First off, I want to say that I love you all. I know this is almost customary and a bunch of crap when people say this, but you've made me so happy my grin was slipping off my face. Hope you didn't mind the vast amount of emo last chapter, I was abusing my keyboard.
I wish I can expect that again, but it's your choice if you have something to say. Insert wink smiley here because is retarded.
Wash me away;
Bakura had a penny on him.
It wasn't his. It was Ryou's, slightly rotted as he'd found it under the dust of the dresser. It's not a souvenir, he told himself, it's for luck. If he ran out of coins in his pocket, he would use it as a last saving and he wouldn't be so lucky anymore. But that was okay, he thought. Luck won't kill people.
Bakura still knew the way home. He hasn't yet walked far enough, because he knew that Ryou would only look so far to find him, if just for looks. It was ridiculous; he wanted to leave and get lost and never see Ryou again, he wanted to be good at lying to himself but just the thought of never going back made his heart clench. He didn't want to be so emotional and miss someone who'd be glad he was missing, but the rain was pattering hard and Bakura could feel the drops rolling under his hood and onto his cheeks.
He looked up into the sky, but all was perfectly quiet.
An hour later, when it did actually rain, Bakura was still walking around aimlessly. He was starting to shiver with cold, and he stuck his hands inside the pockets of his sweater. There were still shops open, but Bakura didn't want to go in—Ryou wouldn't take the time. He was already unsure if Ryou would take the time at all, but thinking back home, he realized that Ryou would still be asleep. The rain was growing harder, and Bakura knew he couldn't last. Growling, he gave a sharp turn into the narrow space between two shops until all he could see was a thin strip of sky.
Bakura didn't count the time that has passed. Soon, the shops had closed, and all there was left were the dimming streetlights and the occasional car zooming by quickly. Ryou's eyes were blind to the darkness, and in turn, so were his; his hands were pale and weak. A few hours of being in the rain had left him a sick, dying mess, and suddenly with unbelievable selflessness, he wished Ryou wouldn't come. He knew Ryou fared only as well as he could, maybe even worse. He didn't want his light to get sick—even if Ryou wasn't his anymore.
In the morning, Yugi will go and take care of him. Even though staring at Ryou was his job, he was going to get hypothermia and he was going to die. He knew he didn't have a choice, because this way it was better and sacrifices were always made to please the superior. Ryou was beautiful and beautiful and he made Bakura feel pathetic. But Bakura was pathetic, and that was it.
It was late, late into midnight, perhaps past. The street lamps were flickering; Bakura's knees were weak from staying in a crouch so long, but if he stood he wasn't sure if he could walk.
There was a loud screech of wheels. Bakura jumped from his spot, staring frantically out the safety of the alleyway—
The car swayed towards him.
"Fuck!" Bakura yelled, immediately jumping out of the way. The car did not come anymore near him, but it wavered off and on the road. Bakura stepped back, frozen—it showered him with mud and jagged pebbles. Bakura barely avoided eating some of it.
When the car disappeared off the distance, Bakura stood there for a moment before slowly walking back, his mind racing towards a blank. His heart thumped loudly in his chest; his head, tilted downwards, hit the wall first. His breaths came out visible, and behind him he could hear it raining.
Something in his throat caught, and before he knew it he was trembling. It didn't occur to him until now that he could've died, been hit by some faceless driver and been killed. He could feel himself being crushed—his bones, his flesh, his lungs—and suddenly, his throat and his stomach constricted all at once. Ryou wasn't there to save him, and he probably wouldn't have. No one else knew he was there, and if he was lucky enough to show up on the news next day Ryou would change the channel. Everyone else might be pitying, but they'd go back to chatting with their friends on the phone or eating dinner with their family, laughing and joking with each other like Ryou and Yugi would be once the scene had passed.
It never occurred to him just how utterly alone he was.
His stomach was throbbing, and suddenly it hurt just to stand. He dropped to his knees and he could hear his own breaths because he was choking on them. The rain was too far from him for him to blame the tears on this time—he didn't want to be crying like this, but slowly he could feel himself letting go because being like this was exactly how Ryou expected him to be. Weak and crying as the last lamp flickered off.
He sat against the wall with his arms around his stomach, hair and clothing wet and sticky from mud. In midst of the pebbles he'd pocketed when the car almost hit him, he felt the smooth edge of a coin.
He retracted his hand immediately. The reminder of it burned into his flesh, and quickly he clutches his hand, seeing nothing but flawless skin.
It was ten minutes later when Bakura looked up again. Strands stuck to the sides of his face, and he could taste the longer ones in his mouth. I'd like to taste Ryou's hair sometime…
He wanted to, but he was going to get sick to a disease and he was going to die.
He was exhausted. All of a sudden, he felt anger bubbling from inside his throat, and with renewed energy he spit out the strands. Clawing at his face, he got rid of what still stuck on it, and suddenly he found he couldn't stop. He felt his nails digging painfully into his cheeks, but they sank in and the pressure wasn't enough. One hand flew to get a grip of his arm, both shaking and hurting and feeling so good all at once. He heard an almost silent cling in his pocket, and briefly a name flashed across his mind.
