AN: Oh wowww everyone. Tendershipping (What else?) =)
Oh and it's AU (Alternate universe). This fic is pretty deep (or, at least, I hope it is xD), it was written a while ago and recently found and given a spellcheck and stuff, and it was originally gonna be four or five chapters but I made it into an extremely long oneshot.
Italics = Memories
DISCLAIMER:
I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!. I mean no offense to anyone with the theme of this story, and I warn that if you don't like sad fics, I would probably consider not reading this.
Thank you very much, everyone!
Bakura's POV. Kinda. You'll understand. I hope. Read on =)
You watch the sky for a long, long time.
You just lie there on your back, body and limbs sprawled out, resting on the wind-blown, green grass. Your skinny arms are folded behind your head, propping your cranium up the slightest bit. You are alone; for the first time in a long, long time, too. The heavens above are blue and bright, wispy-white clouds rolling along at their own steady, nonstop pace. And, for some Godforsaken reason, you've got a smile on your face.
You blink, once, twice.
The mid-summer breeze blows a sudden gust, and you blow at a strand of your white hair that falls out in front of your eyes. There is nothing, right now, in this moment, but the silence and your thoughts.
Your thoughts.
They churn over and over and over again in your mind, like whirlwind of nonstop memories and `what ifs', of regrets and musings, of love and misery, of idle hope and hopeless longings.
You laugh.
It's bitter, hollow, sarcastic. (Oh, you're so good at the sarcasm, aren't you?)
You're pathetic.
Really, you are.
Suddenly, the hill you're resting on, the little spot dotted in daises and clover and sweet green grass in the south side of the park that no one ever goes to but you doesn't seem so beautiful, anymore. It's not much of a comfort, anymore. In fact, the mere idea of staying there a moment longer makes you so sick to your stomach that you scramble to your feet and don't care that you stagger and sway (from being still so long) and almost topple over before racing clumsily down the bank and back to the more inhabited parts of the park.
The quiet that the small area, the small little space Mother Nature has offered you for the past few weeks is suddenly intoxicating. Disgusting. Nauseating. You know right then and there you will never go back to that small spot; you'll leave its sounds of silence and wildflowers for someone else to be tormented with.
You're suddenly so sick of quiet. Any quiet.
Maybe it's because you've just had so much of it, lately.
Quiet keeps you stuck in your head.
You don't like that.
You sniffle once and bring up your right hand from the steering wheel up to wipe at your nose.
Damn allergies.
Your brown-red-eyed gaze moves to your side as you watch the cars drive past your window. You sigh.
Life hasn't changed a bit, has it?
Well, for the majority of the people in this universe, that is.
Their world goes on, like nothing has happened. Every day's the same; maybe even monotonous. You shudder at that thought. If there's one thing you've learned from all you've been through, it's that nothing should ever be monotonous. Annoying. Frustrating. Taken for granted. Everything should be savored and appreciated because, well, you never know when it could be gone.
You blink again.
The cars fly by you in blurs of red and silver and blue (no one seems to have bright colored cars anymore, nowadays, do they?). You think you hear someone honking at you, to speed up, but you ignore them because they're the ones going 60 on a 40 mile-per-hour back road.
They're the ones who are going to get themselves killed.
You shrug.
Oh, well.
The wheels on the asphalt as you drive are deafening, because it's barely enough to break the silence. And silence is killer.
So finally, you decide to put your mind on something else.
Something besides the monotonous (oh, there's that word, again!), painful sound of the barely-broken quiet. Something besides the thoughts that could, would, should, are inching their ways into your brain.
What day is it?
You blink.
Monday.
Today is Yugi's day.
And Yugi never let him down.
Yugi never disappoints anyone.
Your oh-so-imaginative mind begins to imagine what's probably going on at this very second.
The road and cars around you fade away to a new scene; it's a small back lot, maybe one or two acres at most, bright green and lush for this part of the summer. Big, strong oak trees are hovering over everything, their long branches and wide leaves shadowing the souls that rest beneath. The sun is probably clear, bright, streaming through the oak leaves' canopy as best it can.
It's a graveyard, of course.
You shudder, because, really, even though you're just imagining all this, graveyards were never something you were fond of.
Especially when they held people you cared about.
Now, back to what's really important.
It's Monday, and Yugi's probably brought something blue.
Sure enough, even though you don't know it, you're right on target.
Yugi Mutou slams shut the passenger door to his car, letting out a breath.
It's not an angry breath. Not impatient, not frustrated. Though the situation, in most people's eyes, would most certainly bring about some form of aggravation, Yugi isn't the kind of guy to show it, if it gets to him. He's too…nice. Too compassionate. He knows you too well. He knows that if he were to show the slightest bit of annoyance at having to go and visit every Monday that it would break your heart (except you wouldn't show it), and you'd let Yugi off the hook but keep wallowing in your misery on the inside, slowly you tearing apart bit by bit and, well, you know, Yugi doesn't want that.
Then, of course, there's the simple fact that it's not really that much of a hassle in the first place.
Buy some flowers (which are always the nicest the store has available on every Monday morning, because Yugi's just like that), drive maybe fifteen minutes (tops, with traffic), park your car in an empty parking lot, hike through graves and grass for maybe three minutes, and come to the headstone. Pick up the old flowers that rest there (that really aren't that old), and replace them with the ones you just bought. Maybe smile once, twice, say a word or two, comment on the weather, and then leave.
