A/N: My writing life has been a bit of a bad joke lately. This is creative therapy.
Thiefshipping. This one is weird. Really fucking weird.
Warning: Lots of bad language. Too many line breaks. Mentions of sex. (Nothing graphic.) Someone please tell me if I should change the rating.
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! and I don't own the ending poem.
Tell me something.
It can be anything, really. Pick a point. Choose a story. It doesn't matter.
I've heard them all anyway.
Tell me.
Something.
It's all just words. Words on paper, words on your lips that slip past your tongue and get caught in your teeth.
Words. What do they mean?
They mean goddamn nothing, when it comes down to it.
Tell me.
Why do I love you?
It's so fucking scary.
Play any games today?
Just one.
With who?
Jesus Christ.
You're funny.
I know.
Really. Who?
Death.
Who won?
I don't know. We never finished.
This is all we do lately. Sit around and smoke and drink and sometimes steal some cards, and we don't try and kill ourselves before someone else gets to us because there's no fucking point anyway.
I wish I were home.
You are home.
Today, you look like a drug. Spread out on the bed, all sharp angles and skin stained redredred on the sheets.
Who'd you kill this time?
Do I even care?
Not really.
You're looking at me. Can you tell what I'm thinking? Can you tell how much I hate you?
Probably.
It's never stopped you before.
We kiss with lips and teeth and tongues all tangled, clashing and breaking and burning down, down, down until there's nothing left and it's ashes-to-ashes all over again because we're fighting for breath and air and the chemicals we drink like wine that spill spill spill down your perfect face like bloody tears and you cry cry cry over what you can't have.
I see white.
You see gold.
We went searching for Items today.
I killed a man.
When did I become this?
When did I become this?
(When did the world end?)
And you. You laughed. You laughed so hard your jaw unhinged and your lungs burst and your face split straight down in a bloody red line.
No. Not really.
But wouldn't that be pretty?
You would think so.
Even if it was your heart spilling out onto the concrete.
Your eyes are opening.
They look like death.
It'll be over soon.
It'll all be over.
It rains.
You smile.
Soon.
It's not about the sex.
If that's all it was, I would have left already. Promise. I'm not that stupid.
Except for when I am and I get lost in your eyes and the bed is too soft and the beer is too cheap and it's all worth it for those three seconds that your lips part and the laughter ghosts over my skin like we're in a goddamn movie and the sun is rising up, up, and for once the world stands still and it's home, home, fuck, I just want to go home—
I don't know what it's about.
It used to be about revenge.
It's not about revenge anymore.
I don't know.
You trace my jaw with your hand.
I can swear it leaves a mark.
Do you want to go somewhere?
Where?
Does it matter?
No. I guess not.
Then okay.
Okay?
Okay.
'S this a date?
What?
A date.
No.
Okay.
Okay.
You left today.
I miss you.
You'll be back.
I'll still be here.
Why is that so fucked up?
Because I love you.
Feels like I'm falling.
Shit.
You're not allowed to die here.
Huh?
If you die here in this bloody gutter I'm going to be extremely unhappy.
Would'ya miss me?
Dammit, Malik.
Seriously. 'S a legit question.
You're completely drunk.
I know.
You're no use to me like this. I don't know what's wrong with you, but it needs to stop. Now.
It's raining, Bakura.
And?
Make a wish.
It's calm, for once. We're sitting on the roof because the people next door are having sex and it's really annoying, and you're watching the sunset.
I forgot how much you liked sunsets.
I forgot you liked much of anything.
I wonder—
Actually, I don't. That would ruin the moment.
We have moments?
This is the worst relationship I have ever seen.
A therapist would cry.
I don't, though.
I'm all cried out.
You're not. I can tell. But you never cry either.
The sun lights your face, and you're beautiful.
You're beautiful.
I wish I could tell you.
The light catches your hair.
Who came up with halos?
We've got one more card game to play, I think. At least, one more that matters.
Who the fuck picked the fucking blimp?
I hate heights.
We play.
We lose.
What the hell did I expect?
glory passion victory something.
Anything that's not this.
I wish I had some last words.
Ones that would count, anyway.
Always with the words.
Is it over yet?
It's over.
Do you think anyone will miss us?
Probably not.
For what it's worth? I didn't expect it to end like this.
What, in fiery death?
No. With you.
"This is the way the world ends."
What?
Never mind.
That works, too.
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
- T. S Elliot: The Hollow Men