Disclaimer: I do not own Angel, or any of it's characters.


A/N: I know this is a really, really short chapter, but it's just to get things started off. And yeah… I don't know if you noticed but if you did and you were wondering… yes, both stories were named after Tokio Hotel songs. They just seemed to fit both stories so well…


"Pink ribbon scars, that never forget… I've tried so hard to cleanse these regrets… My angel wings are bruised and restrained. My belly stings…"

-Today by Smashing Pumpkins


Blue… Connor hated blue. The walls were blue. He supposed they were meant to resemble the sky, but Connor knew they didn't. He laid there most days gazing at the ceiling, trying to keep his eyes off of the dingy blue walls that he loathed so much. His father didn't pick out the color. Although… Connor wasn't sure if his dad knew that he hated blue. They were painted that pale color long before his father ever purchased this place… Place, hotel, house… Home? Maybe… He wasn't sure yet.

Blue…

The ocean looked blue sometimes… Connor shivered at the thought. But mostly it was black… Black and it was dark… So dark, and it was cold. So very cold… He remembered sinking underneath its icy depths. His lungs filling with water, his throat burning… Suffocating…

He still felt like he was suffocating long after his father pulled him out of what would have been his early grave. Things were getting better, but today… He was alone. And whenever he was alone he plummeted right back into that chilling water. When he was alone, he was drowning… Only this time it wasn't the ocean he was drowning in. It was life.

Life, he thought was killing him. The only time it wasn't was when his father was with him. His father… His father who loved him, who took care of him… His father that saved his life. His father… The only reason he continued to live. He couldn't hurt Angel. Wouldn't allow himself to. If he died, he knew, Angel couldn't handle it. Couldn't live with it… With the guilt that he would surely pin on himself, all the while knowing full well, that if Connor took his own life, it wouldn't be because of Angel. No… He was the one he breathed for. Not for anyone else.

Months had gone by since that fateful night. A night that changed everything. He wanted to die, and he was going to. Nobody wanted him, nobody loved him, or so he thought. But he now knew Angel loved him, but he also knew that he didn't deserve that love. And although he wanted it, he found himself pushing it away sometimes.

But Angel was gone today…

Gone…

He would come back, but that still didn't change the ache Connor felt as he stood over the bathroom sink, hollow tears in his eyes… His blue eyes…

Blue…

Connor had blue walls, blue eyes, and now blood red wrists… A razor lay stained in the sink, forgotten. But only for a little while, for it would be used once again as soon as he was left all by his lonesome.

Alone… It hurt to be alone. It hurt so much, and nobody even knew how much it did hurt Connor, for his slit wrists would always heal before anyone ever saw.

And the blood… Well it would simply wash away… flushed out through sink, down the drain, and into the sewer. The sewer where his father traveled, but never seemed to figure out why the dark and filthy tunnels smelled like his child's blood.

He'd done this a hundred times… Maybe more… It was always the same. Even in Quor'toth only there, when he did it his fath- no. He knew. And he didn't care. He never did.

Connor gripped the sink, as more blood flowed from his pale flesh. He felt better now. Calm. Relief. Peace… Letting all his pain escape through a few simple cuts. Cuts that no one would ever notice. He wouldn't let them.

Inhaling deeply, he could smell it, could almost taste it. The iron. Slowly stripping himself of his clothing, he turned on the shower.

Stepping inside, he turned the hot water as high as the knob would allow of him. Steam was everywhere. Letting the scorching water wash over his face like rain, Connor cried. As he always did on days like this one. He had good ones, sure. But today, today was one of the awful ones, felt like worse than the last one. His good days stayed the same, but his bad ones, they just seemed to be getting worse, and worse. And he wasn't sure what to do about it, so he did the only thing he knew how. And even that didn't last as long as it used to…

He felt dirty, so filthy… He was a sinner, he was a fallen angel, not even that… He was a demon, but he was human… He was nothing, he was something. To Angel he was everything. But Connor, he still didn't know that, not entirely at any rate. Falling to his knees on the shower floor, he cried, and he cried, watching with blurry vision as his blood slithered down the drain, and his once gashes slowly began to scar over, and he knew that all proof of his weakness would surely fade away.

It would vanish, only to resurface on another day… A day like this one…