Yugi's day wasn't interrupted at all by this small act he did.
And, hell, if it helped you feel better, he'd do it.
Because God knows you needed to feel better.
Yugi starts forward after he's locked his car. He starts up from the parking lot to the cemetery, and there's no rusty, creaky gate he has to walk through. It's nothing but a long, green expanse of headstones and memorials in front of him, and he carefully tucks the beautiful, blue-violet hydrangea he bought earlier closer to himself. He avoids looking at the other headstones, the other graves, because for some reason, he's scared of them.
He was always teased for being such a "sissy" when he was younger for looking away whenever he passed or drove by a cemetery. Maybe he was superstitious, or maybe it just gave him the chills for a reason he might never fully understand, but he always felt that by looking at gravestones or walking into a cemetery without a real purpose or taking longer than you need was just disrespectful, was just upsetting souls that were at peace. And Yugi never wanted to upset anyone; he was always the peace-keeper. Whether it was in his family, or whether it was in his friends, Yugi was always the compassionate, level-headed one who was always ready to lend a hand or talk. He was never, ever bothersome.
Finally, after a few minutes of walking, side-stepping graves, with nothing but the sound of his sneakers trudging through un-cut, long green grass, Yugi comes to the spot he wants. He stares at it for a moment, and he admires how well-kept it is. There are never any weeds growing at the tombstone's base, it's a rather nice stone, and it's completely alone in all its glory. It's not squished together with other graves. And, of course, on Monday, there's always the biggest, most beautiful bouquet of multi-colored blooms lying against it.
Though it seems sort of out-of-place to be smiling in a cemetery, especially considering the fact he's normally so uneasy in or around them, a small grin slips across his features. Yugi steps forward, and he bends down, picking up the bouquet that was against the headstone when he arrived and replacing it with his small bundle of hydrangeas. He tucks the "old" flowers under his arms just as carefully as he had the newly-bought ones, because he'll be taking them home and putting them in his kitchen, right where the sun will shine brightly on them and they'll get to live for a week or so more.
He takes a few steps back, and he looks at the grave, now. The gray stone contrasts beautifully with the breathtaking blue of the hydrangea, and he smiles proudly to himself, glad he always chooses that color. It's his favorite.
Clearing his throat, he simply says, "It's a beautiful day. Clear skies, nice breeze, and everything's in bloom. You would have loved it."
And then, he turns around to leave.
You get home, toss your keys onto the table by the door, kick off your shoes, and smile at absolutely nothing.
Your house is so, so empty.
It's depressing, really. It used to be filled with so much fun, so much laughter; it used to hold such a solace, such a meditation for you. But now you're starting to get sick of it.
Yet, you're smiling.
Your outside doesn't reflect your inside, as usual.
You were always afraid to let that happen, because you were always afraid you'd let people get to you. You never wanted how you really felt to show, even though you knew you it did, anyway, because people like Ryou just knew you too well.
Ryou was always OCD about having a clean house, and it annoyed the hell out of you because everything was so perfect, and perfection was `boring' (except when it came to the fact he was `perfect', of course, because that perfection was just perfect).
You take a seat on your white couch, letting out a big, big breath. You feel bad, and you frown, but there's nothing you can do about it. You feel how you feel, and nothing can change that. You've long-since accepted that fact, and you lean your head back, letting a few more memories slip into your mind's eye.
"So they…found something."
He sounded so nonchalant that it really took you by surprise. His tone was that typical of him, of course; he was trying not to make something sound upsetting that needed to be upsetting. He never did like sad, depressing, frustrating things. He always strove to make everything as happy, as carefree, as "smile-worthy" as he could, because that's just who he was, and how he wanted things to be. It annoyed you, sometimes, because it got in the way of reality, a lot, because nothing can be eternally happy like he wanted. Misery and heartbreak were just a part of life. He couldn't side-step all of that in an attempt for an eternally happy, loving world.
He was just a bit too beautiful for this sadistic world, sometimes.
You stopped whatever it was you were doing when he walked in, a frown on your face. You turned around, and you stared at him for a long, long time, and he stared back. You remember the look on his face; it was somewhere between shock, devastation, and "I'm-happy-to-see-you." Finally, you spoke.
"But, you're fine."
You were in denial, of course. There was nothing wrong with him. He had just gone in for a check-up; he was fine. It was a stupid check-up, a `physical' sort of thing. The dark, unnatural bruises that covered his body more and more and the absolute exhaustion he felt were nothing out-of-the-ordinary. He was fine.
He had looked away after your words.
For the first time in a long time, you had seen his face fall. He, all of a sudden, wasn't trying to make things happy. He wasn't trying to side-step whatever he was trying to tell you.
You swallowed hard, and tried to ignore how you felt tears coming on.
Crossing his arms, he looked at you, and his eyes were glistening, too. That just broke your heart even more, and you found yourself repeating,
"Ryou, you're fine."
As if you were truly trying to convince yourself of something you knew was a lie.
He smiled at you, then. That small, beautiful smile that made your heart flutter and your head soar. That true-blue "Ryou Bakura" smile that was filled with real love and real passion and real care.
It was the smile he reserved solely for you.
