A/N: Hello, everybody!
Welcome to my first Yu-Gi-Oh! fanfiction!
For those of you who might be expecting another chapter on my Fairy Tail story, I'm terribly sorry. ;^; I've decided to take a few more weeks or so to straighten out, and strengthen the plot, so until that's all figured out, I guess I'll be working on this. So sorry!
Anyhow, I've been getting urges to write Yu-Gi-Oh! for some time now, and I'd plotted this thing out a few months back... so here it is!
Also, another thing to note, when I write with Malik and Marik, well... I guess it's obvious now, but I do use Marik instead of Yami Marik, or Mariku, or, as much as a fan of LittleKuriboh as I am, Melvin. So, since this is Deathshipping, I thought I would let you all know that I do do that. Soyeah.
...I guess I should do a disclaimer also... Yu-Gi-Oh! isn't... and will never be... -holds back a sob- ...mine. ;-;
Believe me, if it was, I'd probably center a movie around Ryou. I'm so obsessed. xD
Anyway, please enjoy the first chapter!
(And if you don't, hey. Leave me a review and tell me what I could fix, yeah?)
I.
"Are you sure you'll be okay, Ryou-kun?" Fretful questions.
"Yes, I'm positive Yugi-san." Faked assurance.
"...okay... if anything happens, call me! Yami and I will come over as fast as we can, right aibou?" Grumbled agreement.
Ryou closed the door, leaving a tired pharaoh to entertain his nervous hikari, who tended to chatter fervently when he was sleep deprived. The locks slid into place with minuscule clicks, and Ryou Bakura sighed deeply, anxious and fearful.
Oh, god. Did he dare turn around? Did he dare to even snatch a glance? Did he dare walk back into his yami's vicious cycle, to pick up the shattered remains and wait for Bakura to return? Wait for the sadistic freak to manipulate his way out of the Shadow Realm. To come back and turn his life into crap again?
There was no questions whether or not he would return. It was as true and as real as the sky was blue, and grass was green. As much as Bakura would slather Ryou's name, repeating over and over that the timid child was worthless and dispensable, he did need Ryou's body. Even though Ryou regretfully did not possess the Ring currently, (He still considered it a gift from his distant father; it was precious.) Bakura was entwined to his soul. He would never leave, at least not permanently.
Ryou winced when he finally peeked. It was horrible.
The albino grimaced as he picked his way through the chaos that was his apartment. Everything was still fairly in the same condition, just strewn everywhere and dirty. Even his cheap and heavy couch had been moved for some ungodly reason. The kitchen was an indescribable mess, and held little to no food. Bakura had definitely utilized his resources.
Holding his breath, the albino entered his room. It was an absolute wreck. At the sight, he felt stinging anger boil up at his other half, fueled by all of the destruction. His only window was bashed in, and his only closet torn and jagged. Dressers and chairs were knocked over, various knick-knacks and accessories spread out in a twisted pattern. His bed was ragged as well, gaping holes and dingy fabrics littered the poor mattress.
Monster World figurenes were scattered everywhere, and the set itself, the one he had spent hours slaving over was in ruin. Ryou clenched his fists. He would have to restock his supplies to fix this! New pieces, more paints, a new table, it was all adding up to an amount of money he couldn't even dream of acquiring!
As Ryou surveyed this all, he sat on the bed, taking calming breathes, feeling stress and sadness balloon. He stared out the shards of his window. How could Bakura do this? He knew his yami wasn't neat and tidy, but this, this! It would take weeks to clean his damage, and by that time, Bakura would probably be back! And Ra knows when Bakura might relinquish control to his hikari again. Ryou groaned, feeling utterly defeated.
He bent over and picked up a blue pen off of the floor, fingering the cap, and staring at it sourly. Usually, at times like these, he would write to Amane... His little angel of a sister would understand. She always did...
Amane! The realization hit him like a speeding truck, and he sprang off the sheets, making a direct bee-line for the closet.
Over the years of writing to his late sister and never actually sending the letters for reasonable circumstances, he had accumulated quite a pile that he kept stored neatly at the very back of his closet. No one was ever suppose to find, read, or know about them, or the special connection to her he felt when writing them.
Ryou stumbled over a few pillows and pushed through the broken door. Panic ignited in his chest as he dug through the piles of garbage, looking for a thin white box. It was nowhere to be seen. His desperation rose as he checked all of the papers, looking for dates, his small, pressed writing, Amane's name, anything that resembled their one-sided bond.
