Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this fanfiction nor do I own the two songs that it was base off. Bubbles and Boomer belong to Craig McCracken. "Bathroom" and "Dripping Insanity" belongs to the GazettE.

Warning! Before you read this, please know that if you have triggers of severe depression or suicidal tendencies, I beg you to turn around and find a better story to read, for I do not want said tendencies to return to you. This story has a suicide theme and if that is a general problem for you, as it is for me, I strongly suggest reading something else.

Everybody else, enjoy. Maybe.

"How could that have happened?"

"How could I have let that happen?"

"How did I not saw that coming?"

"Why didn't I stop it sooner?"

He started at his ceiling remembering the unforgettable scene he saw a time ago and still asking those same questions time and time again.

Another sleepless night befall the young man for the simple fact that he was not tired; which was very strange because he could not remember that last time he had ever slept. He was just so intoxicated by the haunting silence of the room that he once shared that it forced him to stay awake. No matter how many times he sung their song to himself, it only made him feel emptier.

He couldn't sleep ever since he saw her leaning against the white wall and staring down at the red stained, tiled floor. A nightmare that came true. Her eyes were open and asleep.

He stood at the doorway so shattered and broken. He couldn't understand it, all of it, any of it. He felt nothing around him as reality itself crumbled before him and the only thing he could see was her newly extinct body. The life from him was sucked out his body and felt so sick and lightheaded. He didn't blink or uttered a sound.

As he rolled over in the bed, he forced eyes to shut even though he was afraid of waking up alone again. He desperately wanted to forget, in just selfish nonsense, but her scent on the side where she slept entered his nostrils making him scream in agony. He grabbed the pillow and flung it across the bedroom making it crash onto the wall.

His frustration and anger filled his being as he continued to lash about in his apartment breaking everything on sight and contact. He screamed and yelled as he pulled his dirty blonde hair from its roots and slid down against the wall. He put his head between his knees and by the time he was calm, his apartment, like himself, was in shambles.

He pierced the silence with heartbreak as he called her name over and over; the silence was driving him mad and off the deep end. His body moved on its own as he found himself hovering over her once cheerful and bright form. He grabbed her frail shoulders and screamed silently at the lack of warmth. He pulled her body away from the wall and cradled her in his arms. For some reason, he believed if he shared his warmth that she will be once again alive.

Such childish thinking.

He looked down at her lifeless eyes and saw the last remnants loneliness staring back at him.

At that time, he was so ignorant to the world of sorrow and suffering that he once faced. Before they met, he was tormented and broken to the point where he believed that the world could be better without him. He met her when they were at their lowest point and somehow, they both decided to stay for only each other. He was so drunk in his happiness and new revelation that he refused to notice her unstableness.

They knew everything about each other. Their family, friends, school life, jobs, depression, anxiety, all the way down to their way of their minds. If they closed their eyes, they could draw a complete detailed outline of each other's bodies, from the tip of their heads to the ends of their toes, and to their self-harm scars that they craved on their bodies.

He loved her. He adored her. He cherished her.

But it wasn't enough.

He was stupid. He was ignorant. He was blind. So fucking blind that he didn't see her unhappiness caused by the world around them.

The very world he refused to believe.

As her body temperature was washed away, he could see that within those forsaken, pale blue eyes he saw that she had no doubt. Perhaps she wanted it to happen like this and had no regrets for what her actions held. Her clothes, along with his, were stained from the blood that flowed from her arm. Her golden hair was untouched until his bloodied hands caressed each strand.

He lifted her head—in a sad attempt for her to look at him—reality was once again facing him which he found was once again meaningless now. He found no reason to cry for he believed that the tears were now wasted on her.

It was too late.

He was too late.

He could only hate himself.

He could have stopped her because he was the only one who knew but was too weak to do anything about it. She was so lonely before him. If she were alive a little while longer, he could have held her in his arms and filled her with kisses and promises of a better tomorrow. He could've saved her like a hero she desperately needed.

The memories they shared were torn apart one by one as time passed him by and all he could see were her lost eyes staring back at him with no remorse.

"WAS I WRONG?!"

"DON'T WATCH ME WITH THOSE SORROWFUL EYES!"

"TEACH IT…"

"WHERE'S THE TRUTH?!"

Those fading memories he stared into did not make him smile anymore. He watched so closely at her actions, her speaking, the lies she told to only lessen his worry. No matter how large her smiles were or how bright her laughs sounded, she wore a disguise that was able to cloud the emptiness from him. He felt disgusted that she would hide away from him like that, but moreover, he felt so foolish to believing her false intentions.

He should have known.

He, too, had those same feelings of forgotten, so why hadn't he seen it on her?

Didn't he love her?

He started tracing her outline on the wall in her blood as his eyes never left hers. He remembered all the times they spent together; how she was so kind and so motherly to him and only him. She would always care for him and through her motherly kindness, he finally understood what it was like to have a mother. Whenever they would embrace, her warmth would envelop his and he would drink her entire being and leave nothing for one else.

The tears fell from his eyes as the sorrow made a deadly impact to his heart shattering it on contact. He pulled her face to his cheek and felt the frozen skin on his warm cheek. He laughed softly through the tears continuing to pray to whatever cosmic being that this was cruel, sick joke.

As his tears covered her face, he felt as though they were one when he uttered her name for one last promise.

"Bubbles…"

Boomer didn't care if they were all lies and sad excuses. All he wanted now was for her to be by his side, even for one more time. He wanted to hear her heart and be drunk in the happiness of their embrace; even if it was all lies.

Now he believed that this was the proper punishment for witnessing her tortured self and ignoring the right to act. This was his punishment for being so weak.

Boomer found himself not in his bedroom anymore, but the very room where he last saw her. The bathroom. The place where he found her when he returned from work. He could still hear the dripping insanity of the sink as each drop of water fell one by one. Their once clean white tiled floor was ruined by her blood.

He moved to the spot where she last laid and sank to his knees.

He could never recover.

He could never be happy.

He could never forget.

In his last memory of her, Boomer could only stare up at the ceiling as if talking to his beloved.

"Bubbles… I promise to stay in solitude…just as you were."

In case you didn't understand, the flashbacks were in italics and regular print was "present day".

The GazettE are my favorite band of all time and they do a lot of darker themed songs. So using two of my favorite songs and mashing them together, I used Bubbles and Boomer as template to practice how I can deal with writing angst. Its harder than it looks.

Plus, I've noticed that there wasn't a lot of dark BubblesxBoomer fictions around and I'm just twisted like that.

I hope you all enjoyed it. I hope it made you emotional, but not to the point of severe depression. Please no. But I also hope that you all have learned a valuable lesson from this.

Welp, enough goofing off. Back to Brawl I go.

BunnyKoi says: "Your skin isn't paper. Don't cut it."