He tossed his car keys onto the counter, onto a pile of old newspapers and bills that he had put there earlier, because you were both lazy and took forever to pay things even though you most certainly had the money. He shrugged, once, twice, once again trying to make things casual. Probably for your sake, really, rather than his.
At that moment, you had a feeling that for once, you were being the childish one who needed comfort, and Ryou was the one that had accepted the truth, reality, and was ready to deal with it.
He said,
"I'm going in Monday for some more tests."
You said,
"Is salad okay tonight?"
You wake up the next morning, and you realize you slept through the night.
Outside, it's not even light out, yet.
You groan a bit, because your limbs are sore and achy from being still so long, and it's so early, and you're still so groggy. But, you know you couldn't sleep another wink if you tried; you had gotten home at 7-ish that previous evening, and you'd slept until…what time was it? 4:30 AM the next day. You had gotten your required nine hours; you were okay.
You shuffled from your small living room to your small kitchen, preparing a cup of coffee for yourself, your movements zombie-like. As you stand waiting for the coffee to boil, hearing the incessant drip-drip-drop of the liquid as it falls to the small coffee cup, you look outside. You wonder who else is awake at this hour; probably no one. None of your friends have such a strange sleeping schedule as you do; Ryou always hated the fact you stayed up until one or two in the morning and slept in until afternoon one day, and then the next, you'd go to sleep at six or seven in the evening and wake up at four or five the next morning. He always felt like it was so unhealthy for you.
Of course, it was strange. Whenever Ryou was around, whenever you got to sleep right there in the bed beside him, you slept fine. He was a strange, beautiful comfort to you that you could never fully figure out.
And that's when it dawns on you.
It's Tuesday.
You don't know it, but Joey Wheeler is mumbling and grumbling something about it being way too early for him to be out, and yet he's still walking through the cold, early-morning cemetery to get to the grave that Yugi was just at the day before. In his hands, he carefully carries a small bouquet of huge, fragrant, white lilies. He looks around him, because unlike Yugi, he's not scared of these graves. In fact, he feels like the souls want to be looked at; they must get lonely. He's noticed that the other tombstones in this place aren't as well-visited as the one he's on his way to. Sometimes, he stops by the other graves just to smile at them, to look at them, and in some strange way, he thinks they must appreciate it.
He reaches his destination, and without a word, he places the lilies right by Yugi's blue hydrangeas.
He steps back and looks, just as Yugi did before. Except, unlike what Yugi got to see, what Joey is seeing is much more blue. "Blue" in the sense that there's hardly any light out; the sun is just barely starting to rise over the Earth, and the sky is still a shadowy purple-blue, reflecting the icy chill of the morning air the man feels all around him. It's still lovely, though, so quiet and haunting and at rest.
Yet, he finds himself swallowing hard, a frown arising to his face , a sick sort of feeling suddenly twisting around in his gut. He takes a seat, right on the dew-coated grass, pulling his knees to his chest for some warmth and wrapping his arms around them. He sighs, and he just sits there in the silence, for a while.
Sometimes, Joey really thinks life isn't fair.
Everything in his entire world has been turned upside-down. He's lost so much within the last year, and it's all just hit him, hit everyone, like a hurricane. It came, it went, and it left no relief, no comfort, in its wake. Everything fell apart so fast, and everyone's just trying to piece everything together, again. Slowly, surely, everyone's trying to figure everything out.
After all, his job is gone. And, even though money won't be a problem because he has plenty of it stored away, it's still sad that something that was such a huge part of him has just been…yanked away. But, then again, compared to certain other people's situations, his isn't so bad off. And, besides, change, be it good or bad, and problems are a part of life.
Don't want them?
Well, too bad.
Welcome to the human race.
Shaking his head, Joey looks down at the grass, and for a while, he just takes in the still-quite-visibly-green (even though it's not that bright outside) grass below him, feeling the cool soil he sits on, letting a chill run through his body. He should have probably worn something thicker than a simple white t-shirt this morning.
"I'm not even sure why I came out here, you know?"
He speaks, and his voice sounds so out-of-place, so wrong in the quiet, still world. And he's not even going to get an answer. Souls can't speak. But, he still talks anyway, because Joey always felt comfortable talking to him in life so why shouldn't he feel comfortable talking to him in death, too? They were good friends. He always put a smile on Joey's face, and Joey always put a smile on his. They laughed together, made jokes together, and partied together.
Joey really misses that.
He doesn't do much partying anymore, really.
He feels it would be too…inappropriate. Wrong, even.
A few more moments pass, and Joey starts to hear a few birds sing out a few times up in the oak trees that lay around him. He figures dawn is fast approaching. In fact, as he looks ahead of him, he sees a couple of orange rays peeking over the horizon, and he finds himself biting his lower lip. They spill across the grass, across him, across the grave, across the blue of Yugi's hydrangeas and the pure white of his lilies. And Joey looks at the blooms, and he suddenly figures out why he always brings something white.
White is pure. White is perfect. White is untainted, filled with so much hope.
White isn't ruined. White isn't devastation. White isn't having to accept something is over. White isn't his life. White isn't everything he had known for the past three years all of a sudden being yanked out from under him, leaving him hanging by a thread.
He realizes he should probably keep speaking, now, since he already said something, even though it wouldn't really matter because technically, no one's listening. He doesn't care, though. He carries on.
