Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh.
Warning: Character deaths, may contain disturbing themes. Rating will change.
Her Sweetness: Aw! You guys are so nice in your reviews I just had to put out another chapter for you sweet little things! Here ya go!
— A Few Small Repairs—
The Second I Sleep:
It's really quiet here…
It's been this way forever.
I've… never heard silence before.
Then you've been deprived.
… Deprived of what?
Of a different shade of me.
--
He'd walked passed them all without one stare or question or accusation. They were blind. Blind to what had just happened right under their own noses. Right in front of them. Blind to violence, blind to hatred, blind to something wonderfully horrible. He'd walked down streets and roads. Walked in front of people, and between them as they stood and leant against gates, speaking, kissing, loving.
He'd gone home.
The mud on his shoes was dry as he'd been out in the dreadful sun. He kicked them off as he entered his home and immediately began taking off the top half of his uniform, carrying the shirt in his arm and up the stairs.
'Disgusting…' he thought as he entered the bathroom and threw the shirt down on the closed toilet lid. After being with her, after being painted in her dirty fluids, after having her scream and flail on him, he felt dirty. And with his lover no where to be found, he was going to have to clean himself.
As he turned on the faucet to the marble-covered tub, he half smiled to himself. It used to be, that when it would rain, he'd sneak out into the backyard and strip down to nothing but pure, milky skin and let the rain wash over every inch of his body. He would hide nothing from his lover and rejoice when the cold water would run down his spine and over his chest, making him shiver and gasp at each touch and each caress that only they shared. His father never understood. He caught him out there once and lost his temper, banishing him to his room for the day and forbad him to go out in the rain again.
But nothing could keep them apart.
He suspected that's why his father was gone so often, calling and making excuses how his expeditions were always on the verge of breakthroughs and he wouldn't be home for another week. Or two. Or three. Numbers grew, time went on and checks came to pay for the mortgage and bills and plenty of pocket money. He wasn't coming back.
And he didn't object; didn't care. It was just as well. He could now enjoy the rain's pleasures whenever and however he wanted. And, now that he was older and alone, he could enjoy his lover's touches and strokes in more graphic ways.
His clothes were off now, his pants were on the floor and he slid one frail, pretty leg into the warm water, hissing from the intensity of the heated bath, but getting over it very quickly and placing himself in all the way. When he sat down on one of the edges in the bath, he slid his legs even further and let the water cover him until it was up to the base of his elegant neck.
His eyes were blank for a moment before they seemed to wander by themselves over to the floor where his pants lay, blotches were tinged in blood's color and so was his shirt. Out of the back pocket of the pants was his screwdriver.
He smiled.
His screwdriver.
It sounded nice.
Reaching out a little and spilling a little bathwater, he grabbed his screwdriver and pulled it back into the tub with him, smiling delicately at it, as if it were a small child that he'd found on the street, crying. He stroked its head and chipped off a piece of rust with his fingernail, stopping when a dull pulse in his head made itself known.
He winced and almost dropped the screwdriver, but held onto it faithfully. He answered the dull knocking in the corridors of his mind, "… Why do you do this…?"
The same reason you do.
"… Once again, you're not making sense." A hint of aggravation hit him. He turned his head to face the wall and held the screwdriver to his chest, leaning his head into it. "I'm not interested in anything you have to say…"
… You've grown quite attached to that tool you have there. The low sound of a chuckle echoed in his mind and he grew red in the face, holding his tool closer. Mind if I ask why?
"I-I am… not attached!" He countered, shouting and splashing the water as he turned his head and the rest of his body.
Do you feel good about what you've done? Does it make you feel good to kill?
"… It doesn't feel… good…" He answered, letting his hand with the screwdriver drop into the water and feel around for a rag or sponge, "But at least… at least it feels…"
Do you know what I think? I think you like it. I think it does feel good, makes you feel warm. Do you know what else I think? I think it turns you on like crazy. Is that it, sugar? Did killing that girl, taking her life, make you feel closer to your 'lover'?
He took in a sharp breath and he shouted, "Shut up! Shut up, you know nothing about me!"
Enjoy that feeling, sugar. It won't last forever.
Rage and impatience growing inside him, he held the rag he'd found between both of his hands tightly and it threatened to tear in two. He waited for a moment, trying to hear any smart remarks from the voice but there were none. And his headache was gone. He must've left for a while, which was good because he wasn't sure how much more he could've taken.
