(A/N:) Long-ish one-shot! Yaaay! This was a plot bunny in my mind for a while. I wrote it down so I wouldn't forget, because I really wanted to write this one. c: I finally got to writing it. And finished it in one night. 8'D

I'm not too sure of when this takes place, or whether it's an AU or not, or what...You know what, just ignore all that and read the story. 8'D

Bakura Amane is real, and not an OC. If you don't know who she is, read this story to the end, or go Google it. Or Yahoo!. Whatever search engine you use.

"…I'm sorry, what?"

"Mr. Bakura, we've been trying to tell you this for several weeks now."

I purse my lips slightly. "…Explain this to me again."

"Mr. Bakura," the vice principal sighs, "I'm sorry, but boys' dress code states that you cannot have long hair."

"And why not?" I'm suddenly feeling stubborn.

The vice principal is taken aback by my sudden change in nature. "It's…a distraction to the learning environment. Perhaps if it were a few inches above your shoulders it would be fine, but—"

"I'm not cutting my hair," I interrupt. I have no regrets, disrespecting my authority like this.

Her expression turns a bit angry. "Mr. Bakura, if you do not cut your hair, we will have to suspend you."

"Are you that keen on getting me to cut my hair that you would suspend me?" I challenge.

The vice principal starts to massage her temples and sigh deeply. "Mr. Bakura. I'm quite serious. If I let you keep your long hair, it would set a bad example and keep the students questioning why—"

"You gave me an exception. I understand." I stand up from the chair I've been sitting in, and start to head towards the door.

"…Will you be cutting your hair?" The vice principal asks.

I stop in my tracks, and respond without looking back at her. "…No."

I can almost see the agitation and look of disbelief on her face without even turning around. "Very well then," she finally sighs. "I'll have to suspend you for a week."

"I'll let my father know," I respond blatantly, and leave the office to head back to my class.

"Ryo, what is this?"

I look up from my homework, and see my father standing across the table I'm working at. He's home for once. However, he told me earlier on this week that he'd be going back to Egypt for another excavation in a month or so.

"What's what?" I respond to the question with a question.

"This," he says, and presses the playback button on the answering machine. A professional, female voice begins to speak:

Hello. This is a message stating that your son, Bakura Ryo, has been suspended for seven days for violation of the boys' dress code, and refusal to amend their violation. We would appreciate it if he would correct this and return to school with the proper dress code. Thank you, and have a nice evening.

"Oh," I say after the message ends. "I forgot to tell you."

My father sighs. "Ryo, is this about your hair again?"

I purse my lips slightly. "Yes."

He sighs again. "Ryo, we've been over this. Even I've been asking you to cut your hair and now the school is too. Why don't you just get it cut? You can still have it long, just not past your shoulders—"

"I can't," I interrupt.

"Why not?"

"I just can't. You don't understand." I shut my textbook and start to head to my room.

"Don't walk away from me!" my father raises his voice.

I'm about to say something, but I decide not to. I don't feel like getting in any more trouble today. I go into my room and shut the door, locking it.

I throw my school supplies onto the bed, and go to my desk. I grab the remote for my stereo and begin to blare music from some random rock group I can't remember the name of. I rest my elbows on my desk and put my head in my hands.

God, why can't everyone just leave me alone about this…?

I decide to try and keep my mind off all of this by keeping myself occupied, so I grab the notebook on my desk. I click my pen and attempt to write new TRPG scenarios.

I can't concentrate.

I groan and slide the notebook aside, and momentarily pause the music using the remote. I hide my head within my arms on my desk, closing my eyes. I'm so tired. I can't bring myself to sleep though. What am I supposed to do while I'm suspended, anyway? And what am I supposed to do about this whole "cutting my hair" thing? I can't cut my hair.

I just can't.

Five days have passed. I'm going back to school. I still haven't cut my hair.

Father is out of town for the next three days to visit some old friends, so he doesn't know I haven't cut my hair yet.

"Make sure you hair is cut the time I get back," he says to me, while I help him put his bags in the car.

"Yeah, okay," I say dully.

"I mean it, Ryo," he says with authority.

"Hmm," I make a noise of reluctant agreement. My father sighs.

That was yesterday. I ignored his request. My hair is still long. In fact, I think it grew half an inch or so.

