They Never Called it Love
AN/ I'm not a fan of this story, I found it a little flat. But really had to finish this. I'm so glad that I managed
PROLOGUE
The start of the whole sordid tale was probably the day that Jounouchi Katsuya met Bakura Ryou.
He had been looking for a roommate for some time, being just out of college and not making much money just yet, twenty two and new to the world. Finally, he got a guy to be his roommate (thankfully not a guy that wasn't too young to drink or probably in a cult. He'd had bad experiences).
Back then, Bakura Ryou had long white hair he kept pulled back, an impeccable countenance, and a nervous laugh.
Back then, Jounouchi Katsuya had a mop of sunshine colored hair, friendly eyes, and an open smile.
Back then, they were both different.
Over the months, after the first few terrifically awkward weeks of "sorry, I forgot your name", and "would you mind not leaving your underwear on the window sill" and "wait, you're gay?" passed, the two became comfortable friends. There weren't many problems with the living arrangements, and they formed a nice little existence, Jounouchi watching British sitcoms with Ryou and Ryou watching football even though he didn't like it. The only recurring thing they seemed to fight over was the fact that Ryou was a neat freak to the extreme and a bit of a germaphobe, and Jounouchi was hopelessly messy.
Ryou worked as a tap teacher while he tried to churn out his first novel, and Jounouchi became a part-time kickboxing instructor as he looked for a higher paying job.
All it all, it was routine. It was life. It was happy.
That was the first year, the year of no regrets.
That was before it happened.
Before Atem.
BEGINNING
Atem Zahir was a small young man of about twenty-four who owned a small and struggling book shop and gave Arabic classes on the side. He spoke Japanese remarkably well, and despite the fact that he had the most ridiculous hairstyle anybody had ever seen, was very handsome in a way most people couldn't resist.
He was well-read and serious and charming and gave off a sense of power and dignity nobody else could match.
Ryou was also well-read and charming, though shy and self-conscious, and he frequented the often empty book shop.
They were perfect for each other. That was what Jounouchi thought the first time he met Atem. The guy was nice, even though he was pretty full of himself, and spoke with a calm self-assuredness that Jounouchi could easily see placating his sometimes hysterical best friend. (Ryou was a very calm young man, but there were some days and nights when nightmares reigned.)
Atem watched all of Ryou's horror movies and slasher flicks and thrillers, even though Jounouchi had never quite been able to stomach them, and listened to the man ramble about tarot cards and even knew a thing or two about the occult himself.
He was amazing.
Jounouchi got to know him a while after he became Ryou's boyfriend, a couple of months into it.
Atem walked into the apartment that they shared, and asked for Ryou.
"He's not here."
"Really? Hm."
"Yeah, so."
The older man got the feeling the younger wanted him to leave, but he gave him a short smile instead. "How long have you known Ryou?"
"Longer than you by 'bout a year." Jounouchi said, fixated on making a huge sandwich. He gestured towards the heap of bread and mayonnaise and meat, "Want some?"
He stuffed about half of the sandwich in his mouth.
"No thank you."
"So...what's up? How's things with you and Ryou?"
"Going well, thank you."
It was at that particular moment that their eyes met, and for a split second brown rested on deep red and, like some moment out of a romance novel, there was a deep surge of attraction.
It could probably be called love at first sight, that was what Jounouchi mused later. He was lucky, he supposed, because not many people felt that feeling, that warm jolt. Too bad it was with somebody he would never have.
Falling in love was excruciatingly simple, easier, Atem always said, than loving Ryou had been. (Because the heavens knew both of them loved Ryou.) It was after that attraction that day, that Jounouchi's previously dormant (well, not really dormant, because that would be a bit convenient, it was more like him totally "forgetting" his homosexual impulses) bisexuality finally came into play.
They hung out a lot, while Ryou was at work, or Jounouchi would take the bus over to the little book shop, even though he wasn't really interested in books.
Atem, despite his holier-than-thou attitude, was still a nice guy who was pretty funny even when he was trying to be serious. He would always pretend Jounouchi was there for wholesome reasons and recommend all sorts of books, always ignoring. He was the kind of guy who turned a blind eye to things he felt that he thought weren't right. He had a strong sense of morality.
And he was sexy.
Jounouchi, despite the fact that a lot of the time he acted about five, was a very nice guy with a nice personality.
And he was also sexy.
And that was how it began, one night when Ryou was out across town, held up in the studio and sleeping at a friend's house.
MIDDLE
They got drunk, because that was how all great love stories started. Only, not really. But because they were no great love story, it was a perfect beginning.
Jounouchi hated drinking. He had lived with a drunkard for a father for years, and had never really felt that pull. He still broke out that dusty bottle of vodka that he had in the cupboard. He didn't remember, later, why exactly, because the smell was too sharp and the taste kind of made him want to puke. But it numbed his senses and at the same time made the world swirl pleasantly with color. He supposed that it had been his last brave attempt to be a good friend, to numb his feelings.
