A/N: This will not be a Ryou-abuse story, it will not be a BRMM massive orgie story, and it will not be OOC. Which means that Bakura will not be a caring angel, Kaiba will not be flamingly gay, and above all, Marik will not walk around in pink-mini skirts. Trust me, I love those too, but not this time. Please tell me if I start going OOC on you all. Please. And well, Enjoy. R rating for possible future content.
My
It was that time. While the flaming sphere, which humanity calls the Sun, was sinking into the mires of the horizon, a long lost being was sitting straight up, for he never slouched, in a pew. The blood red Sun cast its light through the myriad of colors trapped inside the glass windows of the old church. The colors hit the worn stone floor like a rainbow in a puddle on the hot asphalt of a parking lot, with the exception of a small area kept in shadow.
Even though the rays of the ever powerful sun could pierce glass generations old, it could not hope to slice though the figure on the smooth wood bench. All hard planes, his pale façade mimicked a mirror, foiling the efforts of the light to transfix him. Not even his hair would bow down to the power of the sun. It, like every harsh angle and every smooth plane of his surface, defied the laws of nature and kept itself aloof with the help of a gentle stirring of the air due to the lack of roofing.
By now the stars had claimed their space up in that great expanse of the sky, but the Sun still clung stubbornly to the edge of the Earth. The enchantingly silver light of the stars contradicted the fierce fire that bounced off his skin. But it was nothing new, this contradiction was the very definition that this being lived by.
None of this was lost on the bronzed figure, who seemed so out of place underneath the stars, who was walking towards the being bathed in light very carefully; he was trying not to disturb him. He need not have bothered. The painful cracking sound of rubble beneath his bare feet would have alerted anyone of his presence.
Close enough to hear the steady inhaling and exhaling of the person sitting, the tanned one whispered, "Hey, Bakura, come on, let's get out of here. Kaiba won't be a whislin' Dixie if he catches us on KaibaCorp property."
Bakura did not even turn his head towards the speaker. With his eyes facing straight ahead as they always did he said levelly, "We are stealing," at this he suddenly threw his arm out in the direction of the altar, "that."
The recipient of this news turned his head to the side and followed the path that Bakura's arm showed. His lavender eyes became wide as he said, "No way Bakura. What happened to jewelry stores? Huh? We are not stealing the Virgin Mary. Nah uh."
Bakura stood up in a way, so fluidly for one so angular, so that none of the now quickly fading sunlight was disturbed. His steps barely made a sound in the building which for all intents and purposes was in ruin. Two pale and unclad arms snaked out and embraced the exquisitely carved statue. A voice as hard as a knife blade sliced through the air as Bakura said, "Help me with this Malik or else I will drop her."
Seeing that arguing was useless, Malik went over to help Bakura move the statue.
Delicate hands, like wrought glass, held onto the edges of a newspaper. Shallow curves made up the hands, the arms that supported them, and the body that belonged with the arms. A loose blue and white striped shirt clung in vain to a thin body which was shaking because of the effort it took not to cry.
How could he, Ryou thought to himself, destroy that beautiful building for an office building which knowing Kaiba he will never use. That bas…
Ryou stopped that train of thought. He had to trust Yugi that Kaiba had goodness deep down inside. For Yugi was the only person who Ryou could trust, his only friend. It pained his innocent soul every time that Yugi said he couldn't come over. He said it was because he had too much homework, or because he was too tired. Even though it was his naïve spiky haired friend's voice, all Ryou heard was Yami's deep imposing voice saying that Ryou wasn't good enough for his aibou. Ryou with his dangerous roommates, Ryou who had to rely upon two psychotic murderers because his father didn't love him, that was all Ryou heard when Yugi gave his pathetic excuses.
He looked up at the small white wall clock when he heard the front door slam open. He didn't believe his wide, chocolate colored eyes. Two o'clock? That was too early for Bakura and Malik to be home.
But indeed it was Bakura and Malik, in the flesh, and something else. Ryou's eyes were alight with joy when he what it was that they laid down on the floor. But a shadow passed over his youthful eyes when he remembered why it was here. The only reason Bakura ever brought anything home was to keep it safe while he searched for an appropriate buyer. Forcing himself not to think of the statue was hard, it was so beautiful, but Ryou knew that getting himself attached to anything that was merely waiting to be sold on the black market was stupid. It would only lead to a heartache and cruel taunts by Bakura.
Speaking of the devil, Bakura, after he threw an afghan from a nearby chair over the statue and pushed it into a corner, turned to Ryou and said, "Where is dinner?"
Ryou did not reply. It was tradition. Bakura would come home after a night of filching and violence. Ryou would not ask for a single detail of the night. Bakura would ask for dinner, and Ryou would go heat it up in the microwave. Bakura and Malik would eat in silence. Ryou would wait until they finished, clean up the dishes, and go to bed, lulled to sleep by the deep voices from the bedroom next to his of Malik and Bakura discussing business.
As Ryou left to heat up some pork chops, Malik turned to Bakura and said quietly, "Now will you tell me the real reason we stole that statue?"