((Just to forewarn you, there will be some mild swearing and some tendershipping but this is more of a story than a quick, pleasure read, so if that's what you're looking for, you won't find it here.
I suck at summary's so it's better to learn about it from reading it.
I do not own any of the characters, no copyright infringement intended.
Hope you enjoy ^^))
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The cold sting of the sharp night air pulled Bakura deeper into himself. The air always seeped through the walls in this place, he never realised how handy it can be when some idiot lights up something they shouldn't. And doesn't offer him any. He drank his scotch in one.
Again, a voice said to him. Thought that the bartender would realize he had finished his scotch and pour him another. He didn't.
His anger burned deep, but he liked this place and didn't think brains would really blend with the walls. He lights up a smoke.
"Hey, barkeep! Same again." Bakura called out, but despite his effort, the barkeep just kept polishing his glass.
Bakura let out a deep sigh and not a second after he rises out of his chair, the scotch appears. Bakura, still standing, contemplates whether he should take the man's head home, sit down and drink the scotch or do both. He takes a drag of the cigarette, closes his eyes. The idea's now swilling in his head like the sweet, strong taste of scotch in his mouth, the burning sensation in the back of his throat... He blew out the smoke.
Mmmh, cancer. He thought humorously to himself. He opened his eyes and the barkeep was gone.
Hmph, filthy coward. Bakura picked up his jacket and contemplated the design.
Long, black and leather. Just like any jacket should be. He threw it over his shoulder, kicked down the door and heard nothing but a great, big THWACK! He sighed, once again.
"Ryou.. What are you doing here?" he said, unable to figure out why he, someone so small and fragile, so innocent and easily-mislead would come here where you'd be lucky to be burned to death. On purpose.
"To find you of course!" he said it as if it was so painfully obvious.
Well... Technically it is. I mean, you do remember who he is... Don't you?
Of course I do... He's my boyfriend.
And who are you trying to re-assure? Me or yourself? Besides that's not what I asked, not what he is. Who he is. You do know don't you?
Before he had time to retort, the voice continued,
Of course you do, I mean, it's not as if he doesn't know you. Or even understand you, for that matter. Which he doesn't, and you know this because you know that deep down… You can't love, and you don't want anyone to understand. Because then you can be fixed. But you like being broken and damaged... Don't you?
Bakura just stood there, his body shaking violently. Everything became white noise, Ryou's face, fixed onto him, mortified and screaming. Silently.
Ryou's hand lifted to snap him out of it but Bakura didn't care. He didn't even flinch after Ryou had slapped him to try and get him to listen. He ran into Bakura, holding him so tight he could barely breathe. He was sobbing, begging for forgiveness.
Awwwh, poor Ryou. He doesn't know you like the pain! Play nice with him; it's almost cruel the way you toy with him.
Bakura laughed, kissed Ryou on his cheek and said
"Come on, let's get out of here. We'll miss the show."