Atem and he started out with a movie.
Just a movie, he couldn't remember what later, and they passed around the bottle of strong alcohol, taking measured sips, each of them vowing not to get drunk. Atem was responsible but Jounouchi was irresposible, and in the end he was the only one even mildly lucid.
After the movie had ended, they talked.
Atem's family had been Egyptian, but they had died.
All of them? His blond companion had asked.
All of them.
Jounouchi's father had thrown beer bottles at his head.
Did he miss?
Sometimes.
Both of them liked the other.
Both of them were attracted to the other. Nobody ever said that, but it was evident in the clumsy way their lips meant.
(It was almost beautiful, that not-guilty feeling they had while they tangled together drunkenly but somehow passionately, because both of them were the kinds who would do just about anything when taken over by passion.)
The next morning, Atem was gone and Jounouchi remembered barely anything.
But both of them remembered the way that they had felt, and were pretty sure that the alcohol hadn't numbed that one important feeling.
Such a shame.
Of course, there was a problem.
Having an affair with your best friend's boyfriend was wrong, and having an affair with your boyfriend's best friend was also wrong. Both of them knew that, and it was no secret between the two that they felt bad, that in their mind every night spent together would be the last because that was the right thing to do.
Love could never survive when it was so wrong.
The only problem was that it felt right to them, the thrill of secrecy, the way their emotions, which were so hidden in everyday lives, could be suddenly expanded on with trailing kisses was intoxicating.
There was no way, no way at all, that it could end well.
And there was no way, not even a chance, that love could survive when it was so wrong.
But they never called it love.
It started just as casual sex. To any observer, Atem and Ryou were a very happy couple, and Jounouchi was just a supportive and goofy friend.
But whenever Ryou stayed out late or didn't come home, either one of them would go to the other, and they would always end up a tangle of limbs.
They never called it love, even after months had passed of them whispering words to each other that would have meant nothing to anybody else but meant the world to them, at night when it was dark and they lay together.
Jounouchi knew more about Atem than anybody else, and vice versa. And neither of them shared information easier.
And despite the fact that their glances became longer and warmer, their hands rested on the other's body longer than they should have, they carried out their little affair without anybody finding out. For that time, at least. Until nothing but the truth came out.
(It was too bad that the story ended a tragedy. It was almost beautiful.)
END
The end happened too quickly.
It was unfair--it had all grown slowly, gradually between them for two whole years of hidden love.
Both of them were about twenty-four or twenty-five.
It had nothing to do with anything. It was senseless, the way that Atem Nazir died.
He was walking to his shop.
And he was hit by a car.
And he was sent to the hospital.
Ryou got the call when he was with Jounouchi and looked sick for the whole ride to the hospital, while his friend simply felt a constriction in his chest that wound tighter and tighter and never stopped winding.
Atem wasn't hooked to any machines but an IV and one that measured his heartbeat.
The doctors had looked at them pityingly, and they knew it wasn't good.
The young man gave big, rasping breaths, his eyes still burning brightly with life, even as it seeped away from his body.
The nurses left for just a while.
Atem let out a relieved breath when he saw them.
"Thank goodness...I was...waiting...for you..."
He never said for who.
Ryou stepped to his side. The man gave a little smile. His lips were bruised, his chest and legs bandaged, his arm broken. Over his eyebrow there lay a bloody pad of gauze.
"Kiss me." He whispered feverishly. All Ryou could see when he said those words were the germs that teemed over his face, and the kiss was short and tembling.
"I love you, Atem."
"I love you, Ryou." He beckoned Jounouchi over.
He repeated what he had said before, but with just a modicum more of conviction and lucidity that broke Ryou then and there.
"Kiss me."
Jounouchi did.
And there was fire in that kiss and passion.
And Ryou knew, at that moment, he knew.
How could you? He wanted to whisper, but his words died.
He couldn't say anything, because that was love. Real love.
And he wondered when that had happened and how he had not noticed.
"I love you, Jounouchi."
And what everybody heard was I love you best, even though he never meant to say that.
"I love you, Atem."
That was the first time either of them said it.
Atem died happy, and as they sat in the waiting room, Jounouchi's tears ran in rivulets down his cheeks, bright against his ashen face.
Ryou shook with dry sobs, but didn't cry a single tear.
EPILOGUE
It was never the same again, for either of them.
Ryou became a famous novelist, just as he had always wanted to be. (And he cut his hair and his eyes became less soft and more sad.)
Jounouchi ended up pretty well-off, good kids and a wife named Mai. (And he kept his hair neatly cut, and his eyes lost some of their vibrance.)
They never spoke again.
And Jounouchi only remembered Atem in dreams. (But what beautiful dreams they were.)
And that was the end of it all.