Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! does not belong to me.
A.N. This is the follow up story to the one-shot, Le soleil, la lune. I hope it is as well liked as that was!
Le soleil
The sun was setting…
Dark eyes observed the descent of Amun Re's glory beneath the horizon. Perhaps it was a trick of the light but a hint of red colored those eyes, ingrained deep within a gaze that seemed almost sinister…but that was just the sunset, wasn't it? The setting sun was painting white cheeks a rosy pink, playing over whiter hair, giving the boy who sat on the edge of the balcony a soft appearance, younger than he truly was, and save for the eyes this boy could pass as something innocent. Something kind. If not for a note of disdain upon porcelain features
He looked over the edge of the apartment building, down flights of floors to the asphalt ground hundreds of feet below. The fading daylight was casting a final rosy glow over the landscape of a city built from the ground to tower ridiculously high over the people who walked on it's gloomy floor, buildings that looked down on the people as if they were merely ants in this "new" world.
Bakura, Spirit of the Ring, scoffed, the derisive sound tearing itself from a pale throat, from a body that didn't truly belong to him. Perhaps they were all ants, useless little insects that lived their pathetic lives each day, dreaming of the dawn when life would mean something more. Idly he thought of that fool, Seto Kaiba. The man had an inferiority complex, housed in his office thousands of feet above the rabble. The memories of serving under Pharaoh had left their mark on that particular soul, this present shell wanting to feel nothing but superior to the very people who made him so powerful by buying his inane and trivial products.
How sad…
But that wasn't why he was watching the sunset, was he? He hadn't the desire to dwell on anything to do with Pharaoh. He had come to see the sun die. He had come to see it settle beneath this horizons view, out of sight to be replaced by the moon, dark and pearlescent, replacing day with night. In the early hours he would return to this spot to watch it reincarnate itself, spring to life just as strongly as it had slipped into death hours before. Like clockwork. In the depths of the Ring's soul room he could sense Ryou was still awake, his conscious mind flitting over his own like overlapping tides. The other was trying to taste the edge of his own mind, seeking knowledge of what he was thinking about. Bakura smiled, lips quirking faintly, watching the remaining rays of the sun sink below the scope of human sight before pulling his legs from the bars of the balcony's railing and standing.
"I'm thinking about you," he said out loud and he could feel the recoil of his lights mind, like a whip snapping back sharply as surprise washed through Ryou's awareness. No doubt he hadn't meant to be caught snooping. Bakura laughed quietly, stepping inside the comfortable apartment Ryou would have shared with his father if he were ever home, closing the sliding door behind him.
It was neat inside, white carpet free of any dirt that might be tracked in by unclean shoes. The coffee table in the middle of the room held a linear stack of his Ryou's school books, and a remote control to the television sat primly beside them, lined to directly face the t.v.'s dark reflective face. To his right was the kitchen, a dirty bowl laying already rinsed out in the sink the only evidence that anyone had recently used it while to his left was the hallway that led to Ryou and his absent father's bedrooms. Bakura turned left, Ryou's sock clothed feet making no sound on the already padded floor. Silently he opened the plain white door to Ryou's room, a slight creak of hinges announcing his presence to the empty space. Ryou may be meticulous about the organization and cleanliness of everything in the quiet home but the squeaky hinge was one of the few things he refused to fix. Bakura frequently told him it was because he was just lazy but in reality he knew his little light didn't like the silent atmosphere quite as much as his so-called "friends" thought he did.
When he possessed control of his body Ryou usually had something on, be it the television, the stereo, he would even hand wash the dishes just to hear the flow of the water. It was so funny sometimes, to think of how different they were. In his past life Bakura's desire for silence had been what had saved his life on more than one occasion. The life of a thief (a master thief, he corrected himself) was not a noisy occupation. And then to be stuck with a host who couldn't survive without some sort of sound assaulting his ears seemed somehow ironic.
