting it graze her body. The screwdriver made its way to her face, tracing lightly around her eyes and finally making small, delicate, perfect circles around her temples.

"Please, please…" She repeated, her eyes shut tight and quivering beneath him. Tears were streaming down her face as she managed to look him in the eyes, "Please don't, Ry—"

"You're so dirty…"

"Please!"

"I can't help you."

On the rooftop of that beautiful, perfect, sweet home, birds flew away from the power lines and the shingles, having heard a shrill scream that startled them into flying out into the sky. All the rain's signs had faded away and the sky was clearing, a beautiful azure blue. People continued to play outside. Broken laughter. Feigned innocence. Shattered beauty. Echoes throughout the streets and time went on.

The backdoor opened up slowly and a pale form drifted out into the backyard, into the echoes. He lifted his face to the clear, dusty sky, and a twinge of annoyance hit him. His lover was not there to see what he had done. Closing the door carefully behind him, he tucked a bloody, rusty screwdriver into his back pocket. Blotches of crimson stained his school uniform. He sighed as he walked down the street. Just another thing for him to clean.

His eyes remained blank as he starred at the ground, awaiting his motions to carry him away.

How do you feel?

"…"

--

…

Let me ask you something.

…

Do you regret?

… What?

… That's a perfect answer.