Finally, he found it under an avalanche of shoes. It was battered and smudged and creased, but it still looked like perfection to Ryou. Why did Bakura purchase so many shoes anyway?
Relieved, he gently coaxed the top off, creating a puff of dust. The albino coughed a little, and reached in to pull out one of the letter. However, instead of his rounded a's and loopy l's, sloppy English met his brown gaze.
'Dear Yadonoushi,
It's me. Not your dearest sister.
I found your letters. Thought it would be a waste not to send them.
Don't thank me.'
He sat there, rereading the scrawl, looking for any mistakes. Maybe he had misread? The seconds blended together as he stared down at the slighty crumpled paper. Had it been a few minutes? Or a few hours? Perhaps a whole week had passed? Why wasn't he hungry?
Where was Bakura?
How did he find the letters?
Where were the letters?
Where were the letters he wrote to Amane obsessively? The letters only meant for his eyes, and Amane's. Where were Amane's letters? His hands shook with emotion.
Amane's letters.
In a matter of seconds, Bakura's scrawl was ripped in two. Then into fours, then eighths, sixteenths... Tears snaked down Ryou's cheeks as he destroyed the paper until it was nothing but bits and pieces. Hardly comprehensible. He curled into himself and leaned against the wall, quiet sobs racking his body. What had he ever done to deserve this? What had he ever done?
"What did I do?!" he whispered hoarsely, tentatively reaching out for the box that once held every letter, every word he had poured from his soul to his dead sister.
"I'm so sorry, Amane..." the albino croaked, cradling it, "...I lost our letters..."
Ryou laid there hours, all through the late afternoon until evening approached, bringing a beautiful sunset, streaked with vivid colours of red, purple, and blue, but dulled into murky gray hues in Ryou's world.
He rubbed at his cheeks feeling the scabs of old tears peel away, and stood, unsteady on his stiff limbs. With somber eyes, he placed the box in the only drawer he had and pulled on an unstained jacket. He couldn't bare to stay here and look at the distress his darker half had created in his absence.
Ryou left in a hurry, grabbing a few bills lying around and weaving a scarf tightly around his neck to batter the cold front Domino City was enduring.
Walking had always refreshed him. When Amane had died, he'd picked it up. And later in his life, when the bullies would not stop their torment, he would walk on paths unseen by them, enjoying the crisp sensation that came from a late night stroll. After he had received the ring, it had been harder to get away from what was bothering him most, since it had literally lived inside of him, so to speak. So his habit had decreased monumentally. Now, dejected and depressed and alone, he dragged himself along, failing miserably at getting into the spirit by counting the automobiles that steamed along the roads.
He was at three blues, four reds, and an astounding twelve yellows when a moan coursed through his eardrums. Huh? Ryou turned to see an alleyway obscuring the otherwise bright streets. A green van rushed past. He mentally charted it.
The husky grunt was louder, this time paired with a few slurred curses. Ryou squinted, trying to see whatever was making that noise.
"...Ra... damnit..." it spoke slowly, as if waking from a daze of sorts.
Curiosity powering every step, Ryou inched into the alley, glued to the wall. Adrenaline hyped his senses, making him jumpy. He heard it stir even more, shuffling sounds, indicating it might be on the move. Or on the prowl for it's prey, his mind couldn't help but think.
Was it a monster? His childlike imagination soared ahead of him, masking this mysterious person with fangs and horns and a terrifying ghoulish expression. The albino shook his head. That was ridiculous.
He heard whoever it was struggle some more, then a cry of pain, and a low 'shit' muttered. Then it was still. Ryou took a few more steps, feeling a bit fearful of this obviously cuss-happy person. One more step, then another... another. He ought to have been getting closer by no-
Suddenly, he tripped, and let out a yell, in strange unison with the stranger, as he fell down. Gravel dug into his palms as he caught himself.
"Who are you?" The hostile voice gripped him.
Ryou whipped his head around... and gasped.
Those unmistakable violet eyes, cold, irate, and distant to the very depths. Platinum blonde hair, spiked erratically, as if a tub of gel had fallen on him in his sleep. That umber skin, unattainable for the regular Japanese citizen.
It was Marik.
A/N: Word Count: 1,502 (not including the A/N's)
Dun, dun, duuunnnnnn~! I hope you took as much pleasure reading that last sentence as I did typing it. w
And, yay! Barely made it past 1,500, but I did it!
I know, 1,500 words seems like it'd be a breeze, but it's a mountain for me.
Anyway, like it, dislike it, don't really care about it? Tell me how you feel by clicking that majestic little button!
Thanks for reading!