"I just like talking to you, still. You know, even though you can't really talk back."
His voice is loud; he's not even bothering to whisper, for some reason. Why should he? There's no one out to annoy.
"And, I guess I feel like it's easiest to talk with no one else around. When it's really, really quiet. When I know it's just me." He shrugs. "And what better time to do that than…" He glances at his watch. "…4:45AM?"
He laughs, and suddenly, a breeze floats by.
And if Joey didn't know better, he could have sworn he heard someone else laugh, too.
You're idly tapping your fingers against the shopping cart in front of you, scanning the contents of the produce aisle of your local grocery store. You decided you should go shopping, because your fridge at home is getting empty, and you do need to eat, and takeout is getting old. Besides, you figure you should start eating a bit more healthy; pizza and Chinese every night can't be doing much good for you.
Taking a breath in, you grab a couple of cucumbers and onions, tossing them into a thin, plastic bag and placing them in your cart right next to the fruit you just grabbed. Before Ryou, you hated veggies, to be honest. You shunned salads and practically got sick at the thought of eating asparagus or peas or green beans. But, after he moved in, after you had to start changing the contents of your fridge to suit his needs, he started sort of forcing you to eat those sorts of things. Those green, vitamin-filled, crunchy, absolutely atrocious things. And you hated him for it, of course. You would scrunch up your nose and make a face and whine like a three-year-old when he brought broccoli to the table at dinner, and he would just laugh at you, his big, brown eyes lighting up like they did whenever he laughed, and then plop some of the veggies on your plate.
You swallow hard.
Now, you find yourself really enjoying vegetables. Ryou really changed your outlook on that one. You finally got used to them, you suppose. Plus, he showed you some really yummy ways to cook them so they were less `gross' and, instead, were quite delicious.
Ryou changed your outlook on a lot of things, really.
Like, life itself.
"Bakura?"
The voice sounds familiar, at first, but you can't quite pinpoint exactly who it is. Making a curious face, you turn, and you blink once you see who's standing there.
"Dr. Reynolds."
The sixty-something-year-old man blinks back, his warm, blue eyes watching you carefully with a gentle concern, with pity.
Oh, God.
There's the pity, again. You're so sick of it.
His grey hair is neatly styled, as always, and he's wearing a very nice, dark red sweater and a fresh-pressed, clean pair of khaki pants with some shiny, brown shoes. It's weird to see him dressed so casually, because you're so used to seeing him in the white doctor's coat he always wore when you saw him, stethoscope around his neck, and a small, careful smile on his face no matter what the situation. What a coincidence, meeting him here, so casually, in the damn grocery store.
Considering what the situation was the last time you saw him, and all.
Dr. Reynolds's face changes to that cautious-but-sincere smile it always had whenever he seemed to see you, and he nods at your greeting. "Hello, Bakura," he says, his voice even, soft, warm. He's trying not to make this awkward, uncomfortable, upsetting, even though it most certainly has potential to be. "How are you…doing?" He hesitates a bit to ask that, and you don't blame him.
You find yourself smiling back, because, well, Dr. Reynolds shouldn't be blamed for what happened, and he's such a nice, caring, sincere man. "I'm all right, Doctor, thank you," you simply answer, your voice soft, and when he nods, an awkward silence arises.
Neither of you are sure what to say, and Dr. Reynolds looks down uncomfortably. It takes you a bit by surprise, because the doctor normally held his composure so well; you frown the tiniest bit, trying not to show it. Finally, he looks back up at you, and he smiles at you sadly. So sadly, you feel your throat tighten and your jaw set, and you try to hold back tears and feelings of anger for the fact he is so obviously feeling bad for you.
"I'm sorry, Bakura. Really, I am."
He sounds so truly apologetic, so truly regretful, that your face melts into another smile, a bit bigger, a bit more comforting (which is a change, because it's been a while since you've comforted someone), all feelings of bitterness, frustration, and mild anger from moments ago fading fast away. "It's all right, Doctor," you say, your tone just as before, soft, simple, straight-to-the-point. "You couldn't have done anything more."
At that, he smiles at you, and it's a mix of a sad and a thankful smile, as if he's not quite sure what to make of that. With one last nod of the head, he's gone.
You look down at the contents of your cart, decide that you've gotten enough, and quickly head over to the check-out line.
A million and one thoughts are racing through your brain.
"I hate these things, you know that? They're so itchy. I mean, aren't they supposed to make you feel more comfortable at the doctor's?"
He was fidgeting around, the sound of the doctor/hospital gown they made him put on making crinkly noises against the exam table where he was seated. A frown was on his beautiful, pouty lips, a rather irritated look on his face, brow furrowed.
You sat in the cold, metal chair right across from him, staring down at your hands, clenched so hard in your lap that they were white. You swallowed hard at his comment, not saying a word, because you weren't in the mood for his light-hearted small-talk and humor. You wondered how he could even stay so happy and bright, even in the face of the situation that had just presented itself to the two of you.
It was just one of the many things about Ryou Bakura you would never figure out.
You bit down hard on your lower lip, so hard, you actually tasted blood. You remember how every part of your body, even your insides, shook. You remember how terrified, how apprehensive you felt. And you remember his voice softly, suddenly saying,
"Hey, look at me."
How could you not?
You looked up, trying to blink the tears in your eyes away, because you needed to be strong for him. He didn't need you to be scared, to be sad, to be devastated. Not right now.
