Title: Dark
Rating: PG-13
Category: General
Pairings: Implied Yami no Bakura x Ryou.
Summary: Features Yami no Bakura musings and…angst? One shot, short and sweet. YnB's POV.
Warnings: …it's weird…
Spoilers: None.
Notes: M' buddy Erin wrote this poem that reminded me of Yami no Bakura. Thus, this was created.
Feedback: Please?
Disclaimer: I do not own Yuugiou or the poem featured in this fic. Please do not steal the poem. Thanks. ^^;
*WE CANNOT PRETEND that evil does not exist
It lurks, all around us, I fear
Lies and deception for self-deprecating achievement
With clones at attention, it begins to come clear
Can you feel the aura of smugness in the air?
Weeping, hiding, laying down bricks
Where were they when one of them woke from nightmares?
And still, they laugh, shrouding their demise
With false love, when will they understand that what they have is not real?
That what they live for is just an illusion?
Maybe one day, maybe one time
They will realize
That maybe their truth is a lie.*
~Erin, best friend, goth mistress, and one the of wisest people I know.
Dark
By WarAdmiral
I touch the window. Outside, rain drops pound the street in a steady rhythm, cars speed past, spraying water, and thunder rumbles like the hungry belly of a beast. The only light comes from a flickering lamp post on the sidewalk. The house is pitch-black.
As my fingertips graze the glass, I see a faint reflection. I look up and meet the mirror image's eye. It's not my translucent face I see, but Ryou's.
Damn light. Of both sorts. My own, and that lamp post.
Such a sad, sad face.
Good. That's the way it should be.
I take my hand away from the window and study the lines of my palm. But this palm doesn't belong to me. It belongs to Ryou. Everything belongs to Ryou. No matter how many times I claim him as my own, this body is still Ryou's. These brown eyes, this shaggy white hair, this pair of jeans, these sneakers.
I lean my forehead against the window, still staring at this outstretched hand. It seems so alien to me. It's not my hand. Not the worn, tough hands of a tomb robber, but the soft, delicate hands of...Ryou.
I had been lying to him, then. When I penetrated him, dug my nails into him, screaming to him that every inch of him belonged to me, it was all a lie.
This hand would never be mine.
These eyes.
I had deceived in the past. Was now no different than then? When I had taken things that didn't belong to me?
I believe not. Ryou's body could become mine for a duration, but never for long. It was still his. It didn't matter how many times he was thrust into the dark while I took advantage of this vessel, it would never become mine.
There was one way, but that dream wouldn't be achieved. Not for a long time.
A dream for me, and a nightmare for Ryou.
I couldn't even feel anything. Even when I did use this body, it still didn't feel like my own. I couldn't feel pain.
I jerk the sleeve of my sweatshirt—Ryou's sweatshirt—up and glance at the scar that was barely visible on my arm.
Ryou's arm.
When this mark was made, did I feel anything? Never. But Ryou got the pleasure of feeling every inch of it, feeling the blood running down his arm, the white-hot sensation shooting through his body. That lucky son of a bitch.
But he denies it. He denies the fact that he loves this pain.
And his friends are in denial as well. Yuugi, Anzu, Honda, Jounouchi…the little "posse." They can't face what's real. Everything to them is a game where they have the upper hand.
They don't know.
They don't know what's real and false. The love I have for Ryou is false. But the pain he feels is real.
I want to feel pain. I want to feel the searing heat, the blood, everything. I want to acknowledge this harsh reality.
I slam my fist through the window. The glass gives and shatters on impact, shards digging into my knuckles and wrist, crimson fluid staining my arm.
Ryou's arm.
I retreat into my soul room and leave Ryou to feel. Already he channels his emotions to me. He's on his knees, sobbing. A beautiful thing, pain.
This is as close as I can get…
…to feeling.
End.