"Show me your true face, and I'll show you mine."
Bakura looked up, blinking to sudden awareness and absorbing his surroundings in a rush of surprise and acceptance – after all, it wasn't the first time he had opened his eyes and found himself somewhere strange. He was no longer nestled between his sheets of Egyptian cotton, but standing in the middle of an empty room he knew all too well. The walls were a soft blue, faded almost to a grey; they were smudged with handprints and marked by crayons. Yes, Bakura remembered the room; it was a replica of the last place he had seen his mother and sister.
"My true face," he said softly, looking down at his bare feet. "What is that supposed to mean?"
The chuckle sounded almost cruel; it bounced off the walls, echoing through the emptiness – it only made the sentiment seem that much more sinister. Bakura knew better than to ask who was there – he knew full and well who he was facing. "Exactly what it sounds like. It's interesting how your actions don't match your feelings – you seem so timid, but I know your desires. I've felt them." Bakura turned towards his yami's voice, but his eyes slipped shut against his control, and stayed that way, despite his attempts to open them. "Don't cheat – you should know by now what fate befalls cheaters," he spat. Bakura heard footsteps, then a hand on his cheek, breath whispering over his face. "I think I know exactly what you want, I'm merely looking to confirm it."
"Since when did you need confirmation for anything?"
There was that laugh again; his yami's fingers trailed up his cheek, behind his ear and up into his hair. "I only want to see my host exactly as he is." The next words were feather-soft and terrible: "But perhaps in all your masks, you've forgotten. Let me remind you."
A harsh snap, and the air in the room was different. It felt full, alive, warm – it felt akin to waking up with the sun on his face. Bakura's knees almost buckled as he felt small hands wrap in the hem of his pyjama shirt, and a small voice squealed, "Oniisan!" Bakura felt a shiver run up his spine, and for a second he repeated the word in his head – the sound of it, the pitch, the tone…
"Let me see," he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Is that what you want?"
He had told himself time and time again he'd not give in to these mind games, but this… He gritted his teeth. "That's what I said."
"Hmm…" That hand ran up through his hair, pulling it back and exposing his face. For a second Bakura didn't breath – his scalp barely hurt from his yami's movement, and he could still feel small hands yanking on his shirt. Finally his hair fell back into place, followed by, "No. You're holding back."
Bakura could feel the whole of him shaking – body, soul, heart; it all moved in time with his anger. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles cracking slightly in the sudden silence. "I want to see her!"
The reply was demanding, stern – there was no questioning it: "Then show me your true face!"
Maybe his eyes were immobile, but the rest of him wasn't. "You bastard!" He swung one fist randomly; he felt it connect with what felt like a shoulder. In turn two hands caught him by his shoulders, holding him steady. Bakura could feel the spirit's gaze on his face – maybe it was his imagination, but it felt cold.
"There," his yami purred, seemingly satisfied. "That's it. You want power, don't you? You want to be the one in control – you want to right the wrongs in your life."
"I want to open my eyes," Bakura growled.
Of course the spirit laughed – he always laughed, like the world was his toy. "A deal's a deal."
Bakura's eyes snapped open, and he almost cried out against the sudden void. It was like a vacuum had sucked away every feeling of warmth in the room, taking everything and leaving the room bare. The walls weren't even blue anymore, but Bakura hardly cared; his eyes were fixated down on the floor at his side, where he had heard her.
"Well?" the spirit asked. "Aren't you going to look? You threw such a fit about seeing."
Bakura's voice shook, but he fell eerily still. "You…" He looked.
He looked up into brown eyes that were just like his.
notes
The title is kinda of lame – simply really, but I had my reasons. One definition of parallel is "lying or moving in the same direction but always the same distance apart," which I thought was a pretty accurate description of what I was trying to show here – if I succeeded (read as: if you realized before I told you), then I am a happy camper. If not… well, hopefully you enjoyed it anyway. ;;;
As for Bakura's mother & sister – take your pick, either they're dead, or he just hasn't seen them. I actually am not sure; I keep hearing different theories, and am not sure what it true. And it doesn't really matter WHERE they are for the way that I used them – just that they're not where Bakura is.
And the "Egyptian cotton" crack wasn't so much there for an Egypt reference as it was for the fact that my roommate has this huge hard-on about Egyptian cotton sheets – it's all I've been hearing about for the past week or two. oO