You remember that look on his face as you met his gaze, and you remember how horrible it made you feel. His face had melted into sadness, his normally laughing brown eyes darkening as a shadow cast over them, obvious guilt scribbled across his features.
You really hated how you made Ryou feel, sometimes.
"Hey, listen to me, 'Kura. Please, please don't worry about me. It's going to be fine."
His voice was soft, gentle, loving, caring. Everything you loved about Ryou and how he treated you.
You had opened your mouth to say something, but before you could get the words out, the door to the small exam room had opened. Dr. Reynolds walked in, eyes glued to the clipboard he held in his hand, completely wordless.
You swallowed.
He looked up.
He didn't have a smile on his face.
"Mr. Bakura? I…I'm afraid I have some bad news."
You could have died right there.
Really, and truly, you could have died right there.
The air was so thick, you remember, with anxiety and apprehension, with terror and dread, with disappointment. There was utter silence as the doctor waited a moment, and then, he spoke.
"Your lab tests from the bone marrow aspirate samples we took the other just came back, and you have acute myelogenous leukemia. The cause is unknown, but we suspect you have some sort of genetic pre-disposition to the disease, considering your family medical history. We will be beginning chemotherapy treatment as soon as possible, to help you receive the best results."
There was a long, long silence.
Your entire body felt numb.
Completely, utterly numb, a strange, incessant, disbelieving buzz in your head.
You felt yourself this close to crying, the tears stinging horribly at your dark brown eyes, and slowly, you turned to look at him. If you felt this devastated, you couldn't imagine how he must have felt.
He was staring straight forward, his eyes visibly wet. His face was blank, though, and you were surprised. For a moment, he just continued watching the doctor, not saying a word. Then, slowly, he turned to you, and he smiled.
You felt like smacking him. Screaming at him. Why in God's name was he smiling?
He still smiled, nonetheless. It was small, somewhat shaky, but still a smile. And then, he laughed weakly, and all he said was,
"A lot of big words, huh?"
Wednesday rolls around.
You sit at home on Wednesday, at your kitchen table, alone, of course. No one ever stops by anymore. Probably because you asked them not to, but, whatever. Your head is down on the cool, shiny, wood table, resting atop your thin arms. You stare off into space, the hypnotizing tick-tock of the grandfather clock in your living room going on and on in the background.
Today is a rough day, and you should be left to yourself.
Wednesday's always break your heart more than the other days of the week, for some reason.
Ryou's father is standing at the grave.
He's crying, of course, but he's wiping at his eyes and trying not to show his tears.
He wonders why he puts himself through this every week, every Wednesday.
In front of him, a new bundle of bright, happy, blinding-yellow daisies sit by the hydrangeas and lilies.
It was nighttime.
You were curled up in the bed. His long, lanky arms were wrapped around you, getting you as close to him and his warmth as he could manage. You stared into each other's eyes without even blinking, barely breathing, afraid of what would happen if you dared to let each other go, dared to fall asleep and leave the other awake, alone.
The moon spilled in silvery light from the window above your bed, and with its reflection, its shadows, his skin looked so soft, so perfectly porcelain. His chocolate-brown eyes gleamed so brightly. His lips were a light, light pink, and his snow-colored-hair was messy but fell so perfectly in front of his eyes in such a beloved "Ryou" way.
In that moonlight, he looked so, so beautiful. You remember that so clearly.
"You'll need to talk to your father, you know, to tell him."
Your voice came out soft, barely audible; you were afraid of breaking the beauty of the moment with your words.
He had frowned, and you remember wishing you hadn't said what you had, because obviously, it upset him. He didn't need to be upset.
"I don't care," he simply said, his voice coming out rough, no-nonsense, curt, "He's not my family…" He pulled you closer, "…You are."
You remember being pressed against his chest, feeling his heart beat rhythmically in your ear, and you remember wishing and hoping that heartbeat would never, ever cease.
"B-But Ry…he's your father. Despite what he said about us, and despite how he treated you, he has to know that you have…" Suddenly, you couldn't go on. You didn't want to say the word. `Cancer' just sounded so dangerous, so deadly. You didn't want to acknowledge it, give it its full power, just yet. You weren't ready.
Ryou had sighed after your words. You knew he knew just what you were thinking. He knew what you were thinking all of the time, really. He just knew you too well.
That scared you, sometimes.
"Fine," he finally whispered, sounding defeated and tired. "I'll call him tomorrow."
A silence arose.
You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against his chest and feeling it slowly rise and fall with his breaths. You loved this, being this close to him in these quiet, nighttime moments. It was so beautiful.
"I'm sorry."
You're not sure what you had apologized for, but at that moment, it seemed like the right thing to say. You felt like you had caused him so many problems over the years just by being there. Being who you were.
"For what?"
His reply was quick, truly filled with questioning, curiosity, and maybe even a bit of concern. He was always so worried you'd be down on yourself, beat yourself up, like you normally did. He hated it when you did that. He thought you were perfect, and he didn't see how you couldn't see that.
You swallowed, opening back up your eyes. "For…for making you fall in love with me. I mean, I'm sorry. Really, I am."
There was a silence, and then, next thing you knew, his finger was under your chin, pulling your gaze up to meet his. He was staring so intently at you, his jaw set, his eyes determined, that you felt your stomach twirl and twist a bit. You loved when he looked like that. It made you feel safe, loved, worth it.
