(A/N:) OHHAIDER. This is just a fanfic I kinda started on whim. Plus I don't think I've ever written any psychoshipping. So yeah.
This is just the first chapter. I have two other chapters written, but I wanna see what feedback I get first. This will probably end up being four or five chapters.
The title is so lame. But I couldn't think of anything else.
ENJOY! I guess.
It's dark out, but not quite nighttime by my standards yet. It's around seven 'o clock, actually, and Ryo's offer of pasta with Alfredo sauce for dinner wasn't too appealing to me earlier on. I'd rather have steak, I had told him, and he scolded me about something relating to that, but I don't remember what about because I was too busy putting on my boots to go out. He was still nagging me when I was leaving, but I continued to ignore him.
Ra, when did he turn into my wife...?
I walk down the street, on my way to the nearest bar. A small gust of wind blows by, and I close my leather jacket to maintain my body heat. I ignore the fact that I'm even wearing this damned thing. I hate it. I hate it so much. I hate it because of how I got it.
So why the bloody hell did even I put it on in the first place?
I make my way through the doors of the bar, taking in the familiar scents. I recognize a few familiar faces, but they're just a couple drunkards that come here 24/7. No one important.
But then my eyes drift over, and I see...him.
Marik fucking Ishtar.
Oh, just simply glorious.
I walk over, and take a seat at the empty bar stool next to him. He doesn't notice me at first, so I decide to make my presence known in a much more fun way...for me, at least.
I thwack his head.
He yelps, and his hand flies to the back of his head. "What the—?!" He turns to my direction. His face first shows irritation, then surprise, and then he smirks. "Well, well, look who's here..."
I make a smirk of my own. "I could say the same thing." I glance at the bartender. "Usual," I say. He nods and hands me a single beer. I come here often, if you haven't noticed already.
"I'd say that it's funny finding you here, but that'd be a lie," Marik says. He finishes his own beer and slams the bottle down on the counter. "'So, what brings you here?' would be the better thing to say."
"Nothing, really," I reply to his rhetorical question. I spin my stool to face the wall mirror on the bartender's side of the counter. I talk to the spiky blonde's reflection instead. "Didn't feel like eating Ryo's food."
"You're crazy—"
"Thank you, I know." I smirk.
Marik rolls his eyes. "I mean, you're crazy to not want to eat his food."
"I'm crazy in other ways too, so it all works out," I shrug. "And it's not only because I didn't feel like eating—I just didn't feel like being there at all..." I suddenly don't feel like finishing my beverage anymore for some reason either, so I put it down and stare down at the counter. There are some random carvings here and there, so I entertain myself by reading them.
"Hmm...," Marik muses. "Well, since you don't feel like being at your own house..." I suddenly feel a familiar warmth at my ear. I flinch. "How about coming back to my place instead?" His voice is low and near seductive. I honestly don't know what to say at this point. I try to think of some sort of sarcastic, snappy comeback, but nothing comes to mind. My mind is fogged over. My mouth partly opens, but no words come out.
"What, no remarks...?" I can almost sense his smirk. He's breathing slowly by my ear, and I can tell he's determined to get what he wants when he starts making small bites on my earlobe.
Oh, hell no.
I push him away from me and grab my wallet from my pocket. I grab a bill from it, slam it onto the counter, and stomp out of the bar. I expect to see a dumbfounded look on his face when I glance back at him, but all I get is a glimpse of his satisfied smirk. I want to slap it off his face.
...Oh, son of a bitch, he wanted me to get pissed…Well, too late to turn back now.
The air is colder than before when I step outside, so I cross my arms and shrug my shoulders to get some extra warmth. I still hate this jacket, no matter how warm it's keeping me right now.
I hear footsteps behind me. Great, the bastard's following me.
"Hey, Bakura, wait up--" he puts a hand on my shoulder.
"Get the fuck away from me!" I pull away from him, but he grabs my arm and pulls me towards him. I growl at him, and give him the most deathly glare I could give. If only looks could kill, because that would be so useful right now.
Without saying anything, he suddenly crashes his lips on mine. It's an overbearing force, and the feeling is so...foreign. Yet, it's familiar. Too familiar to my liking.
My eyes go wide when he runs his tongue over my lips. I can't move. He's holding me closer to him, so I can't get away.
No...
No, no, no—
This isn't happening. It can't be happening. I don't want it to be happening. It's disgusting. I want him to stop.
I...
I hate him. I don't want this. I don't.
With all my strength, I push him away. I add a slap to his face with that, though I know it probably won't keep him from following me when I leave. I glare up at him, seething. I hate him. I hate that he's taller than me, too. I hate his games. I hate his bigheaded attitude.
Surprisingly, when I walk away, he's not following. He simply keeps his hand on his cheek where I slapped him, staring at me as I leave.
Once I'm a few good steps away from him, he suddenly yells out at me:
"Nice jacket."
...Oh, fuck no.
He was not going to screw with me like this.
I zip down the jacket, take it off, and chuck it at his face. I'm leaving for real, now, ignoring the cold contact of the wind to my skin.
Bastard.
If he likes it so much, he might as well take it back.
It's not like we're together anymore, anyway.
I hate that jacket.
I hate him.
(A/N:) Reviews motivate writers to write and publish faster. *thumbs up*