I walk up the pathway to the school, and I see the vice principal standing at the gate, quite professionally. She's looking around, and it seems like she's supervising the area. I realize she has actually been looking for someone—that someone being me. Seeing that I was back makes her smile for a brief second, but then she realizes my hair still isn't cut, so she makes a frown. She walks toward me quickly.

"Ryo, your hair is still long."

"I know," I say. She's actually not too short; she's practically at eye level with me.

"I thought I told you to cut it."

"You did. And so did my father," I shrug.

I can tell she's getting more annoyed by the second. "Mr. Bakura, I'm sorry, but I'm getting tired of this. If you're trying to be rebellious for a reputation or—"

"I'm not trying to be rebellious, and I couldn't care less about my reputation," I say explicitly.

"Well, this back-talk isn't helping you in that defense." She crosses her arms.

"I'm just trying to get my point across," I shrug. "I'm not cutting my hair."

"Mr. Bakura, if this continues, I'm going to have to keep suspending you; eventually, maybe even expel you."

"Then do it," I challenge, once again.

The vice principal is taken aback by my words, once again. "Excuse me?"

"Go ahead. Suspend me all you want. I won't cut my hair."

The vice principal is the one who purses her lips this time. "Fine then. You're suspended for another two weeks."

"Ah," I say, uninterested, "another week added to the initial one week?"

"Yes," she responds. "For being ill-mannered to your authority, which is deemed inappropriate; and further refusal to go by the dress code as well."

"Well, I apologize for being so disrespectful." I bow slightly.

"That won't reduce your suspension time," she says, raising her eyebrow.

"I'm well aware," I respond. I turn around to begin walking back to my house. "I'm just apologizing."

She nods. "I see."

I hear the bell ring in the distance, and hear the faint clicking of the vice principal's heels on the concrete as she walks toward the entrance of the school.

"Ryo, I told you I wanted your hair cut the time I got back!" My father's voice is raised. I am unaffected. He's lecturing me as I sit in the chair in front of him.

"I did. I got two inches cut off." I'm not lying. I went to the shop yesterday, deciding I needed a trim anyway.

"That's not enough," my father snaps. "Ryo, I'm sick and tired of this issue repeatedly coming up. If you don't cut your hair, you're grounded."

Oh, big threat there. (I'm being sarcastic.) "I'm already suspended for two weeks. It doesn't make a difference."

"Two weeks?" my father bursts out. "My God, Ryo, just cut your hair! It's not that difficult!"

"Yes it is," I say, never looking in his eyes, just staring into my lap.

"Ryo, you are going to get your hair cut tomorrow, whether you like it or not."

"No. I can't." I bite my lip slightly.

"And why not?" I've heard that question so many times.

"I just can't. You don't understand, Dad. I can't." I can feel myself shaking as I continue to stare at my lap.

"Yes, I don't understand. I don't understand why my son can't do something as simple as cutting his hair, and reacts to the idea like a little girl—"

"SHUT UP! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" I stand up from my seat, yelling at him. His eyes widen, surprised at my sudden outburst. I'm staring into his eyes, shaking. There's an awkward, deafening silence.

"…You are getting your hair cut tomorrow, and that is final," he says with authority.

I narrow my eyes, ever so slightly. I walk out of the room to go to my own, and slam the door, locking it.

I flop onto my bed, face down, with my head in the pillows. I'm shaking. I let the tears fall.

I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm sosososososososo scared.

I 'm so afraid of forgetting. I'm so afraid I'll never be able to recall you anymore. This is my only way of always being reminded of you every moment. I'm so afraid that I'll forget you for even a second.

I'm terrified.

The hairdresser drapes the covering that keeps hair off of me onto my body, and ties it in the back. She talks to my reflection, placing her hands gently on my shoulders.

"So, what are we doing? A trim? Fixing the layers?" She holds a piece of my hair and looks at it, as if she were looking for split ends or something.

"No…," I hesitate. I know my father is sitting in the waiting area, watching. I can't escape. "…Cut it all off."

Her eyes widen a bit. "All of it?"

"Yes."

"Hmm…alright. I suppose I'll cut it about up to…," she trails off as she moves her hand up to find an appropriate length on my hair. She makes a line with her hand at my jaw. "Up to here," she says. "Does that sound good? Or look good, rather." She chuckles a bit at her own small joke. "I can make it layered, too."