"Listen to me, Bakura," he says, and you just blinked, showing him you were, "You should never feel sorry about that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, you get that? Sure, maybe, at first, falling in love with you wasn't part of the plan, just `cause I was so scared, but now, I swear, I can't imagine life without you. You're everything to me."
You were trying not to cry at that point, you remember, because Ryou looked and sounded so beautiful, and you were trying not to think of the fact he might leave you.
"I love you."
And when he kissed you, you started crying.
All of this had just sort of…happened. You didn't expect it. One minute you were just friends. Next, you're head-over-heels, not sure what you'd do without the other boy.
Falling in love really wasn't part of the plan.
But, oh, you were so glad it ended up being.
Thursday you get a phone call.
"Hi," Yugi says.
"Hi," you say.
A silence arises, and you almost feel guilty, because you know what Yugi's going to ask, and you know what you're going to answer.
"So, like, Joey and I are going to go out to lunch today with Tea and Tristan, and we're going to that nice Italian place, and we were wondering if, you know, you wanted to—"
"No, thanks, Yugi. I'm…I'm tired."
Silence.
You bite your lower lip.
It takes Yugi a while to answer, and you imagine that he's feeling really rather frustrated, really rather upset, at the moment.
"Oh. Okay, then. Well, I guess I'll talk to you later."
"Yeah. `Bye."
There's another pause, and instead of the phone clicking as Yugi hangs up, you still hear his steady breathing. You raise an eyebrow, curious, though he can't see it. Finally, he speaks.
"You know, after a point, I'm just going to stop trying."
Your throat tightens and stings as you swallow the tears that burn against your eyes, suddenly.
It takes you a while to answer, too, and once you do, your voice is soft, cracking.
You really wish you could stop being so pathetic; you really do.
"I know, Yugi. I know."
Tea turns around, frowning a bit as she sees his best friend trailing behind. "Tristan, c'mon! The bouquet isn't that big!"
They are about to go eat lunch with two of their friends. It's really a pity that it won't be three of their friends, but, hey, they're not pushing the third. God knows he doesn't need to be pushed. But, before they go claim their reservation at the nice Italian restaurant, finding a table and sitting down, making small talk until their friends arrive, they have a little something they need to do.
Tristan finally takes his head out of the back car door, frowning a bit as he bumps it against the top. "Ow," he mutters, carefully taking one hand to rub the now sore spot on his cranium while still carefully having a hold on the huge group of bright pink impatiens in his arms. Biting his lower lip, he casts a glare at Tea, shooting back, "Thanks! You distracted me and look what happened!"
Tea rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on. You're ridiculous. Stop trying to blame me for your own damn clumsy self!"
Tristan frowns again, grumbling something about how much of a bitch Tea can be, slamming the door shut and starting up toward his friend who waits at the edge of the graveyard. Despite the situation, the atmosphere around them, the two best friends manage to keep the whole thing light-hearted. For the sake of each other, really.
They're not sure they can take much more sadness.
Ambling together through the green grass, toward the oh-so-familiar tombstone in the far back, Tea looks at Tristan and smiles. "I'm kidding, by the way." She smirks.
Tristan rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever…" he mutters, but he's smiling, and Tea shakes her head and laughs anyway. The two friends walk in silence after that, and once they arrive at the grave, Tristan lets out a sigh, and for a moment, they just stand there and stare, like Joey and Yugi and Ryou's father did the days before.
"You know, this sucks."
Tristan's never really one to be quite that blunt, so Tea can't help as she chuckles a bit. But, it's a sad chuckle, and it's weak, and afterwards, Tea's frowning. "Yeah, it does, Tristan. It really does."
There's silence.
Tea's hands are still thrust in her red jacket's pockets, dark hair hanging in front of her blue eyes, wide and glistening with tears.
"We shouldn't cry, you know."
Tristan says it simply, as if it's a fact. Tea looks at him innocently, blinking once. "Why?"
Tristan's gaze stays straight ahead. "He wouldn't' want us to."
Silence, again, because Tea can't argue with that.
Instead, she just swallows, and she nods slowly, and she almost smiles. "I know. It's just…" She lets out shaky, shaky breath. She reaches up one hand as best she can and pushes the hair from her face, sniffling a bit. "It's just hard, sometimes."
Tristan laughs for a second time, but his laugh doesn't count because it's sad and a cover-up for his emotions.
"I know, Tea. I know."
More silence.
Tristan moves forward and places the big, bright pink flowers against the tombstone, and Tea whispers something about how soft and pretty pink is, and how it represents friendship.
And then, the two are gone.
"So, I'm pretty much going to die."
You grimaced when he said that, because, God, couldn't he have put it a little bit more softly? It killed you to hear that.
There was a long, long silence after he spoke.
Finally, Yugi shook his head, Tea swallowed and said, "What?"
Ryou was smiling. You remember that was so odd. Here he was, at the head of the table with every single one of his friends surrounding him: Tea, Tristan, Yugi, Joey, Serenity, Mai, Duke, and of course, you, telling all of them for the first time he had a terminal illness, and he was smiling?
"I have cancer, and the doctor says I only have a few months to live."