I have to get rid of this.
Ignoring the burning sensation, he clutched the penny again. Without another thought he brought his arm backwards, preparing to chuck it off into the distance—the muscles tremble, then falter. He dropped the penny with a silent cling, and he closed his eyes he could watch it flow down the stream and fall into the drain.
He wanted to sleep. "Good luck," he whispered, then laughed.
-
When he opened his eyes again, it was not yet morning. He felt incredibly tired, and was just about to sleep when he felt the slightest of a touch at the side of his shoulder.
On it, was a fly. Suddenly awake, he punched it—it landed beside his foot. If Ryou was here, he would—
He could feel footsteps. He could feel eyes watching him, and he whirled around only to see a cat—an excuse of one, a shaking ball of fur. Bakura turn his attention back to the fly. He squishes it with his bare hands.
The feeling of its insides beneath his fingertips went unregistered to the numbness he only then realize he had. The only sense that he has left is probably sight, he mused—to watch its blood splash up his arm, only to be washed away by the pouring rain that managed to come down from that thin strip of sky. A wriggling leg under his nails stayed there for a few more seconds before disappearing along with the flood.
The cat was still there. It strode unsteadily towards him, staring—glaring?—with piercing eyes on a shivering frame.
Bakura managed a psychotic grin, lifting his hand to flip it off. The cat took this as an invitation and sauntered towards him.
Bakura hissed and inches away; a weak, pitiful sound ripping from his burning throat. "I killed a fly," he told the animal. "It's dead right beside me." He raised his fingers, clean and shaking with cold and not guilt, to its eyes. After a short moment, it turns away and walks on.
Bakura laughs, puffs of breath visible in the cold. He hasn't laughed for hours—it hurts both his throat and the dying thump in his chest.
Bakura shivered. His teeth were clattering, and inside the pockets of his sweater there were only pebbles to scratch at his hand. Shaking, he lifted his hood, fingers now completely numb—when it put it over his head messily, he could see that the sky was significantly brighter. The rain should've stopped by now.
"F-fuck," Bakura declared, just to try talking. He didn't realize that he was actually going to die here, in a corner, with no one knowing and not even someone to laugh as a last sound to his ears. "…Fuck," he repeated, louder. His tongue felt twisted and jumbled and he couldn't understand what he was saying himself. After a third try at speech, he cracked his head against the wall.
Ryou's penny lied near the drain—a rotting, useless cylinder of bronze.
-
It had stopped raining hours ago. Bakura laid there, more unconscious than asleep. He awoke only a few moments later, the glaring sun shinning happily strait into his eyes.
He groaned as he sat up; he ached all over, even his eyes, and without looking into the puddle before him he knew that he didn't exactly look that well either. He can almost hear the gods laughing at him.
"Not funny," he growled—tried to, but no words came out. The gods laughed harder.
A few minutes later, when Bakura's mind cleared, he started to realize that he was a complete idiot.
Whatever chance he might have had with Ryou was surely gone now. He needed to go back, to apologize, and Ryou wouldn't care if he'd done anything wrong just as long as he said sorry for it. Bakura would say sorry and say it a million times over, just to get Ryou to smile.
With some reluctance, he stumbled into a store. It was early in the morning—there was a person with a nametag and uniform, staring at him oddly as they adjusted the displays.
"…May I help you, sir?"
Bakura took a breath. "Which way is the way to Domino High?"
-
Bakura felt bad, not knowing the name of the street Ryou was living in. He merely knew the direction from his school, having been there several times just to admire him through the windows.
Turning left, he could almost see the house. His stomach felt empty and his head felt extremely light, but at least he wasn't shivering. The house came closer and closer into view, and he felt a deep sense of relieve. Home, he thought, knowing that he was wrong but too thankful to dwell on it.
There were a few stares from neighbors, ones that did not recognize him as anyone other than another child off the streets. Bakura ignored them fully because Ryou's house was straight in front of him and all he had to do was take a few more steps.
His head felt lighter and lighter. He started shaking again, and for a moment he stilled. Only a few more steps and he'd be home…
His heart didn't race. He breathed heavily, and his eyes were half lidded even though he wanted to take in the whole sight of the building, of Ryou standing alarmed at the doorway.
He took one more step forward—then he fell.
Wash me away
I think the 'fuck' threw everyone off since it came out of no where, but so did the car. This word is my reaction to everything so I couldn't think of a better one for Bakura.
I felt a bit queasy about that "utterly alone" part since I usually don't put it that blunt, so I hope it worked. Probably a bit too dramatic…possibly will change it once I find out how to, unless you're all okay with that.
Sorry if this chapter does really seem to connect—parts of it were from another fic in screen writing that I've never put up due to it not working. I want to use it desperately though, so I tried to put some of it in here.
I hope everyone understood the pseudo cliffhanger.
AND. I know you all think that the title for this chapter is absolutely stupid, so please help me think of a new one.