I nod, pursing my lips. "Sure," I say barely above a whisper.

She gets her supplies out of the drawers, and gets her scissors ready. "You know, it's a bit of a shame to cut it all off. It's really nice."

"Yeah…I guess…," I trail off. I don't feel like making conversation with her.

She nods, as if in agreement with her own statement; or perhaps she understands that I don't want to talk. She puts her hands on my head and tilts it gently so that it's completely straight and looking forward. "Just face forward."

I nod ever so slightly. I hear the first snip, and bite my lip and shut my eyes.

I'm so afraid of forgetting you.

I stare at myself in the mirror in the bathroom.

My God, it's so short…

I comb my hair with my fingers, ruffling it, rearranging it, trying to get accustomed to it.

It's difficult.

I hear my father coming down the hallway, and he walks past the bathroom on his way to his room. He sees me looking in the mirror, messing with my hair. He grins and looks in the mirror with me.

"It looks good," he says with a satisfied tone.

"I suppose," I shrug.

"Look, I have to go pack up. I have to take an early flight to Egypt for the excavation. I'm leaving tomorrow morning." He pats my shoulders.

"Alright," I say.

"I called your school. I explained to your vice principal that you cut your hair, so she's letting you come back to school tomorrow."

"Okay."

He leaves the bathroom, and goes to his room. I stare at myself in the mirror.

It's not the same.

I shoot up in bed, covered in cold sweat. I'm panting, and I ball whatever hair I have into my fists.

"Oh my God…Oh my God…," I'm panting. I wrap my arms around myself—I can't stop shaking. There's a disgusting, stinging feeling in the back of my throat, and it feels like I'm going to throw up. I gasp and cough, trying to get a hold of myself.

"Oh my God…O-Oh my God…"

I cover my mouth, and start sobbing. I'm so scared. I saw you. You looked so different, like how my appearance has become. But you were different in a worse way. You were decayed. Your face…Your face was decayed. You were bleeding. You were crying out to me.

Ryo...Why did you kill me? Why did you get rid of me?

I-I didn't kill you… I didn't get rid of you…But if I really did, I didn't mean to—

You said you would never forget me…You said you would always be reminded of me…But now what? I'm gone now. How will you always be reminded of me now—?

No…Nononono, stop it, it's not my fault, it's not my fault…

I love you Ryo. I thought you loved me…Brother.

No…I do…I truly do, Amane…I'm sorry…I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorrysorrysorrysorry—

I'm gone. You got rid of me.

"NO!" I suddenly scream.

My head shoots up, and I see my own reflection in the mirror that is a little off to the side of the front of my bed. My room is dark, but I can still see myself. My hair is extremely and ridiculously unruly, my eyes are red, and tears are still falling from them. I'm shaking violently.

OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod—

She's right.

I'm not reminded of her at all anymore. I can't see her—I can't see her in my reflection.

She's not there anymore.

"Amane…," I weakly say, and my voice cracks. I cover my mouth again, and double over. The images from my nightmare come back again.

"Oh God, Oh God…," I mutter. I throw the covers off me and run to the bathroom. I flip the lights on and the double over the toilet, retching and coughing the bile that had continued to build as my fear did the same. I'm still sobbing.

I'm practically hugging the toilet, using it as support. I can't control myself—the tears just won't stop, my body just won't stop shaking, and the disgusting feeling in the pit of my stomach won't go away. The feelings subside after a few, long minutes. I take a deep breath, struggle to stand up, and support myself using the sink. I stare at myself wearily in the mirror.

She's gone…she's gone, she's gone, she'sgoneshe'sgoneshe'sgone—

Amane.

I'm so sorry.

Please forgive me, it's not my fault. I was forced to make myself look like this.

I remember how you looked. We were twins. We had such resemblance that everyone would even compliment that fact.

You and Mum died in that accident. I was so afraid that I would eventually forget you two. So I grew my hair out. I grew it so I would always see you…Both of you, when I looked in the mirror. We were always told that we had such a huge resemblance.

I'm sorry.

I'm sosososososo sorry.

I love you. Really, I do. That will never change, I promise.

You believe your older brother, right? I never lied. I will never forget you. You will always be my sister.

I can never forget you.