He looked to the side, out of the window that was almost directly overhead of the tub. It was turning out to be a clear night and there wasn't any indication that it would rain in the middle of the night, tomorrow or even the day after. Just thinking about it made him fight back tears. He wanted, needed to feel the passion-filled droplets on his skin again and swallowed hard, feeling backwards to the faucet and pulling up the small lever above it.
Suddenly the showerhead began to spray water down into the tub. He unplugged the drain and let the tub water go down to leave him with the new drops raining down on his body. A shy smirk graced his lips as he leant back and let the rain fall, sliding his hand down his chest and stomach, teeth chewing on pink-tinted lips and eyes rolling back in his head all the way down.
Fifteen minutes passed before the bathroom door was nudged open and he came halfway stumbling out with a blue and white towel wrapped around his slender hips and dirty, bloody clothes in his arms. His motions were taking him downstairs and he threw the garments in the washer, turning it on and hoping they'd be ready in time for school the next morning. But if they weren't… he doubted he'd care. The thought of going to that awful place in a uniform covered in their most beloved pupil's blood brought a smile to his lips.
As he was preparing to go to his room and ready himself for bed, a few thuds echoed throughout the living room. He turned his head towards the front door and, without thinking about it, went and opened the door.
His breath caught in his throat for a moment at the tan-skinned, blonde god who stood on the porch, looking back at him as the door opened fully. As only seconds passed, purple, mystic orbs met two deep, brown and the silence was broken by the god.
"Ry—"
"You're here awful late…" He said rather quickly, though the edginess in his voice went unnoticed. He tilted his head to the side as this person looked down to his towel which was slipping slowly down his side. He pulled it up with one hand and feigned a small chuckle, "Um, d-did you want to come in…?"
"No, no, I… I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"… Okay?"
The god jerked his head up, "Didn't you hear the sirens? From the police cars? They're just down the street; you can hear them all over the neighborhood."
He shook his head timidly, "I didn't hear anything."
"Well… that girl down the street… Tea. Her mom found her on her bed with a hole going straight through her head; the whole room was bloody and…" He motioned towards the street, "Everyone's been worried and scarred because they don't know who did it. They think the guy's on the loose in the neighborhood and I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"So, you think you'll be alright?"
A shadow passed over his face and his left foot shifted backward on the grey carpet. He nodded and held up his falling towel again. "Yes, I'll be fine, please don't worry about me." He finished his sentence with the definition of innocent smiles, his brown eyes shining under the blinking porch light.
"… Good. I'll see you later, then." Blonde hair swung behind him as he bounded down the steps and walked down the sidewalk, towards his own home, only looking back once to see him shut the door.
After closing his portal to the outside world, he shivered and went upstairs. He hadn't seen that god in a while, maybe a week or so and to have him just knock on his door like that was unexpected. He was the only one of his 'friends' that he'd ever even opened up to. That he'd ever gone outside his motions with. Everyone else saw a friendly, beautiful face and said hello every now and again. Did that make them companions worth having?
The god was different, he understood and he had motions too. Not a day went by in all his thinking did he ever once consider the god to be filthy or tainted like all the rest. He was pure, he was. He was the only one. But as wonderful as he thought the god was, he'd lied to him. He'd lied to him in a motion.
Motions happened then. He put on pajamas. Brushed his teeth. Turned out the light. And got into bed. Covers swirling around him tightly as he continued to scoot closer to the wall and stare out at his room with darkening eyes.
Sleeping was always an ordeal for him. Always. Because when he went to sleep a deep void consumed him and he could hear nothing, see nothing, touch nothing. But he felt something. Instead of his wonderful lover calming him and singing him into purity, he felt hot and smothered. The darkness itself was scorching. When it felt as if he wouldn't survive it for much longer the swelling heat let up and he would feel two hands on his back as he sat in the middle of darkness, sweating and panting.
Those two hands stayed in place all while the voice of darkness spoke to him. Told him many things. And he couldn't shake away from a feeling of two hands planted firmly on his upper back while a sultry, feverish voice whispered things in his ear late at night when all else was peaceful and he was to endure hell.
He closed his eyes and waited for the sounds of his lover. They never came.
--
I want to know… I want to know what Death is. Who you are.
I am Death. I cannot make it any easier for you than that sentence. I am Death.
Does that mean you're hatred? Lies? Deceit?
Those are all shaded of me, sugar, just shades.
You keep saying that, but what are shades?
… You happen to be a shade.