I just really felt like writing a Tragedy/Angst, I've been in that mood. I've been reading a lot of it. Then I was listening to Missing by Evanescene and this played in my head along with the song. I had to. My inner author forced me.

Don't own Yugioh. Never will. Blah.


Ryo's hand trembled as he held the knife. Bakura had left the stereo in the living room on again. Ryo didn't see the need to go turn it off. It started to play Missing by Evanescence.

Please, please forgive me,
But I won't be home again.

Bakura wasn't home. Bakura was never home anymore. He had been growing more and more distant over the months and now he barely spoke to Ryo when he was home.

Maybe someday you'll have woke up.
And barely conscious you'll say to no one,
"Isn't something missing?"

Ryo thought that he wouldn't be lonely anymore now that Bakura was with him. Now he felt more alone than he ever had before.

You won't cry for my absence, I know.
You forgot me long ago.

His so-called friends never talked to him anymore. He hadn't seen anyone he thought he knew in the past month. The only ones who came around anymore were Malik and Marik, and besides, they were Bakura's friends. They were here to see Bakura…not him. None of them seemed to care.

Am I that unimportant?
Am I so insignificant?

No one seemed to care anymore. Not Yugi. Not Yami. Not Jou. Not Seto. And not Bakura.

Isn't something missing?
Isn't someone missing me?

Ryo blinked. Tears rolled down his face. He hadn't been aware that he had been about to cry. But what did it matter? No one was here to comfort him.

Even though I'm the sacrifice,
You won't try for me, not now.
Though I'd die to know you love me,
I'm all alone…
Isn't someone missing me?

Ryo sank down against the kitchen wall. He wasn't sure if he could go through with it. But what other choice did he have, other than keep living this miserable excuse for a life?

Please, please forgive me,
But I won't be home again.

He pressed the blade against his wrist but didn't press. He half-hoped that Bakura would come home and stop him. But Bakura wouldn't care. Bakura didn't care anymore.

I know what you do to yourself.
I breathe deep and cry out,
"Isn't something missing?
Isn't someone missing me?"

He leaned his head against the wall. Why? Why had it come to this? Tears flowed freely, but Ryo didn't notice them. He took a ragged breath to steady himself.

Even though I'm the sacrifice,
You won't try for me, not now.

He aligned the knife on his wrist and pressed the blade into his pale flesh.

Though I'd die to know you love me,
I'm all alone…
Isn't someone missing me?

No. No one is missing him. No one missed him when he was alive. And no one will miss him when he's gone.

And if I bleed, I'll bleed,
Knowing you don't care.

The knife cut easily through his skin. More blood than he had though was in his body flowed out of his wrist. He relished the pain from the burning cut. It was the only thing that seemed real to him anymore.

And if I sleep just to dream of you,
And wake without you there,
Isn't something missing?
Isn't something…

He dabbed at the copious amount of blood with his fingertip. He used his blood as ink to write a message on the floor. That is, if Bakura cared enough to read it.

Even though I'm the sacrifice,
You won't try for me, not now.

Feeling lightheaded, he switched the knife to his other hand and slashed his other wrist. There was no going back now.

Though I'd die to know you love me,
I'm all alone…

"Isn't something missing? Isn't someone missing me?" Ryo whispered along with the last line of the song as everything faded to black.


Bakura was running back home as fast as his legs could carry him. He had been over at the Ishtar's house when he felt his mind-link with Ryo be severed. Not just closed, severed. Gone. Nonexistent. Not there anymore. Without explanation, he had whispered his light's name and dashed out of the house.

He feared the worst. The great fearless thief king was scared to death. The only reason a mind-link would completely vanish would be if one of them…but no, it couldn't be. This couldn't happen. It couldn't.

"RYO!" He shouted his hikari's name as he slammed the door open, nearly breaking it off its hinges. He was greeted with silence and a dark room. The stereo was on, and Bakura shut it off, listening intently for any sound.

Bakura searched the downstairs, saying Ryo's name softly all the time. When he came to the kitchen his breath caught in his chest.

Ryo was sitting against the kitchen wall. He face was as white as his hair, his eyes closed, lips parted. There were tear streaks on his pale cheeks. In his hand he was gripping a bloody knife. A pool of blood surrounded him, his life's essence still dripping from his slit wrists. At his feet were three bright red words, written in the still-fresh blood. I'm sorry, Bakura.

Bakura dropped to his knees, unable to take in the scene. Tears rolled down his cheeks against his will. He couldn't accept that his love, his light, was gone. "Ryo…" he whispered. "Why?"

He crawled over to his light, hoping against hope that Ryo was just unconscious. He didn't care about the blood that stained his hands and jeans. He only cared about Ryo. He pulled Ryo into his lap and held him close. Ryo was too limp and cold to still be in this world, but Bakura felt for a pulse anyway. He felt no flutter in the younger boy's throat. Breaking down, Bakura sobbed into his hikari's hair. "Don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry for anything. You never did anything wrong," he whispered.

He pried the knife from Ryo's cold hand. "I can't do this without you, Ryo. I can't. I love you…Ryo…" He kissed Ryo's bloodless lips one last time.


The next day Marik and Malik came over. They had been unable to contact Bakura after he had stormed out of their house the day before. They exchanged looks as they saw that the door was hanging open.

They found Bakura in the kitchen. He was pale as a ghost with dried blood all over him. Ryo was on his lap, equally pale and bloody. Tear stains adorned both their faces. Bakura's arms were wrapped around his young light. In one of Bakura's hands was a bloody knife, still resting on his slashed wrist. The other hand gripped Ryo's in a death grip. On the floor was Ryo's message, dried now and a dull brownish red color. Underneath it was a second message, written just under the first.

I'm coming, Ryo.


Hmm, that was a tad depressing. A bit sweet too, when you think about it. Surprisingly I was the happiest I've felt all week when writing this. I this the Swedish Fish I had had a happy drug in them. Hope you liked, and don't worry, they won't be dead in anything else.

Wow, I wrote this ages ago. *reads it over sadly* I was such a crappy writer back then. I hate it when I'm looking through my DevART gallery and I find something I forgot to put up here...it doesn't compare.