Dedication Aja
Why Because she's a genius.
Labels drabble; oneshot; notreally!insanity; shonen-ai hints; deliberately obscure; OOC; pg
[beforehand]
An afterthought-story from reading "Famous Last Words" by Aja. It didn't…turn out the way I expected it to. I don't like the excerpts much [edit: so I changed it]. Not-quite-obvious BakuraRyouYuugi triangle, with Yuugi pinning for Ryou, Ryou admiring Yuugi but falling in love with himself, and Bakura just not being there.
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Box
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Will you let me ride alone?
The first time he entered the room, he drifted from wall to wall, tracing the bumps beneath his fingertips and closing his eyes as if he wanted to memorize every one. When he opened them, his reflection (he noted) was staring back at him in fuzzy grey patches, mingling grimly with whitewashed splotches found at random around the corners.
The quality of the sheets was nowhere near those at home (he noted), but they were soft and clean and white so he didn't mind at all. So he traced them, brushing his hands across the cotton surface and looping digits into empty curves that formed when he let the layers hang from the bed like drapes. When he stopped, he realized that lingering shadows were touching him back and he tilted his head, amused.
There were no windows to look through, so he started telling the time by whenever the door opened. Six o'clock for his morning shower. Quarter past twelve for lunch. Five after seven for dinner. The door was in need of oiling, and it creaked each time someone walked in. Or out. So he started to stop looking up when they came, merely pressing his hands to the floor and feeling invisible fingers pushing back.
The light only came on when they wanted it to, so he stopped waiting for it to seep through the system and flicker to life. When it did, he blinked to adjust his vision and took a mechanical glance across the room before sweeping the bangs from his face. As he lay upon the bed, his body warmth enveloped him in a partial embrace, and he let out a soft whisper of content.
That afternoon, the door opened and a tentative round of murmurs shattered through the silence. Someone cautiously stepped into the room. They coughed lightly.
Bakura, are you all right? They said, with only a moment's hesitation.
When there wasn't an answer, someone sighed. A feather-like sigh. He looked up, wondering if he could touch it and looked disappointed at the lack of substance. Someone looked back at him with surprise, confusion, and misery and took a step forward, hoping.
He tilted his head to the right, staring deeply into amethyst eyes brimming with worry, a crown perched silkily upon their head. It was pretty, he remarked.
A weak smile.
Behind him, shadows gripped possessively.
The door closed with a creak.
And all his thoughts were painless.
fin.
[afterward]
Finished June 7th, 2004.
Written and modified in 90 minutes [one hour, 30 minutes].
413 words.
Italicized extract is from "The Summer of the Beautiful White Horse," by William Saroyan.
Let's leave his question unanswered.
endlog[12:24 am]