Hi guys. This is my first fic ever, highlighting my favorite yoai paring ever. Jeez, this chapter's so short, but alas, alack, I had to publish it. Anyway, enjoy! Please submit feedback!

Malik: I can't believe you're making me get a stupid shot.

SWA: Shut up and say the line.

Malik: Fine. Yu-Gi-Oh! does not belong to StormWingAlchemist but she wished it did.

ALSO:

Malik, Ryo - hikari

Marik, Bakura - yami

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"Ishizu, I do not need to go to the doctors." I grumbled, pouting immaturely.

"Yes, you do, brother." My sister said in that aggravatingly calm voice. Odion nodded his agreement.

"Please, Master Malik, it's only one shot," Odion added, doing absolutely nothing for my mood. "I told you not to call me that anymore." I snapped out of sheer annoyance.

I hated the whole situation we were in. We were back in Domino (land of bad memories and regrets) just a year after Battle City because my sister was doing another exhibit at the museum here. As a result Ishizu, Odion, and myself had to live in a cramped apartment for about 14 months. And, to top it off, I had to enroll into Domino High so I have to face the people I had hurt so much. Not to mention, I had to go to the freaking doctors to get a shot for a flu that wasn't even prominent here.

"But, I hate shots. They always say 'This won't hurt a bit'. Everyone knows that's bull crap." I growled angrily as my sister pulled into the office's parking lot.

"Yes, well, we'll pick you up in twenty minutes." Ishizu said in steely finality.

Cursing to myself, I slid out of the car and trudged up the walk like a man to the gallows. The glass doors parted with a hiss and an overly perky desk lady gave me a coffee-induced smile.

"You must be Mr. Malik Ishtar!" Desk Lady bubbled, sliding a form across the table for me to take back to the check-up room for the nurse to fill out. I yanked it off the table, folded it across once and stuck it in my back pocket.

"Please, go sit in the waiting room. I'll take you back as soon as your nurse is free." I nodded, not really paying attention. I knew the drill. Plopping down on one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs that seem to be standard issue for waiting rooms, I surveyed the grey, drear, place.

A couple of snot-nosed kids were running around in circles, throwing Lego's at each other, their mother barely even taking notice. Hoping to maybe calm myself a bit, I turned my attention to the magazines piled haphazardly on the glass table. Unfortunately every single one of them was out of date by at least two years. Of course. So now I was tense, frustrated, and angry. Have I mentioned I hate doctors? Ever since my first visit, every single one of them had made a business of staring at my back. Asking questions I'd rather not answer and bringing up memories I'd rather forget.

Desk Lady's voice broke me from my musings.
"Mister Ishtar, your nurse is ready. Please follow me down the hall." I grumbled, but got to my feet out of the chair and followed the perky woman down the hallway she had indicated. Finally, she stopped in front of a door marked 106.

I had just a toe across the door's threshold when the woman grabbed my arm. "Your nurse is going to be our intern. But don't worry; he's amazing at his job." He? " In fact, he gets a lot of recommendations from people with young children."

Wonderful. The person I'm getting a needle jabbed into my body from isn't even a certified nurse. Well didn't that just make me feel better about this whole stupid thing. Desk Lady left, closing the door behind her, and I heaved myself onto the table, trying to rumple as much of that annoying paper they put on as possible.

Two minutes and fourteen seconds later (I counted), room 106's door cracked open. My eye's widened. You have got to be kidding me.

"Hello, Mister Ishtar," a soft British voice said calmly as its owner entered the room.

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