Yugi is in the pantry. He has a tie wrapped around his neck to soak up the blood from where Bakura sliced his throat open with a kitchen knife. His lithe frame is trying to act like a barricade against the door, the cellphone in his hand is posed and dialed for Anzu. Malik can hear the sounds of him breathing like every breath is close to his last. In front of him is Bakura. Ryou Bakura with an expensive kitchen knife in his hand, sharp like surgical scalpel and even bloodier. Bakura is wearing a dark green vest, a white and green striped shirt. His tie is askew, and his tie is never askew. He is drenched in blood, which Malik knows isn't his own. It stains his white ghost hair, the tips dyed red with flesh blood. He looks at Malik with his dark brown eyes, so dark that Malik can't find his dilated pupils. Some where, Malik can hear the sounds of a banshee screaming, and he knows it's in his head. Ryou had always kept this part of him covered, sheltered like a psychotic child in the rain. He kept it hidden underneath his custom tailored suits. The jacket was off now. He stripped himself of the disguise like yesterday's outfit. He stood there before Malik, naked and innocent. Wearing nothing but the blood of his kill and an aura of supreme guiltiness.
Malik wants to scream. Screaming is bad idea in a situation like this. Ryou drops the knife and it hits the hardwood with a clatter and little droplets of blood splattering around it. His eyes are still locks with Malik's; and he's getting closer. He strokes Malik's blonde hair like you'd stroke a scared kitten. He looks into his eyes like he's looking in his lover. But they're not on a beach in the south of France sipping wine. Ryou's hand is damp with blood and it streaks Malik's hair red. Their lips are close enough that they could be kissing. Malik in stunned and he is scared because he knows that he's lost. He just doesn't know how much he's going to lose. Ryou holds his face in his hands and presses his blood stained lips against his. His eyes are closed and he looks peaceful like a corpse. Malik's eyes are wide open. He knows what is going to happen to him now, he's just not sure if it will be five seconds or two seconds from now.
"You wanted so badly to see the truth," Ryou said with the intonation of a desperate child. He looks so hurt, even though hes the one doing the hurting. His eyes are full of pain; it's the first and only time Malik has seen them filled with anything at all.
The linoleum knife gleams in Bakura's hand. It has a shorter hand and a curved blade. Yugi's death was a swipe with a kitchen knife. It wasn't thing different than the farmer slicing the neck of a cow. A linoleum knife isn't meant for cutting flesh. That's why it hurts so fucking much. Malik's death has a sense of intimacy. Bakura wanted to be close with him as he died, to carve the pain of betrayal into Malik's flesh. To feel the warm blood pour over his hand. To smell the scent of fear in his sweat. To hold him close and stroke his hair, like, hush now love, it'll all be okay. Let it all go. Stop squirming and accept death. It's your new best friend. You know the truth. You saw what was hidden underneath the stitching. I want to hold you, to feel you. I love you. What kind of love is this? I want to own you. Bakura is a killer who likes to keep his trophies. Malik knows he'll be keeping the memories of this moment in his head, perhaps thinking about the scent of his blood and the feeling of the inside of his body around his hand as he falls asleep.
It doesn't hurt any more, and thats when Malik knows that he's gone into shock. Blood runs down from his abdomen, down his pants, down to the hardwood floor. It's slippery and as Malik struggles weakly, his shoes slide across the blood. Ryou still has a grip on him, he's still savoring this moment. Taking a deep inhale, closing his eyes and letting himself live in this moment. He listens to Malik's shallow heart beat as though it's played by a full orchstra. He breathes in the scent of his of his blood like a fine, red wine. Their relationship has never been as clear as it was in this moment, this last moment. Ryou wants to devour it all down to the bitter, metallic core. Forever, Malik in this moment will be a part of him. Malik wants to fight it, but he's losing so much blood he can do nothing but shivers in Ryou's arms. He knows better than to think he'd survive this one. Ryou cradles him, the linoleam knife pullso uto f his stomach, only cutting him up more. There is no going back after this. Ryou holds him close and lays him down gently to the floor like a broken little toy. He looks down at him with a satisfied smile. Go on Malik, slip into it like it's a warm bath and the bath water is your blood. Welcome it. Let it all go black.
Rewind.
Malik Ishtar stood in Yugi Moto's was tired because he didn't sleep well the night before. He had just started to get used to teaching about killers. Now Yugi had him back on the crime scene, using his sick little imagination to it's fullest potential. He had to go 'off the books'. He was too unstable to pass the FBI's rigorous psychological testing. Thats why Yugi Moto called in Dr. Ryou Bakura, he was one of the best psychologists in the area. Known for his compassionate nature, his soft tone of voice, his comforting style of cousenling. Malik didn't think he needed a psychiatrist. He needed a better job. Moto was a nice guy, but Malik was the mean to his ends, and Bakura was there to make it a little bit less hard on him.
"He's here to help you," Yugi said. It sounded like an insult even though Malik knows it's all for the best.
"I don't need a therapist," Malik said indignantly at Bakura. He's an insult. He has long, stark white hair and big, doe-like brown eyes. He doesn't look old enough to be a doctor. He looks like a ghost. The ghost of a little girl, maybe, with hair falling down her shoulders in thick curls, with a wide smile and pink dress. Ryou Bakura is a man is a polished looking, almost retro suit. It's a loud, colorful plaid with he coordinates with a solid button up shirt, and matching paisely tie and pocket square. His hair was tied back with a red ribbon, but he still has long bangs that fall to the sides of his face. His face is thin, with high cheekbones, thick lips and a smile that looks like a trap. There is no feeling in his face, it's almost like a mask. It's almost gaudy, really. But Malik stood there in his windbreaker jacket, rustic denim pants and hiking boots. Maybe he's not one to talk.
"Think of me as someone who is here to help you," Ryou said with a smile. There was something dead and hollow behind his eyes.
This fic is dedicated to a long time friend of mine named Terra, who inspired me to write this. We had a a conversation about Hannibal!AU of yugioh, in which Malik was Will Graham, and Ryou Bakura was Hannibal.