You tried not to burst into tears when he said that, clenching your hands so tightly into fists that afterwards, when you un-curled them, they had tiny, bleeding crescent marks on the palms. You couldn't break down in front of everyone.
There was another long, long silence, and then all of a sudden, some whispered out, "Oh, my God." You thought it was maybe Duke, because it sounded like him, but you weren't sure.
Tea swallowed, and she stared straight at Ryou. You glanced around the entire room, then, and you saw everyone's jaws were hanging open, their faces pale, or their eyes were glistening with unshed tears. You tried to ignore the fact that you were happy people cared so much.
Finally, Yugi whispered out, "What are you going to do?"
Ryou shrugged.
"What can I do? I can't change it. I just have to accept it."
There was more silence, then, and you remember closing your eyes and just wishing you could float away
Friday night, you are making spaghetti.
You love the way the pasta sauce smells so rich, so delicious. You love the way the pasta itself is warm, soft, just waiting to be eaten.
And yet, you know you won't eat a bite of it.
You just can't bring yourself to eat really nice meals like this, anymore, so you figure you'll just make Yugi's day tomorrow, call him, and tell him to come and pick up some "leftovers" you have. You'll hand the Tupperware to him, filled with the sauce and noodles, say one or two words, try to ignore how he gets so disappointed to see that you don't really want to talk to him. And he'll leave.
Duke Devlin sighs. It's dark out, and the crickets are chirping, and he's sure there are mosquitoes buzzing every-which-way, too. But, he has to stop by the graveyard, like he does every Friday. He wants to; that way, he gets to spend some time with one of his friends.
Taking a deep breath, Duke stops in front of the stone, and he lets the breath out before he bends down, and he places the bright orange tulips where they belong, next to Tea and Tristan's pink impatiens. Then, he sits, and he just sits, for a while. He figures he should get comfortable. Duke likes to stay for hours after dark at the gravesite, because he thinks it's oddly beautiful in a haunting sort of way. He could have better things to do on a Friday night, but he's fine where he is, honestly.
He looks around at the night sky, and the shadowy oaks, and the quiet graves, and he wishes he had brought his camera.
"So," he whispers, because he feels like whispering is appropriate. "We all really miss you, man." A small smile. "Everything feels really empty without you."
Silence. The wind blows.
Duke swallows, and he pulls his knees up to his chest. "Especially Bakura; he's taken it the hardest, probably."
The wind blows again.
Duke closes his eyes.
"You shouldn't have left us. You really, really shouldn't have left us."
"I don't get it. If you want to be around him so much, why the hell did you move in with me?"
You were standing there, arms crossed, brow furrowed, fury scribbled all over your features. You look back on that moment, and you want to smack yourself. What were you thinking? He didn't need you to act like that toward him. Especially considering the circumstances at the time.
He had been sitting in front of you, in the chair. Yugi had just left after a short visit, and you had felt rather threatened. You had felt a random burst of jealousy, of envy, of uneasiness, and you had gone off on him as soon as Yugi was gone. He had just let out a sigh, running his hands over his face in exasperation. You remember seeing how exhausted he looked, how hopeless he looked, when he looked back up at you. His face was paler than you had ever seen it, dark purple bags under his eyes, and his hair was thinner than usual. Not completely gone, because for some reason, during the entire chemotherapy treatment, he had never lost his hair, but it had certainly lost some of its thickness and shine.
You had almost felt bad for going off, because, hell, who wouldn't? But, you were too blind and stupid to feel anything but immature jealousy and anger at that moment, so you didn't bother to apologize. You had frowned, and you had carried on, because he hadn't answered you yet, and you wanted an answer.
"Huh, Ryou? Huh? Why don't you tell me why Yugi comes over so much? Why you just get so happy to see him, and with me I sometimes barely get a `hello'!"
He had finally just sighed, looked down, thought for a moment, then looked back up. And when he did, his eyes were sad, disappointed, tired, and all he said was,
"Bakura, I love you."
You never said a word about Yugi and his visits ever again.
Saturday you spend the entire morning watching cartoons. You plop down on the sofa and don't move for hours and hours, and you watch countless re-runs of SpongeBob Squarepants and Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends.
This was his favorite thing to do; it was a tradition every Saturday. You and him would curl up on the couch with blankets and pillows, stay in your pajamas all day, snuggle, and watch TV.
You get the most lonely on Saturday mornings, now.
Mai and Serenity exit out of Mai's red convertable and onto the gravel parking lot of the cemetery.
The two young women hike up through the green grass, not saying a word and just enjoying the scenery all around. Finally, they arrive, and Serenity places the flowers down on the already big bouquet that rests against the headstone.
Unlike the previous visitors, both the girls are smiling big.
Of course, there's an air of sadness to it all that can't be avoided, but at least they're both trying. There's a moment's pause and they just watch the stone for a moment, almost as if they're expecting something to happen. Finally, Serenity says,
"There was a new episode of SpongeBob on last night. You would have loved it."
A pause.
Mai says:
"And I'm officially addicted to pixie sticks and Tootsie Pops; I eat, like, a million a day. Thanks."
A sudden silence arises.
Serenity sighs.
"Maybe we should go, now."
Sunday morning you wake up at 6AM.
You get up, you change into a black shirt, your favorite (and his) black leather jacket, and a nice pair of skinny jeans.
You go into the bathroom, brush your teeth, and wash your face.