It was strange though, how he didn't mind…
"When can I have my body back?"
The soft telepathic voice of his hikari made Bakura sigh, pale hands opening the door to Ryou's closet.
"Not tonight!" he replied. "I've been stuck here for too long, I've given you a break. It's about time I had a turn!"
He could feel Ryou sigh, his conscious retreating back into his soul room, closing the door. Bakura smirked at the action. Little light didn't want him to hear him thinking, hm? Didn't matter. If he wanted to he could invade his other half's soul room but it would mean abandoning possession of the body and he had been telling the truth. He wanted to go out. Being stuck inside this infernal home, dead of anything save for the sad, lonely existence his beloved light lived, was maddening. It was nearly as bad as the imprisonment in the Ring had been. At least the ghosts only haunted his subconscious now, and not every false waking moment he "lived" in the Millennium object.
Pulling a pair of black jeans, turtle neck and long jacket from the row of hanging clothes he changed slowly out of his lights ordinary ensemble of light slacks and horrible sweater vest. Tossing the discarded clothes to the floor for Ryou to pick up later he removed a pair of boots from the closet floor, pulling them on and lacing them up. When he was finished he narcissistically looked at himself in the full-length mirror that hung on the inner door of the closet. Perhaps too much black, he thought idly to himself but didn't bother changing. Black, while truthfully not an ideal color to go unnoticed in, looked good on him and he was not in any rush to deny the fact. At least he didn't have Pharaoh's bizarre fascination with belts. Or Kaiba's love for tacky ankle length white jackets. Ryou had once mentioned it was very early 90's of him and Bakura, while not knowing exactly what he had meant at the time, always thought of the term whenever he saw the other man.
Some impressions just stick.
Continuing his assessment in the mirror he smiled and took a slow deep breath, breathing out just as calmly. And then he smiled, a sharp smile that sang of satisfaction to come, excitement to inspire.
Ah, to be alive…
"Ryou," he said quietly, looking into the mirror and marveling at all the ways they were different. "Don't count on getting your body back any time soon tonight, I plan to have a little fun!"
He felt Ryou shiver is the safety of his soul room and turned in his heal, leaving the room, the apartment, and the building, to blend with the rest of Kaiba's would-be ants.
It was time he felt alive.
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Bakura returned in the early hours of the next morning. The lonely apartment was opened quietly, the dark interior of the empty home absorbing any sound the thief made. Dully he let the keys in his hand drop to the coffee table, expertly weaving his way through the pitch living room, his head bent forward in the appearance of one weary. The squeak of Ryou's bedroom door made Bakura look up, however, thoughts of his sleeping light to attack his mind more strongly then they had been all that night. And he had been doing so well…suppressing them…
Taking off his clothes, peeling them from his body fluidly, Bakura fell to the bed naked, body bouncing lightly on the mattress before settling into the natural curves of the bed. He stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, watching nothing as his lids grew heavy and began to shut. He would be awake again in a few hours, confiscating his other's body briefly to watch the birth of the sun but for now he allowed himself to retreat back into the depths of the Ring. If one watched they would be able to see sharp features soften as the darkness of the Ring released possession of the frail body. They could see as the body shortened, grew softer in the almost light of a pale moon that streamed white light in through the window, muffled by the curtain. They could watch voyeuristically as pale fingers painted with drying splotches of red curled in sleep, and sharp hips soften to smooth into the body of a young 16 year old boy who didn't know what to think of his life.
Ryou would be angry about the blood in the morning. But like always, he would not to say anything.
In the darkness of his soul room now, Bakura grinned at the archaic walls of a time long since dead. Red was the color of love wasn't it?
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A.N. There we go. End of the first chapter! I am nt positive as to where this is going or what I will even write next. My fingers want to write and my brain is just trying to keep up! XDDD
Please review. I love feedback! 333
Thank you to everyone who reviewed Le soleil, la lune! It is thanks to you that this story exists!