You walk to the closet, grab your boots, slide them on, grab your keys and leave.
You drive to the flower shop.
You buy the flowers you want.
You drive to the cemetery.
"Promise me something, okay?"
You tried not to cry.
Really, you did.
He woke you up at 1AM and whispered into your ear that, "Bakura, it hurts so bad."
You had stood up, groggy, half-asleep, stumbling over yourself as you tried to pull on your shoes, your jacket, and help him get dressed in everything he needed, too. You had grabbed your car keys and grabbed his hand, leading him carefully outside to your car. You drove him as fast as you could without speeding to the hospital on Main Street, and as he leaned his head against the cool window and closed his eyes and didn't say a word to you, you knew this was it.
You almost, almost, almost, almost, drove the car off of the road, trying to wrap it around a tree or a guard rail or something, to just end it before it could end itself. You'd take Ryou with you, and it would just be over. All the pain, all the misery, all the struggle.
But, then, he had to go and open his mouth.
"Promise me something, okay?"
The words rang through you heard over and over again as you pressed your foot down on the gas pedal harder.
You finally swallowed, finally answering, voice cracking and tired,
"Anything."
A pause.
Then,
"Don't ever forget me."
You were crying, then. The tears were rolling down your cheeks and blurring your vision, and you were afraid you really would crash the car because you couldn't see. You found your voice, and you blubbered out,
"G-G-God, Ryou…h-how could you ever think I would?"
He laughed.
It was weak, and it sort of sounded more like a sob than a laugh, but, hey, you would have rather imagined it as a laugh.
"Yeah, I know. I'm stupid to think you would. But, if you won't forget me, then promise me something else…"
You nod once, roughly, quickly, because you're running out of time and you know it.
He smiled gently; he still hadn't looked at you, and that was killing you inside.
"Promise me I'll never be alone. Promise me someone will visit my grave every day of the week, all right?"
You let out a sob at that, your eyes blurring up the worst yet, the tears falling onto the tops of your hands on the wheel, your body starting to shake, and you watched with a side glance as his face crumbled with despair, and regret. You know he hated the fact he was going to leave you and not be able to help it.
"R-Ryou, stop it. Stop it. Y-Y-You'll be…be fine. P-Please, you'll be fine."
You knew that was the biggest lie in the word, but you had to say it anyway. To keep yourself sane in that moment.
Ryou smiled again, and he looked away.
"And you..."
You let out a small whine.
"…You promise me you'll never give up. Don't you ever try and hurt yourself to get back to me, okay?" He reached out a hand, then, and placed it on your white, shaking, tear-covered one that gripped the steering wheel deathly-hard. "Promise you'll live, okay? For a long, long time. I need to know you won't give up. I need to."
You looked at him, then, not caring you were "taking your eyes off the road", and you watched him for a moment. He looked so, so desperate. So, so scared.
You nodded once, croaking out,
"I do. I promise you, I swear to you I won't give up, Ryou."
He smiled.
You swallowed.
He said,
"I love you."
You said,
"I love you, too."
And that was the end of that.
He died that night at 11:45 PM.
Closed his big, brown eyes, and never opened them again.
He was in a lot of pain, the doctors said, and it was good that he went as peaceful as he managed to.
You still get choked up thinking about that night, because it was the night your life ended. Even though you're still living, because, well, you promised him you would, you're not really living. Without Ryou, you knew you could never really live, again. He was your life; he was your true love, your soul mate, your everything. All those cliches that could never even begin to cover the expanse of feelings you felt (and still do feel) for him. What you're living now is simply a shell of your past life, as pathetic as that was.
You walk through the graveyard at 8:30 in the morning, a small smile on your face, inhaling deeply. Everything' s so beautiful, you think, and then you come to the grave itself, and you swallow.
You stand there and just stare at the grave for a long, long, long time.
Finally, you move forward, and you place the bundle of red roses in your hand by the grave, right in front of the entire other group of flowers. You picked red roses, because they represent true love, and that's how you felt and still feel about him.
You step back, and you look at it all for a moment.
It's so colorful; like a rainbow. Blue, white, yellow, pink, orange, purple, and now, deep, deep red.
Just like Ryou would have liked it.
His grave is never alone; someone visits it every day, leaving blooms, leaving love, leaving words. He's never lonely. You make sure of it.
You sit—no, lay—down.
Your head is right by the flowers, the tombstone, and you close your eyes.
And for the next three and a half hours, you just talk to him.
You talk and talk and talk, and tell him every little part of your entire week. No matter how miniscule the actual events are, how insignificant, you tell him, because he deserves to know, and he can't be there to experience it with you.
Hours pass, and you cry and cry.
The tears run down your face, and you're not ashamed to say you're heartbroken.
He's gone.
He's never coming back.
You're alone.
You let out a sob, bringing your hands up to your face and covering your eyes.
"O-Oh, G-God…"
You don't know what to do anymore. You're so alone, so miserable, so scared.
And suddenly, the wind blows.
The wind blows, and you stop crying.
Your eyes snap open.
The sun is all of a sudden shining a little brighter.
The clouds clear away, and the sky is completely blue.
A bird sings somewhere in the distance.
That breeze blows by you, again.
You swallow.
You smile.
And you find yourself whispering,
"I love you, too, Ryou."
R&R =)